Outdoor Social

Outdoor table set up for a party with barware and the Adventure Stay Hot Camp Crock.
Stanley Essentials For Backyard Gatherings
Good times are as close as your backyard (or patio, sidewalk, balcony...). With the right gear, you’re on your way to hosting a outdoor gathering that friends and family will love. Here are our picks to get the party started: SNACKS Adventure Stay-Hot Camp Crock Load ‘er up with dips, pasta salad, BBQ, or whatever you need to keep piping hot or crisp and cold, all party long. Try this simple Chili Cheese Dip that will stay hot and tasty til the end of the party in the Stay-Hot Camp Crock Chili Cheese DipIn a sauce pan, combine all ingredients over medium heat or gently in a microwave until cheese is melted, stirring frequently: 1 package cream cheese 1 package pre-shredded cheddar 3 cans of pre-made chili 1 can black beans Salt and Cumin to taste REFRESHMENTS Adventure Happy Hour Cocktail Shaker Set Whether it’s a stiff drink or a mocktail, up your mixology game with this all-in-one set. Compact and ready to go with a removable reamer, strainer lid, jigger cap, and 2 rocks glasses.Mix these up like a pro: Whiskey Sour 6 parts whiskey 2 parts lemon juice 1 part simple syrup SHAKE! Virgin Cucumber Gimlet - 1.5 oz club soda- 4-5 slices of muddled cucumber- 1 oz fresh lime juice- 1 oz simple syrupSHAKE! CUPS FOR THE WHOLE CREW Adventure Stacking Beer Pint Set Ditch the red plastic cups and get with these stainless steel heros. What’s the only thing better than a pint glass that’ll keep your beverages frosty for hours on end? Enough glasses to share.      ABOUT STANLEY The Stanley brand has a rich 100+ year history. Born from inventor William Stanley Jr. who forever changed the way hot drinks were consumed, in 1913 he fused vacuum insulation and the strength of steel in one portable bottle, inventing the all-steel vacuum bottle we know and love today.  
Man and woman overlooking the Mediterranean and holidng their Adventure Beer Pints.
Mountain Biking In Italy: The Tired Goat In Finale Ligure
We packed up our climbing gear into the back of the VW camper van and said ciao to Lago di Garda, the biggest lake in Italy, then headed south in hopes of a mountain biking paradise in Finale Ligure. Finale sits in northwestern Italy on the Mediterranean Ocean, near the border of France. From the information gathered from our biking obsessed friends, it was THE place to ride. We pulled into the bike shop that evening and booked some rental bikes and a shuttle for the following morning. After sampling some Italian wine, beer, pizza, pasta and gelato we thought to ourselves "carb loading right?" and went to bed. Crawling out of our van and brewing up some local roast in our Adventure Full Kitchen Basecamp Cook Set we both noted that coffee was the best smelling thing in the van, that was getting a lovely odor of outdoor activity and small square footage. In classic tourist fashion, we arrived at the shop giddy in anticipation of the day's adventure. Collecting a couple of beauty Santa Cruz bikes we loaded up the shuttle at the blistering morning hour of 9:30 AM. Of course, the front seat was ours for the taking; we wanted to see everything. For a thousand meters up in elevation the road was windy and the drivers honked constantly as they drove around corners to avoid head-on collisions on the very narrow roads. Maybe the front seat was a bad choice. About halfway up our driver slams on his breaks, grabs a plastic bag from his feet and exclaims "Volpe!". Out he ran into the road, picked up a dead fox and stuffed it into a bag. Smiling he tucked the bagged fox somewhere out of view towards the rear of the van. Between language barriers and probably luck, we never found out why there was now a dead fox as a passenger on the shuttle. Some things are best left a mystery. The shuttle dropped us at Base Nato and we were ready to ride. With dirt flying from the grooves of our tires and bugs in our teeth we rode the classics. It was fast, flowy, technical and everything in between. It was all the hype and more. The sun shone on the views of the Mediterranean, and the trees protected us on the steep climbs back. After seven hours of impeccable riding, we finished near the bottom of a trail called Rollercoaster. A guided group also finished just behind us. Perfect, a little advice on the best way down is just what we needed. "Hey is there a way down that has a good view of the ocean?" We asked the guide. After a few less than optimal options, he decided with a smile that he was coming with us. But, and this is a big but, he knew of a trail but had never ridden it and maybe it was kind of sort of this way and may be very challenging but maybe it would be ok. After giving his tour a disclaimer a quarter of the group decided to take the road back to wherever they had come from and the rest decided “maybe” was good enough for them. Up the group pedaled, chatting and getting acquainted with each other along the way. Left here? Nope. Backtrack. Over this hill! Well, that took us in a circle. The group was getting tired as we approached the top of a hill where a classic Italian church awaited. The thing about Italian churches is there is always a cafe attached to them. The sweet cakes and hot espresso gave us newfound vigor. Asking the kid behind the counter if he'd heard of this elusive trail called "Caprazoppa" which in English translates to "the tired goat". He looked at us like we were a bunch of dumb tourists. "Follow the dots," the kid said as he pointed at three faded dots painted red on the rocks near the edge of a trail. Our new found guide started down the trail and decided that this kid could not be trusted. He wasn't a biker so it was probably a hiking trail. We took our last wrong turn for the night before the group decided to just follow the red dots down as the light was getting low. We greatly underestimated the kid! It was indeed the trail of "the tired goat" and not just any trail but an old roman walking trail including technical steeps, slick rocks and mind-bending turns that kept us hollering and laughing the entire way. We were biking on a trail thousands of years old. It was history and adrenaline-packed into one incredible singletrack. The mystical trail spit us out a road crossing away from the bike shop which was ideal. Ten hours of biking later and exhausted, we hobbled back to our beautiful camping spot, the parking lot of the bike shop. Luckily for us, everything in Italy is beautiful as we were parked along an ancient stone wall with a castle towering in the background atop the hills. Stocked up for a tailgate party for two, we poured cold Italian beer into our Adventure Stacking Beer Pints and sipped sweet and refreshing limoncello from our Classic Stanley flask. That night sleep came easy as we both shut our eyes to the imaginary sounds of tires on perfect dirt, realizing we got to do it all again tomorrow. Written by Sarah Kuipers   ABOUT TYLER MORTON A seasoned snowboarder and brand ambassador chasing winter adventures fueled by a truck that runs on waste vegetable oil.
Discovering Climbing And Stanley In Zimbabwe
Discovering Climbing And Stanley In Zimbabwe
In 2016 I dropped out of college. I moved to Atlanta, Georgia to pursue photography and filmmaking full-time. In June of that already hectic year, I was diagnosed for the second time with cancer. I was immediately admitted to the hospital and had an emergency surgery less than 24 hours after my diagnosis, for the second time. Post-surgery, we discovered I had a rare, vascular-lymphatic invasion. Basically, this means that cancer cells attached to my former tumor and were released into my bloodstream, residing in lymph nodes. They had potential at any moment to activate inside of my peritoneum, my lungs, and my brain. Around this time, a friend of mine told me she was traveling to the Matobo Hills of Zimbabwe, to visit some older friends of hers who ran a ranch there. Chris and Norma, the folks who run the ranch are an older, wildly selfless couple who use their profits to benefit the impoverished communities around them. For example, while we were there, they delivered hundreds of bicycles to students who travel about 10 miles to get to school to mitigate many dangers that the daily journey poses, like rape and kidnapping. My friends told me that this place was like some kind of rest-haven. “Just come with us and you’ll see. It’ll be the rest you’ve needed for a while now. Then come back, and tackle chemotherapy, refreshed and renewed." My first day of chemotherapy would begin during what would have been the first week in Zimbabwe. I decided two days before my departure that I’d go to Zimbabwe. My doctors and my family were pretty upset with the decision. I transferred the last $1,500 from my savings account for the plane ticket. I would come home with nothing. But I KNEW in my heart that I needed this. I needed the rest. I knew that I was about to go down yet another heinous road of Ativan nightmares, weeks of vomiting, and total anxious delirium. I needed this rest. I needed this preparation. I discovered two of the guys that I was traveling with, whom I had never met, happened to be experienced climbers. The first afternoon we spent on the ranch in the Matobo Hills, they asked me if I wanted to go climb with them. Towards the end of high school and college, I fell in love with kayaking, hiking, and camping. Climbing was kind of this thing I had always wanted to do and always wanted to photograph. I didn't know any climbers and I guess I always thought you had to live in the Western United States to be one. I was elated at the chance to finally climb as I held on to the back of a little red work truck as we bounced along the Savannah road to a giant slab of gorgeous grey granite. The first route they put me on was a 5.11 chimney on a top rope. Damn, was I terrified just 20 ft. off the ground on a taut rope. I was so scared of falling, I stemmed the chimney behind me with the back of my head until it bled as I screamed expletives before taking the rope for the first time in my life. I came down, and they lured me to another route, something super easy. I'll never forget the excitement that they showed me as I battled my way up what was probably a 5.7/5.8, screaming, "Yeah, Kenny! Come on!" with loud, pure, honest encouragement. The next evening we took the truck back out to another part of the park to a truly unique sport route that followed a ravine. It was on this route that one of my new friends, Landon, set me up direct to anchors to photograph down on the climber for the first time in my life. I noticed the sound of quick-draws on granite, rope sliding through them and sunset over the horizon. Up here, there was no room for work-stress. There was no room for questioning my decisions or my future as an artist. There was no room for cancer - only total presence. For the first time in so long my head was in only one place. I was present. I was scared, so excited I was laughing to myself, and totally made breathless by the beauty of the sun setting over the greens and browns of the hills that glowed in that last light. Riding back on the back of the truck, I remember holding onto the rack above as we drove through a smoother part of the road. The landscape was wide open in every direction. I will never forget the feeling of leaning back, closing my eyes, and feeling the perfect temperature of wind and air on my face. The hum of the little diesel truck, a spare tire bouncing around in the bed, people laughing in the cab. I knew I was in the right place. My soul was full, present. I whispered in my mind, as a prayer, "Thank You." I noticed that one of the climbers, Thomas, always had a classic green Stanley Vacuum Bottle sitting in front of him on the ranch. He'd open it, pour steaming coffee into the lid, and he'd just sit and wait for the next conversation to just happen. Something struck me deeply about that. He was really, really good at being present. He would listen like I had never noticed anyone listen to other people. He wasn't thinking about what he was going to say next while another person was speaking to him. And when they finished, he would think, like really think about what he was going to say. And when he didn't know, he would tell you he didn't know. He carried a peace about him that I hadn't ever seen in another person. For some reason, I noticed that Stanley Vacuum Bottle everywhere for those 12 days. In my head, it became an emblem for being present in a current moment. Every night we would all have dinner together and talk around a fire. One of those nights around that fire, Thomas asked me to share with everyone what I was going through, that I was sick. There was a distinct silence and quiet tears. Afterward, everyone stood around me. People spoke kind words to me, and some prayed. Chris, the owner of the ranch, who is in his 70's, belted out a Welsh hymn into the sky. My eyes were closed, my skin chilled and something shifted in the air. I came home, and I felt compelled to email Stanley and tell them some of the story. I told them that I had incredible experiences outside in my life and that I wanted to be a part of a team that got people as psyched as I was. A few weeks later they brought me on as a Brand Ambassador. We returned home on a Friday, and my chemotherapy was to begin on the following Monday. I told the doctor I felt that something had changed and wanted another scan before we began. I postponed treatment for a week, against their advice and had new scans taken. During an editing session at my co-working space in Atlanta, my doctor called me. I stepped outside to take his call, trembling with nerves. My tumor markers plummeted. The cancer vanished. I fell to my knees on the sidewalk in the Old Fourth Ward of Atlanta. That year, Thomas became my mentor on and off the wall and climbing took over a massive part of my life. Its taken me all over the world, (and even all around the Southeast. Turns out there's tons of climbing and a phenomenal community of climbers down here!). Thomas taught me that although having a life so engulfed in being outside has potential to be incredibly self-serving, that it didn't have to be. He taught me that by having shared experiences of joy outside, that you can serve other people, and serve the greater good of preserving these places that mean so much to us. Keep up with Kenny’s adventures by following him on Instagram.   ABOUT KENNY GAMBLIN Kenny is a climber, photographer, and filmmaker based in Atlanta Georgia. Whether on-mountain or in-studio he seeks to find something universally true in the heart of human beings. Kenny is currently pursuing artist representation and remote video editing work to sustain a life of total immersion into the important stories he seeks to tell and experience.
Powder Faces At The Powder Cabin
Powder Faces At The Powder Cabin
“Can you believe we're starting our adventure before its dark,” I said enthusiastically as we loaded the sled in the back of the Tacoma. “We will see about that”, replied Joe, staring at the dark sky streaming overhead. Thick clouds of powdery snow lightly fell through the air pushed by the 15 mile per hour southwest wind. Four feet of fresh snow with a week of sub-zero temperatures had transformed the Sierra into a true winter wonderland. We are off to a magical, hidden backcountry cabin. Deep in the woods, stocked with wood, dartboard (no darts), benches, a broom, two kerosene lanterns and a shovel. Once every decade or so, snow conditions in the Sierra “go off”. “I've been waiting four years for winter”, Joe chuckled as we drew up our plan, which was simple: meet at my house, load the sled, throw gear in truck and go to the cabin. We'd been on enough adventures with each other that the fine trip details become meaningless. We crave change and flexibility. In fact, this is a necessity and one of many reasons why we adventure well together. By 4 pm, sixty pounds of gear and two humans were loaded on the 2008 Ski-Doo, charged for adventure. The settled snow was absurdly deep and lighter than a momma duck’s down feathers. We navigated the thick, snow-covered forest, carefully choosing our route not to get off course or get lost. With a ridiculous amount of gear and Joe riding cockpit (over the gas tank), I found this super challenging and really fun. This caution was mixed with the speed factor that helps with the other objective--don’t bury the sled. It’s like riding on water, if you throttle down, you’re going to get stuck. Forty minutes later, after a slurry of powdery face shots and a few minor miscalculations, we located the cabin. There was over ten feet of snow disguised it as part of the landscape. It was no more than just another roller of powder amongst this magical forest. We dug steps down to the base of the front door and opened the entrance to our familiar winter home. It was just how we had remembered. The particle board floor is heavily eaten by the local rodents exposing the loosely spaced 4×12 floor joists. The walls are old 1x12 boards and the ceiling is lightly boarded then opens to a green corrugated roof. The cabin lacks insulation but is mostly sealed except for the woodpecker holes in the walls. Warped boards also create voids allowing a glimpse of the world outside. It’s nestled in a long valley with a four-leaf clover configuration of bowls above and below it. Joe described the playground as, “bowls, which are connected through bottlenecking tight sections that are waterfalls in the summer and pillow lines and natural doubles in the winter. The wind had sculpted the bowls into large natural waves of buttery “pow”; it is snow-surfing heaven!” We dropped our gear inside and immediately returned to the winter wonderland to build our playground. Snowmobile-powered shuttle runs quickly let us find our favorite sections of the mountain. A series of pathways were packed down around the edges of the bowls. We stopped the machine slightly before dark. We had made the perfect mini-shred as froth levels hit an extreme high. This place was perfect; the snow was perfect--totally worth the four-year wait for winter. We laughed our way down runs all night, hiking our boot packed trails over and over again. We traded off with the “War Pig” (an epic, stubby, powder board made by Ride) and the hand-crafted snow surfer (a chopped and reshaped tail from an old broken board with asphalt shingles glued to the top sheet for added grip; There are no bindings.) Every run revealed a new valley, ditch, or drop that had been sculpted into a powder point-break style wave. It was an epic, powdery evening. The snow continued to fall lightly into the night. Perfect snowflakes drifted around casually in the completely still air. A raging fire was quickly stoked inside the cabin with aggressive amounts of kindling. Raviolis boiled on the top of the woodstove in our Stanley Adventure All-In-One Boil + Brew French Press. Side note: If you have the Stanley Boil + Brew French Press, water can first be boiled, then pasta is placed inside the press. Boil. Pull the press and it becomes a strainer. The line between the last bite of ravioli and first moments of sleep blurred. The cold air was kept at bay by the warm fire. When the door opened in the morning, a deep wave of absurdly light powder spilled into the cabin. Chocolate muesli, shuttle runs, and plenty of fresh pressed coffee filled the snowy day. Temperatures stayed in the low twenties, and the winter land continued to evolve in spectacular fashion. The wind was up as was the rate of snow accumulation. As we were consumed with fun, the small window of time to leave the cabin began to fade. Our adventure was originally planned for one night; conditions decided a different course. The pasta sauce which we had been too tired to warm up for the ravioli the night before, made incredible tomato soup. Wrapped in tinfoil, we toasted one of the three sandwiches inside the stove. Our remaining food supplies consisted of a serving of muesli, an apple, and those two remaining sandwiches. It was easily one of the best soup/sandwich combos we had ever enjoyed. A roaring fire crackled as hundred mile per hour wind gusts blew throughout the night. When the cabin door was opened the next morning, a chest-deep tsunami of light powder exploded into the middle of the 15’ x 15’ cabin. It was unreal how much snow had fallen. We swam out of the toasty, buried cabin and began hiking our favorite features under a bluebird sky. Whappa! Leaving was a distant priority that ate at our minds like the hunger in our stomachs. The sled had issues starting the night before and as much fun as we were having, we needed to shift gears. The icy blast had absolutely plastered the world in brilliant white. The snowmobile had not been spared this plastering. Temperatures were sitting in single digits since the night. The blue sky had been there long enough to keep the temperatures low and now the clouds with fresh snow had moved in. Once again, the snowmobile did not start. We poured our last grinds of coffee into the Stanley French press as we gathered our thoughts and warmed our hands. We consulted with our planned emergency contact, Joe’s Dad and Google. The consensus was that the snowmobile was frozen and the spark plug wires were shot. The stove in the cabin has a lower oven, which is powered with a separate stoking box. We filled the metal box with kindling, logs and hot embers, and then placed it underneath the snowmobile exhaust. The theory was to warm the sled, thaw out the inners and hopefully break the big ice-cube lose. The heavy two-cylinder motor was pulled relentlessly. Joe massaged the cables in an effort to get some friction going. They were so frozen and stiff that they needed to be manually pulled back and forth from within the engine bay. He then packed every metal orifice with boiling hot water bottles. She still would not start. Down to one sandwich and after four hours of sled doctoring, the call was made; it was time to walk out of there. The frozen, dead sled would become a problem for tomorrow and the task of swimming out through the eight feet of fresh powder became our next focus. All right here we go: one last frantic, desperate pull of the rope, and unexpectedly the beast came to life. She was alive, but not happy, and in this snow, the lack of top-end with no power-band would mean constantly getting stuck. Test laps around the canyons of the cabin confirmed this very quickly. As we dug an 8X20X6 foot deep hole to get the crippled, stuck machine out, we discussed our options in the -10 degree air and fading light. “It seemed like it was running better?” “Not really, but not worse, I guess.” “I mean, I guess it’s okay . . .at least it's okay for one person.” This was our discussion as we gathered what thoughts we had to come up with the best plan. Off into a whirling snowstorm and into the twilight, I fought with the beast through the relentlessly deep pow. The sled was completely out of control, revving beyond comfort but now top end. I’d chock it to settle down the RPM’s but this became a fine line to not kill it and become buried. I ventured off course at one point, picking my way through tight trees, unable to stop but also unclear of my location. Eventually, I found the route and managing to get stuck only twice, made it back to the truck. I dug out the buried Tacoma, loaded the broken sled and grabbed new batteries for the headlamp. It was roughly 8PM, super cold and pitch black dark. Joe’s batteries had died in his headlamp so his return was dependent on following my track. I immediately began the hike back to return for Joe. Joe’s experience (swim) was a bit more action packed than mine. Here is his version after we separated. “Jayson disappeared with a sled full of gear. The powder, wind and snow dampened all sound as the roar of his snowmobile faded away nearly instantly. It was beautifully quiet. I began the three-mile snow swim immediately after he left. I would follow the track as fast and as light as possible. “Don't get off the track”--a great plan. Travel in the snow was absurdly difficult, even in the track of the sled. The drifting at the top of the canyon was incredibly deep. The initial climb out of the valley was through seemingly bottomless snow drifts. The darkness continued to creep in and the snow was relentless. I started talking to myself, “Wow this is going to be a long walk--I guess it's more of a swim; just keep swimming, plowing through the snow and the freezing temperatures will not be an issue. Stop and the wet sweaty snow clothes will quickly freeze”. Stopping was literally not an option. This feeling, where you have already fully committed, feels so good; there is one option--keep going--keep going to stay alive. At the crest of the ridge the sunset suddenly became visible lighting up the clouds purple and orange in spectacular strokes. The moon popped out from a clear portion of the sky. A downhill run of knee boarding and penguin sliding on the snowboard covered more ground than the previous hour of labor. I was feeling good... and wet. The downhill run became flat; the pace quickly returned back to a crawl and my mittens were one solid ice chunk. It was time for a vital break. I pushed hard, striped off the Backcountry polypropylene base layer, shirt, and jacket all the way to bare skin. The heat from one’s body combined with the sudden cooling of the fabric, freezes out the moisture. Get everything back on, now I'm shaking (this is expected), get those hands warm put them on your tummy. The burning was welcomed as my icy claw hands came to life. The cold digits tickling my stomach made me giggle. I put on my spare mittens and resumed. Step forward--oh, the snow doesn't hold, it breaks free down to my waist. I get leverage, push forward using my snowboard to swim and lift the next leg out of the hole. One step at a time. A mile and a half into the three-mile hike, a friendly light erupted out of the darkness. Jayson had made it back. We both sat back in the snow for our fist break since we had left earlier. Jay pulled out a half a frozen tri-tip sandwich we got at on our way up at Smithneck Farms. It’s his parent’s delicious café in Sierraville. We cut it clean in half with a cold steel blade. Frozen, smoked tri-tip had never tasted so great. The pace picked up substantially as we followed his hard fought boot tracks. We started laughing and joking: “Seems like an adventure you could bonk on,” Jay chuckles. “Yeah, lucky my friends don't bonk,” I responded. “Yeah or fall,” he volleys back. We both crack up while breathing hard under the strain of our new quickened pace.”   ABOUT JAYSON HALE My name is Jayson Hale. I am an Olympian, Geologist, Photographer and future PA. I seek fun, adventure and anything that fits out of the norm or situates me deep into God’s glorious country.
5 Tailgating Essentials For The Ultimate Pre-Game Party
5 Tailgating Essentials For The Ultimate Pre-Game Party
Pumpkin spice everything may be the highlight of fall for some, but we all know there’s something much greater that makes a comeback at this time of year—football season. Clear your calendars because you officially have plans most days or the week and by plans, we mean that you have some serious game watching to do. The only thing better than watching the game from the comfort of your couch is watching it from the stadium. And the only thing better than the actual game is the tailgate party. In case you need a little crash course on throwing the most epic tailgate party, we’ve put together some pro tips to get you off the starting bench and on the field when it comes to tailgate preparations. Tailgating Essentials For The Ultimate Pre-Game Party Bring The Game Day Command Center There are all sorts of tailgating party setups. Some prefer a simple set up from the back of a truck, others prefer to go big or go home by bringing a fully loaded RV to the game. Both tailgating styles can offer everything you need to cheer on your team. Regardless of the one that you prefer, make sure to bring a few basic things: Chairs  Table Games Portable speaker TV Keep The Command Center Covered One of the best parts of tailgating is being outside in the open air surrounded by people that are just as pumped about the game as you are. Corner your game-day stomping grounds by popping up a tent. Not only will this be a clear way to let everyone know where your party is at, but it also helps to protect your crew from the elements. Tailgate Pro tip: Show your team spirit by buying a tent that’s branded with your team’s colors and mascot, or hang a flag on the side of your tent. Bring A Grill Because There Is No Such Thing As Too Much Tailgating Food Nothing beats tailgating snacks and the good ole grill is a necessity to get the snack party started. You can keep your menu simple with burgers and brats (nothing wrong with that), or you can kick it up a notch with pulled-pork or buffalo chicken sliders. Here in the Pacific Northwest, it’s not uncommon to upscale tailgaters firing up the party with smoked salmon and crab cakes, and other crustaceans. Tailgate Pro tip: If you’re contributing to a tailgate potluck or want to have some snacks ready to roll when you arrive at the game, consider bringing some pre-made cold or hot snacks from home. You can pack that mobile snack (think dip or chicken wings) into our Adventure Vacuum Crock, for a convenient finger-food that’s ready as soon as the tailgate drops. Coolers, Coolers, And More Coolers Coolers are not an option, but rather a necessity for any tailgate party. We’ve been to our fair share of tailgate parties and we’ve got the logistics down to a science. For starters, you’re going to want to have two (possibly three) Adventure 16 QT coolers on hand. You’ll want to fill one cooler with the adult bevies and if you’re bringing kiddos to the party, give them their own cooler filled with kid-friendly drinks. The final cooler should be reserved for your food. If you’re a beginner at packing a cooler, get game-day ready with our tips to properly pack a cooler like a pro. Fact: It’s Not A Tailgate If There Isn’t LOADS Of Beer What makes a tailgate epic? The beer or the food? We’d like to think it’s both, but beer is known to get the party started. Can you think of one memorable tailgate that didn’t include beer? We can’t. Pack up your favorite local beer in one of our growlers and you’ll have 64 oz. ice-cold beer through the entire game—sharing is optional, but highly recommended.     ABOUT STANLEY The Stanley brand has a rich 100+ year history. Born from inventor William Stanley Jr. who forever changed the way hot drinks were consumed, in 1913 he fused vacuum insulation and the strength of steel in one portable bottle, inventing the all-steel vacuum bottle we know and love today.
Tips For Bass Fishing In The Spring
Tips For Bass Fishing In The Spring
Springtime is undoubtedly my favorite time of the year to bed fishing. As air and water temperatures begin to rise, it makes me want to get out and fish. As soon as water temperatures start to stabilize early in the year fish began to move to shallows typically and fishing is always great. Here’s a few general tips that will definitely help you locate a bass during the spring. Move around! During the spring fish are very active and ready to eat. As the water warms their metabolism increases and food is priority. I suggest not spending too much of your time in one area. Move around and cover as much area as possible looking for active fish. Use moving baits I like to use moving baits like crankbaits, jerkbaits and spinnerbaits to help me find active bass. My favorite colors are combinations of shad colors and craw patterns as well. Chartreuse white, pearls white are great colors for crankbaits spinnerbaits and jerkbaits. My typical crawfish patterns are always hues of red, browns and green and typically my choice for crankbaits when fishing around rocks and laydowns. Look for Transition areas Bass typically use migration routes to transition to spring spawning grounds. These locations can easily be found by using a lake map or GPS. If you don’t have either it’s ok! Any visual inconsistency on the shoreline will typically hold a bass. I like to start by fishing around long points adjacent to spawning areas. Most bass species spawn around flat shallow areas once the water temperatures reach around 60 degrees. Targeting any structure just outside of these shallow flat areas is typically time well spent in productive water. Enjoy the experience- When you’re out on the water, don’t forget to take some time to enjoy the experience. Take a moment to admire the beauty of the outdoors while sipping out of your favorite Stanley mug.  I hope this helps you catch more bass on your lake river or pond. Brian Latimer is champion of the 2019 FLW Tour at Lake Seminole. For more tips on catching bass check out his YouTube channel.      ABOUT BRIAN LATIMER I’m Brian Latimer, an FLW angler from Belton, South Carolina. My favorite thing in the world to do is to travel the country bass fishing with my family. The outdoors has always been and always will be my greatest passion and it’s my mission to encourage the next generation of outdoorsmen.
Steelhead Fishing The Pacific Northwest
Steelhead Fishing The Pacific Northwest
It was 9 am, we had just pulled an all-nighter and as much as my brain was overly amped for the river, my eyelids had a different response. I poured the last drop of hot brew from our Stanley Master Series Vacuum Bottle and capped it with a strong pull of whiskey. John was investigating the condition of our local outhouse so with my concoction of liquid stimulates, I kicked it into high gear. I ripped into the truck and began tearing out what was important. Fishing gear, beer, coffee, eggs and dog food. Finn’s observation of our new home quickly turned as he heard his lifeline of crunchies fall to the ground. I left him a weeks worth of protein for his indulgence then continued chaotically flinging items from the truck. Moments later, lacking a Snickers and not enough whiskey in my coffee, panic, and flail was on the menu. Without hesitation, the truck turned into something that looked like the aftermath of a hurricane. I was reluctant enough to find John’s dirty underwear but my wading boots… were absent. They were probably catching sunrays, dryer than a lizard turd on the front porch of my deck, 400 miles away. At this point during my dismay, relieved and ready to take on the day, John arrived back to camp. He quickly recognized the degree of my distress and offered up his Muck boots. Although I envisioned myself joyfully throwing flies across the steelhead green colored river in my sweet new Mucks, I couldn’t help but also envision myself sinking to the bottom of the river with the equivalent of two cinder blocks attached to each foot. But then it dawned on me, we brought dive gear to float the river so we could nerd out on fish. My dive booties were the cure for this early morning disaster and by 10:30 am we were on the water. Later that evening, just before sunset, Grayson showed up in his beautiful, early 90’s steelhead rig. It’s a white Ford with a huge tan and teal-green aluminum cab-over. He may have been 6 hours late to the show but with a valid excuse and not bad considering the headache he encountered. Siri gave him a detour showcasing roads that hadn’t seen life since the early 60’s. After breaking out a small hand saw to cut two trees out of the road and snow nearly to the bumper, he made it back around a closed road, which was never closed. The following morning we set sail to float the river, but not exactly how we had envisioned it. We had all brought pontoon boats but when Grayson’s rental (buddy loaned boat) didn’t come with the correct valve for inflation, we resorted to what would be way sweeter than three boats. Two boats, banded together with tie-downs, bungee cords and a set of oars to stiffen the new steelhead craft. This proved to be a prime method to focus our efforts on the river. One man on the sticks, the other two could practice knot-tying techniques as we caught each other more than anything else. As for Finn, he patiently sat in the middle of our craft working on his dog tan and dodging huge bird-like contraptions fastened to hooks. Over the next 3 days, we swung the river from dusk to dawn and consumed enough beers to admit ourselves into AA upon returning home. Mornings consisted of fresh pressed coffee from the Stanley Classic Vacuum French Press and raw egg shooters. Nights consisted of steak, whiskey and war stories. We never did hook into a fish but we had built large enough calluses on our fingers from stripping flies that we could justly the fun we had.   Two days later, repacked and ready to explore new water, the second leg with a different crew was set. Danny and I drove north into Oregon as Austin headed south to meet us. There was a storm building on the horizon and we planned to set camp on a river with the best opportunity to be center punched by its wrath. This time, instead of beachfront property, we posted up a few hours inland on a river none of us had ever fished. Blinded by lack of planning, the uncertainty of our location and secrecy of the fishery, we were unsure of what we were getting into. We arrived at 3 am; it was pitch-black dark, the stars bright enough to generate faint shadow off the towering pines and a chill that cut through our best puffies. We threw our bags next to the river, shared a few nightcaps under our headlamps, Danny prepared the coffee water and we impatiently anticipated what the morning would bring. Three hours later with just a tinge of morning light, we crawled out of our bags, stiff and frosted from the river’s mist. This was where Little Foot and her dinosaur friends roamed. Deciduous trees mixed in with an array of firs and cedars. Florescent green moss blanketing the ancient volcanic landscape. With fresh pressed hot brew in our Stanley mugs, we anxiously stood next to the river in preparation for the three-day attack. We had planned on floating the waterway in my 18-foot Avon raft but that soon changed when we got a hold of the river map. This was a destination not just sought after for swinging flies, but also for its whitewater appeal. Most sections proved to be class III with up to class IV. Being that we were all rookies on the sticks, unsure of the conditions and would have two dogs on board, who would rather run around like wild beasts, the float plan was reduced to a foot plan. As we set out on foot and really got a taste of what this area was made of, my geology nerd side was beginning to surface and at times I was more interested in rock observation (licking, biting, breaking) than that of the trouts. The river cut through volcanic mudflows from the Crater Lake eruption, columnar basalt formations, and towering basalt spires. There were even some ancient sedimentary deposits from when the whole area was home to ocean dwellers millions of years ago. Neat. By the end of the day, we were finally getting the weather we asked for. Clouds rolled in, rain followed and the low fog was just icing on the cake. We fished until dark and with no steelhead flesh in hand, drove back to camp where we finished out the evening. Austin started a fire in the canvas tent to dry out gear and warm up the dogs. Danny prepared carne asada over a smoldering fire outside and I was hands on each end. The night grew late, the fire got big and the fish we hadn’t caught, got bigger. The next day we woke to snow, snowflakes so large and dense you could hear them striking the water. I’m not sure what Little Foot and her crew thought about snow, but I felt like our dinosaur jungle was really coming alive. The following days were marked by similar patterns. Incredible scenery, sloppy conditions and no fish fooled into tasting our feathery flies. Although we didn’t put our hands on the mystical and most mysterious fish of the west, that was never the ultimate goal. We are attracted to the serenity of what winter steelhead brings to the table. While most hang their rods during these months, and for good reason, we are drawn toward this sick desire to wade into an ice-cold river, toy with frostbite, battle the elements thrown our way and see only a few other fishermen who are willing to do the same. Some trips are mellow but others, the ones we seek, leave us with bruised egos and smiles from ear to ear.   ABOUT JAYSON HALE My name is Jayson Hale. I am an Olympian, Geologist, Photographer and future PA. I seek fun, adventure and anything that fits out of the norm or situates me deep into God’s glorious country.
5 Things Polar Explorer Eric Larsen Thinks You Should Know About Cold Weather Camping
5 Things Polar Explorer Eric Larsen Thinks You Should Know About Cold Weather Camping
Here's the deal: I don't like being cold. As someone who has literally built my whole life around traveling and camping in the world's most extreme environments, you would think this would be a huge problem. The reality is quite different, however. While I may not like the actual 'feeling' of being cold, I love being outside in the cold; and more importantly, being warm and comfortable no matter how low the temperature drops. Winter is an incredible time to be outside and knowing a few basic pointers can often mean the difference between fun with friends and frostbite. Cold weather camping should be an enjoyable experience, so keep it that way by following these simple, yet critical winter camping tips. Stay Warm, Seriously… Any discussion of winter camping should begin with an overview of layering. The concept of layering involves adding or taking off different layers of clothing as you heat up and cool off. The goal of any winter activity, surprisingly, is to not get too hot or sweat. Once you sweat, the warm insulating layer of air next to your body is replaced by heat sucking water (sweat). Therefore, I always wear a light moisture wicking base layer next to my skin to pull sweat away from my body. Next, I’ll add an insulating layer which can be another base layer or fleece. On top of that, I’ll add some type of windproof (and breathable) shell. Depending on my level of activity or the temperature I may add or subtract layers as necessary. Ice fishing in northern Minnesota? Six or Seven layers. Winter backpacking? Only two or three total. Take Care Of Your Feet For starters, it’s a good idea to have some type of winter rated boot. It’s important to keep the boot dry from the inside (sweat) or the outside snow and slush. After that, I like to use a liner sock and then a thicker sock. Be sure that your boots don’t feel tight as it will cut off warmth-enhancing blood flow. You also lose a lot of heat through the soles of your feet and contact (conduction) with the ground. I always suggest using a good insole, and if you're hanging out in the snow for extended periods of time, stand on an insulated pad as well. Tents: Let’s Talk About Them… You’d be surprised at how much comfort (and warmth) the two thin little layers of nylon can provide while winter camping. If possible, use a four season tent which generally has less ‘mesh’ on the inner tent and therefore holds heat better. When choosing a tent spot use snowshoes, skis or your boots to tramp down an adequately-sized footprint on which to set up your tent. Exchange your summer stakes for larger snow stakes, pickets or things like poles or skis which you can use to make a ‘dead man’. I usually bring a small brush to clean off boots and clothes so no extra snow gets inside the tent (and melts). In base camp situations, I like to dig out the vestibule which can make getting in and out as well as storing gear and cooking much easier. Sleeping In The Cold Just like layering clothes on your body, you can do the same thing while sleeping. I generally use a cold-weather rated sleeping bag with a larger bag over it for additional insulation. Of course, you also need to insulate yourself from the snow and therefore need a winter-rated sleeping pad. I tend to use two pads in winter making sure one is a closed cell foam pad. Make sure you are wearing dry layers while sleeping and if you want an extra dose of extended heat, add fill up a water bottle with hot water and place it inside the bag at your feet. Lastly, for really cold nights, ensure that your sleeping bag is properly cinched around your face and head. What To Eat In The Cold The nice thing about camping in the winter is that you don’t have to worry about any of your food spoiling or going rotten. Still, food that freezes solid can be difficult to eat. Therefore, I try to choose foods that I can either eat easily when they are frozen or require little prep time. I try to portion foods and remove excess packaging ahead of time and pack each day’s meals together. In winter, I generally eat more calories than summer but always make sure I have a good balance of carbohydrates, proteins, and fats. Soup Is Essential For Winter Camping It may not sound like a big deal, but soup has saved my you-know-what on more than one occasion. Every day on my expeditions we make a soup in the morning in one of the Stanley vacuum food jars. At lunch, the soup is still hot (no matter how cold it gets) and we get an extra boost of energy and warmth. Philosophically, the soup provides a good halfway point throughout the day and we always look forward to ‘soup break’. Hydration Is Key Even When It’s Cold While most people focus on hydration in the summertime, it often gets overlooked in cold conditions. I travel on a schedule stopping every hour for a drink. Using any of the Stanley vacuum bottles to ensure your drinks stay warm and drinkable is paramount when you are winter camping.       ABOUT ERIC LARSEN Eric Larsen is a polar adventurer, expedition guide, dog musher, and educator. He has spent the past 15 years of his life traveling in some of the most remote and wild places left on earth. In 2010 he became the first person in history to reach the world's three 'poles' within a 365-day period. 
The Maah Daah Hey Trail: A Hidden Mountain Bike Gem Of North Dakota
The Maah Daah Hey Trail: A Hidden Mountain Bike Gem Of North Dakota
Being an avid mountain biker, you wouldn’t think living in North Dakota would be an ideal place to call your home. In most places of the state there are some of the flattest places in the world, but there is one place that is unlike anywhere else. That place is the badlands of western North Dakota, home to the Maah Daah Hey Trail. Having lived on the eastern side of the state for 10 years I felt it was finally time to give a go at the Maah Daah Hey Trail. The phrase Maah Daah Hey catches most people in curiosity in what in the world does that mean? The phrase comes from the language of the local Mandan Indians with a meaning of: An area that will be around for a long time. This meaning can best be understood when you stop to take a break midway through a 25 mile day on the bike, and realize the vastness of the North Dakota badlands. When I decided to finally tackle a part of the 144 mile trail I recruited my buddy Nick who is always up for an adventure and an avid mountain biker alike. Then came the biggest question, how do we logistically ride pieces of the trial and what gear do we need to bring? We decided to bring two pickups to shuttle ourselves from campsites to trailheads in order to bike the trail back to our camp. The game plan was to camp three nights in three different campsites with around 25 miles of epic mountain biking in between each site. We of course were hooked up with my favorite Stanley gear for a trip such as this. My favorite piece of gear for a camping trip is the Adventure Base Camp Cook Set 4X. This thing has everything you need to cook and devour any meal you throw at it. We also were covered with Adventure Stacking Vacuum Pints and Classic Vacuum Water bottles to keep our coffee warm and our water cold! We arrived late Thursday afternoon. After seeing a large bull snake slither through our planned site we moved to the other end of the campground and immediately poured a couple beers and set up camp. (Picture 1) That evening we grilled a couple burgers and enjoyed a local brew out of our Stanley Classic Vacuum Growler around the fire.  The next morning, we woke up to have breakfast, fuel up on coffee and pack our bags for day one. We anxiously drove around to the trailhead sipping hot coffee and unloaded our bikes for what would be an unforeseen exhausting day. We started out ripping through the trail in a lower river basin full of sage brush, then we started to climb. After a grueling 1,300 ft. climb we were pretty gassed for a couple of flat landers, so we stopped to have a snack and enjoy the views. The rest of the afternoon we spent climbing prairie meadows, dropping down clay faces into creek beds, and tittering along narrow switchbacks. At about mile 15 we realized we had gone out a little too hard and we were really feeling exhausted. We knew we still had 10 miles back to camp and the realization we were literally in the middle of nowhere with only one way back to camp started to sink in. Those last 10 miles of mountain biking were some of the most challenging because of our physical and mental state. We pushed and encouraged each other and finally made it back to our home away from home. We were a mess. We were thirsty, hungry, and exhausted. We spent the rest of the day recovering from our two wheeled 25 mile, 3,400 ft. elevation gain day. Unfortunately, that night it began to rain and continued on through the afternoon the next day. We spent most of that day drinking coffee and driving around viewing the vastness of the badlands. We moved camp that afternoon to relax and recover from the day before. Our last day on the Maah Daah Hey Trail was a quick morning bike of around eight miles. We were pretty tired still but also the trails were pretty slippery and wet in spots so we had to call it quits early. Overall, the trip was a great experience and learning opportunity for our next time out. We will definitely be returning to cover more parts of the trail that we missed with a plan to cover the entire trail over the next couple summers. About Nolan Berg: I was born and raised in northwest Minnesota. From as early as I can remember I have always loved and lived the life of an outdoorsman. Hiking and camping are a big part of my life, as well as trail running and of course, mountain biking. I love the destinations mountain biking can take you, as well as the speed and amount of area you can explore on a bike. Keep up with my adventures by following me on Instagram.   ABOUT NOLAN BERG I was born and raised in northwest Minnesota. From as early as I can remember I have always loved and lived the life of an outdoorsman. Hiking and camping are a big part of my life, as well as trail running and of course, mountain biking. I love the destinations mountain biking can take you, as well as the speed and amount of area you can explore on a bike.
Women’s Rock Climbing Trip: Beckey Route In The Washington Pass
Women’s Rock Climbing Trip: Beckey Route In The Washington Pass
I recently broke my finger during a bad fall while climbing in Index, Washington. My feet slipped while leading a finger crack. Against better judgment I reached for the gear, my finger went through the carabiner and the force of the fall broke my middle finger. I know it doesn't sound like a huge deal, it's just a finger. But as a rock climbing guide, my fingers are my livelihood. I had also promised one of my high school friends, Kalyn, that I would take her alpine climbing. Work was out of the question, but I had an idea of how to make the climb still happen. I called my friend Sara. Earlier in the year, Sara told me one of her goals was to lead every pitch of the Beckey Route, an ultra-classic, 4 pitch, 5.6 route in the Washington Pass. It’s not known for being a challenging climb, which made it perfect for us. I was going into it with a broken finger and it was Kalyn's fourth day ever climbing. Sara agreed to the adventure. Ladies trip! When the alarm went off at 6 a.m., Kalyn and Sara barely stirred. It was a restless night of sleep at Cutthroat Peak Trailhead, basecamp for climbing in Washington Pass. All of us decided to carpool in my van. Which meant that all three of us shared my full-size bed. I got up first and went for the aero press. I knew that if I wanted to get these ladies up and ready to climb, coffee was a necessary first step. I gave them my Stanley thermos and continued to brew coffee for myself. They finally got moving. We filled our bags with the necessities; climbing gear, cookies, and champagne. We set two goals for ourselves - have fun and be safe. We finally hit the trail around 9:30 a.m. The first hour of walking follows a well-marked trail before it splits off to the left, forcing us to scramble up steep and incredibly loose rock. We had to move carefully as one poor movement could have sent rocks crashing onto each other. Kalyn had never been in this kind of terrain. Every other step she sent rocks crashing down the gully. We had her go last so she wouldn't kill us with each misstep. After about two hours we finally made it to the base of our climb. From there the first three pitches were smooth sailing. Sara led every pitch. Kalyn went second to remove the gear. And I came up last - moving slowly as I figured out how to climb without using the broken finger on my right hand. Then we arrived to the base of the infamous 5.6 slab move. I walked up to the giant boulder and decided to try free-soloing (climbing without a rope). It was difficult without using my right hand, but easy enough. I didn't know if Kalyn should try it. She had less than a handful of climbing days under her belt. If you fall when you are free-soloing there can be serious consequences. But she insisted. Sara spotted her from behind to protect her head in case she fell while I coached her through the movement from above. She pulled herself onto the lip of the boulder. She was a little terrified, but stoked. Sara came up last, as she climbed I asked her to look up and smile so I could take a photo. She responded quickly, "I hate slab climbing, just tell me where the next hold is." Together we scrambled the last hundred feet to the summit, took a few poorly timed photos, drank champagne, ate cookies, and laughed. It was a perfect day of climbing. All of us approached it from entirely different places, with different hopes. And we all stood on the summit together to experience the joy that the mountains can bring. From three years of experience to three days, the mountains move us in the same way."     ABOUT STANLEY The Stanley brand has a rich 100+ year history. Born from inventor William Stanley Jr. who forever changed the way hot drinks were consumed, in 1913 he fused vacuum insulation and the strength of steel in one portable bottle, inventing the all-steel vacuum bottle we know and love today.