Mountain Men Season 14 Episode 3 Recap: Tom Oar’s 48th Trapping Season, Painter Family’s Survival, and Harsh Winter Grit

Winter is closing in, and across the American frontier the cast of Mountain Men are bracing for the challenges that define their way of life. From hunters in Montana’s breaks, to dog mushers in Alaska’s Valley of Champions, to families raising livestock in the frozen Yukon-Koyukuk, and veteran trappers keeping traditions alive in the Yaak Valley—every story this week reveals how survival depends on skill, grit, and family bonds. Season 14, Episode 3 doesn’t just show the work; it shows the stakes, as new children are on the way, tools must be sheltered, and every decision can make the difference between thriving and barely getting by. Let’s dive into what happened.

Jake & Bo’s Hunt in the Breaks

Jake and his brother Bo set out into the rugged country, aiming to stockpile enough meat to carry both of their families through the winter. With both men expecting babies—Bo a girl due in March and Jake a boy in April—the pressure is higher than ever. They haul their gear downriver, pitch a tent, and prepare for days of hard hunting. The breaks, a stretch of wild country teeming with bighorn sheep, antelope, elk, and deer, offers both promise and challenge.

As they glass the ridges, spotting a group of does is a positive start, but the local regulations require them to track down an antlered buck. Jake, who has only hunted this ground once before, leans on his sharp instincts and knowledge of sign to guide them through the terrain. The brothers hike into steep canyons and thick brush, scanning hillsides for movement and reading tracks along the riverbanks. Each encounter—whether seeing does grazing or hearing distant hoofbeats—adds urgency to their mission. With family obligations waiting at home, and their wives preparing for new babies, the hunt becomes more than a test of skill; it is a responsibility that weighs heavily. Determined not to return empty-handed, Jake and Bo press deeper into the country, rifles ready, pushing themselves to bring back venison before winter closes in.

Laurel Eklund’s Training Ground

In Alaska’s Two Rivers, musher Lauro Eklund works to improve his Iditarod chances. After finishing 26th in his rookie run, he’s focused on breaking into the top 20. Two Rivers, wedged between two forks of the Chena River, is known as the “Valley of Champions” and offers nearly 250 miles of trails that connect into endless networks of wilderness routes. To capitalize on this, Lauro builds a shortcut trail from his kennel of 31 huskies straight into the system, saving precious minutes each day when training.

The work is demanding. He spends hours clearing brush and cutting with a chainsaw, stopping often to sharpen the blade. Even small improvements, like trimming a few minutes off each run, can add up over a season. For Lauro, efficiency is everything—he knows that in the Iditarod, every minute counts and shaving even a day off his race time could mean the difference between finishing in the middle and breaking into the money-winning top 20.

With snow still scarce, he hitches both veteran sled dogs and young yearlings to an ATV. Training on wheels becomes “a big treadmill,” a way to rack up base miles before the real snow arrives. The four-wheeler allows him to set the pace and keep his teams steady, working their muscles and stamina. Lauro divides his huskies into an A team of seasoned dogs—including veterans who finished Nome last year—and a B team of yearlings who are just learning the ropes. Each run is carefully calculated, and Lauro keeps a close eye on his young pups, eager to see which of them will mature into future leaders.

Focused on tightening up his game, Lauro pushes himself as much as his dogs. The trail work, the daily miles, and the discipline of fall training all reflect his determination to climb the ranks. With six months until race day, every decision is aimed at sharpening his edge and preparing his team to endure the thousand-mile challenge across Alaska.

The Painter Family’s Winter Stockpile

In Alaska’s Yukon-Koyukuk, the Painter family faces some of the most severe living conditions in North America. Winters can plunge to 60 degrees below zero, and the 65-mile trip to town is often impossible once the snow sets in. In the past, the family has been isolated for up to six weeks at a time, which makes food reserves essential for survival. This year, with Soraya pregnant, the need for secure, high-quality food supplies takes on an added urgency.

After repeated attempts to harvest a moose proved unsuccessful, the family turned to their own flock. A ram named Domino was selected because his wool and temperament made him unsuitable for breeding. Removing him from the flock would ease pressure on the other animals, while also providing a crucial source of meat. The slaughter became a full family undertaking. Soraya tied Domino’s legs to keep him steady, while Chance carried out the actual kill, ensuring it was quick and precise. The couple’s two small children were kept nearby so they could witness and understand the connection between the animals they care for and the food that sustains them.

Once the ram was dispatched, Soraya collected the blood in a mug, drinking it for its iron and nutrients—something she especially valued during pregnancy. She described the taste as rich and hearty, comparing it to hot chocolate. The family then skinned the animal, carefully preserving the thick hide to be repurposed as bedding through the winter. For the children, handling the hide and seeing the butchering process firsthand reinforced lessons about both respect for animals and the practical realities of remote living.

The butchering process continued with Chance breaking the ram down into usable cuts: backstraps, flanks, and quarters. Soraya ground tougher portions into hamburger meat to ensure nothing was wasted. Because refrigeration is limited in such a remote environment, the meat had to be preserved quickly to prevent spoilage. By the end, the family secured about 50 pounds of meat along with a usable hide, strengthening their winter provisions. The exercise illustrated how survival in the Yukon-Koyukuk depends on skill, careful resource management, and the ability to balance necessity with respect for the animals that provide sustenance.

Tom Oar’s 48th Trapping Season & Final Ride

In Montana’s Yaak Valley, 81-year-old Tom Oar greets the first snow of the season with a hot cup of coffee before heading out to start what is now his 48th year on the trapline—and, as the History Channel has confirmed, his final season on Mountain Men. For Tom and his wife Nancy, trapping has always been more than survival—it is the rhythm of their shared life. Nancy stays home, turning furs into crafts and keeping the cabin warm, while Tom ventures into the woods. Their morning exchange, lighthearted yet caring, reflects decades of partnership: she wishes him safety, and he promises to bring home fur, joking about making her the “wealthiest woman in the whole Yaak.”

Tom’s home line is a 10-mile loop he laid out to hit the forest’s hot spots where fur bearers roam. Over the years, he’s trapped nearly everything: mink, muskrat, otter, beaver, bobcat, pine marten, and weasel. Opening day still feels like Christmas to him—each trap a gift to check in the morning. But age brings new challenges. Fallen logs block the trail, snow and ice punish his knees, and every step must be measured to avoid injury. Still, Tom presses forward, setting a dozen traps in one day.

He begins with a bobcat set, carefully placing it near the base of a tree where cats are known to cache kills. For weasels, he opts for larger traps designed to kill quickly by the chest rather than leaving the animal struggling by a leg. His methods reveal both his experience and his concern for minimizing suffering. Later in the day, he pushes through fatigue to reach open water—the best place to set traps for beaver and otter. Reflecting on past state restrictions, he recalls when trappers were limited to ten beaver a year, noting how much the regulations have changed and how today much of his work involves service trapping to help landowners manage flooding caused by beavers.

By the time the sun sinks, Tom has traps set for nearly every major species. The hike back is long and tiring, and at 81, he admits he cannot do what he once did. Returning home, he shares coffee and talk with Nancy, describing rabbit tracks that bode well for bobcats. They laugh together, comforted by familiar rituals. Yet there is an underlying awareness that this may be the last time cameras capture such a season. Nancy voices her quiet worry—that someday Tom may twist a knee too far out in the woods—but she also knows he will hold on as long as he can.

As he closes out nearly half a century of trapping on the Yaak, Tom Oar’s story becomes more than another chapter in Mountain Men. It is the conclusion of a career and lifestyle that has defined the show since its inception. His retirement underscores both the physical limits even the toughest outdoorsmen face and the enduring legacy of a man who embodied the fight to “live wild and free.”

Paul & Chance’s Pole Barn Project

Also in Montana’s remote Yaak Valley, within the Kootenai National Forest, trapper Paul  Antczak is focused on preparing his homestead for the winter. After two years of living on his land, he’s managed to put a roof over his own head, but his tools and equipment remain exposed. With snowstorms looming, Paul knows it’s critical to protect his valuables before they’re buried under snow. The plan: build a 16-by-20-foot pole barn with the help of his son Chance, racing the clock before the ground freezes solid.

Together they mark out the corners and begin digging 11 post holes. Pole barns are cheaper than modern structures yet durable enough to last, their strength coming from the large posts Paul harvests right off his land. While Chance preps the ground, Paul treats the raw pine timber with a mixture of burnt oil and transmission fluid to repel water and prevent rot. He avoids cement, explaining that it can trap moisture and speed decay. The work is slow—dealing with bent and warped lodgepole—but they “roll with the punches,” adjusting each post until it’s plumb.

As the perimeter rises, Paul heads into the forest to gather more lodgepoles, long and straight, ideal for rafters. Known as “the tree that built the West,” lodgepoles have been used for centuries by Plains Indians to make teepee poles. Paul appreciates the self-sufficiency of cutting his own lumber when prices elsewhere run high. Skidding heavy logs out of the woods, he and Chance carry them back to the homestead, ready to form the skeleton of the barn.

The most daunting step comes with raising the ridge beam, a 20-foot span that forms the peak of the roof. Working carefully, they maneuver it into place, mindful of the risks—Paul reminds himself that the nearest hospital is far away in Libby. With the ridge beam secured, they add 16 rafters to finish the frame. By day’s end, the structure begins to take shape, solid and functional.

For Paul, the project is more than just a barn. It’s about passing knowledge down to his son, who helps on weekends. He acknowledges with pride that one day the property will belong to Chance, even if his son doesn’t fully realize it yet. As the beams settle into place, Paul reflects on the satisfaction of building with his own hands and the security of knowing his tools will be safe for the winter ahead. What looks like a simple pole barn is also a legacy in the making—a shelter that embodies both survival and continuity of family on the Montana frontier.