Peter Wadsworth didn’t grow up in the kind of place where guns hung over the mantle or dogs dried by the fireplace after a proper partridge hunt. “I grew up in the suburbs of New York City. I didn’t even know anyone who owned a gun,” he tells me, laughing.
But skiing—now, that was a different story. As a boy, family trips to the Green Mountains of Vermont and the Whites of New Hampshire ignited a roaring fire in Peter’s winters. He and his family would hit the slopes every year, but it wasn’t until college that he really understood what skiing could be. That’s when he discovered backcountry skiing—the kind without lifttickets, without crowds. Just silence, and the feeling of untouched, snowy wilderness.
That love for backcountry freedom grew in the rolling untouched powder of New England, where Peter fell in love with capturing the great white open pages that were untouched deep in the mountains with his camera.
Alaska is filled with adventure and opportunity for those willing to brave the elements. (Photo courtesy of Peter Wadsworth) Moving to Alaska Peter’s journey into photography grew naturally alongside his love for skiing. “When you're out in these remote places, you see things that are just breathtaking. I wanted to capture those moments, not just for the memories, but to show people the beauty that’s out there.”
New England may have formed Peter’s roots for adventure, but it was Alaska where he truly found what he was searching for beyond the roadway. Within nine months of being here, we bought a house. I knew right away—this is where I want to be. It didn’t take long for Alaska to feel like home.”
There’s a wildness to Alaska that Peter had not found anywhereelse. It pulled him in and made him see the mountains and landscapes around him differently. One of those eye-opening moments came when Peter was hiking in the Chugach Mountains.
"This older gentleman, just heading out, pulls up next to me with binoculars and says, ‘Look up there. Those little white figures on that misty ridge are Dall sheep.’ I had no idea at the time that people paid thousands of dollars to hunt them.”
That moment really hit Peter: “I remember thinking, ‘I’m living in this place where these incredible animals are right in front of me, and people travel from all over the world for the chance to hunt them.’ That was a real turning point for me. I thought, ‘I need to start learning about hunting. I can’t just be an observer in this landscape.”
Peter's hunting by skis started with a lab, but now is done primarily behind GSPs. (Photo courtesy of Peter Wadsworth) Taking a Bird Dog Backcountry Skiing Carter, Peter’s old senior Lab, was also one of the first to nudge him toward hunting. “That dog had a nose for birds, even though he wasn’t trained for it. He did great on spruce grouse.”
But at first, hunting and training dogs was just casual. “We’d be out backcountry skiing, and sometimes a friend would drop a ski or lose a pole in the deep snow. Instead of trudging through the snow to get it, I’d just call my dog. I’d say, ‘Hold on, don’t worry about it—I’ll send my dog.’ Carter would run off, find the ski or pole, and bring it right back. People were always blown away. They’d say, ‘Wait, your dog can do that?’ It was like our little party trick in the backcountry.”
But the bug bit him, like it has for all of us reading these pages, and eventually, he and his former spouse got two GSPs, joined their local North American Versatile Hunting Dog Association (NAVHDA) chapter, and went all in on gun dogs.
Peter credits NAVHDA for much of their dogs’ success. “NAVHDA has been huge for me. I didn’t grow up with hunting dogs, so joining NAVHDA was a game changer. It gave me the structure and training tools we needed to bring out the best in our dogs.”
Hunting on skis is logistically challenging, even more so when a dog is involved. (Photo courtesy of Peter Wadsworth) Logistics of Upland Hunting on Skis Skiing had always been Peter’s first love, so it was only natural that he’d find a way to blend it with his dogs and upland hunting. “It seemed obvious to me,” he says. “You’re already out there in the backcountry, skis on. Why not bring the dogs, a shotgun, and make a day of it?” But it wasn’t something he’d seen many others do. “Ski hunting? It’s rare. I can probably count the people I know who do it in Alaska on one hand.”
The real challenge was getting the gear right. “You can’t just walk into a store and buy a setup for hunting on skis. It doesn’t exist,” he says, shaking his head. “I spent years figuring it out—trying different skis, boots, bindings. But once I got the right combination, it was like everything fell into place. “You need skis that are light, but sturdy. Boots that can handle walking, but also give support. It took awhile to get it right.” His setup is tailored for long days in the wilderness, blending the lightweight feel of mountaineering gear with the rugged durability needed for Alaska’s backcountry.
Hunting on skis is also no easy task. Themiles are long, the snow is deep, and the Alaskan weather is anything but predictable. “You’ve got to be ready for anything,” Peter says. “Deep snow, avalanches, storms, and days where you’re covering 15 miles or more. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
Outfitting the dogs was equally important. For every one of Peter’s 15 miles, they are covering twice that in the snow. “I recommend using neoprene vests to keep them warm, and paw balm to prevent frostbite,” Peter says. The cold in Alaska can be unforgiving. “In January, we only get about five hours of daylight, and the temperatures drop fast. You’ve got to be prepared for anything.”
And then there’s the wildlife. “Moose, wolves, even wolverines. You’ve got to respect the animals out there. But truthfully? It’s the moose that scare me the most. They’re unpredictable.”
Ptarmigan are white in the winter and burrow in the snow to stay warm, making them hard to find. (Photo courtesy of Peter Wadsworth) The Snowy Alaskan Backcountry Of all the upland game Peter pursues by skis, the willow ptarmigan is his favorite. Alaska’s state bird is the embodiment of winter upland hunting. “They’re built for the snow. They don’t fly at the first sign of danger. They burrow in, hide, or run,” Peter explains. They rely on their camouflage. It’s not a matter of seeing them—it's a matter of trusting your dogs. “The hard part is getting the dogs to steady when the birdsdon’t flush. Sometimes, they’ll just scurry along the snow right ahead of you. As you might imagine, steadiness training is essential.”
Ptarmigan have a habit of burying themselves in snow to stay warm, making them invisible.
“You could be skiing through what looks like an empty white valley, and suddenly, your dog’s on point,” Peter says, leaning back in his chair. “At first, you don’t believe it. You don’t see anything but snow. But sure enough, those birds are there, buried like little ghosts, and when they burst out, sometimes 20 or 30 at a time, it’s like white popcorn flying everywhere.”
Though the ptarmigan season runs from August to March, Peter favors late winter. “By March, they’re in coveys and stronger fliers. The challenge ramps up, and the birds are in peak condition. That’s when the real fun begins.”
But for Peter, it is the happiness found in a perfect formula of passions. The dogs, the birds, and the untouched backcountry has always drew him in. With every new snow, there is an opportunity for a new story, and a new photo to capture it all.
“The snow is like a white page, and the tracks tell the whole story. You can read it—where the birds have been, where they’re heading, even if there’s a predator nearby. It’s all right there, written in the snow. You just have to know how to look.”
“There’s something magical about it—following those tracks in this vast, untouched landscape. It’s like stepping into a story that’s unfolding in real time. The snow is pure, but the tracks give you clues, and then suddenly, you and your dogs are a part of it, running and skiing through and making your own marks on that great white page.”
Hunting on skis in Alaska brings a host of unique challenges, everything from finding equipment to dealing with wildlife, weather, and logistics. (Photo courtesy of Peter Wadsworth) What Makes a Good Ski Hunting Setup? “Despite years of experience with human-powered skiing, my gear still fell short when I first started hunting on skis. After several years of trial and error, I’ve found a few things that work well—and many that don’t.
A good hunting ski should be short, fat, and stiff. Aim for skis that are about sternum height. For me, at 6’1”, that’s around 160 cm. For stability while wingshooting, the skis should be as wide as your foot—roughly 100 mm (4 inches). Full metal edges are a must for side-hilling, so I’ve turned to kids’ downhill powder skis for my setups.
Climbing skins are essential. You’ll need full-length, full-width skins to keep up with a bird dog in steep terrain. Avoid skis with partial climbing skins pre-installed—they won’t cut it, and they’re usually not stiff enough.
When it comes to bindings, go for a free-pivot system. The universal bindings that strap over hiking boots are inexpensive but not nearly as efficient or stable as a Dynafit-style touring binding with plastic boots. Rottefella’s Xplore binding system is another great option. Avoid cross-country bindings (they’re not stiff enough) and telemark bindings (too much resistance for a smooth stride).
If you’ve struggled with keeping up with bird dogs on skis, it might be your gear. A custom-built kit with these features can make ski hunting faster and more efficient.”
