Men's Journal February 2018

I USED TO HATE the beach. I blame the fact that I grew up near the Jersey Shore. Not the nice parts down south—I’m talking about the area best known for Snookis, airbrushed- T-shirt joints, and (back in my day) a native species called Hypodermicus needleus. These feelings really didn’t change until my wife and I went searching for that much-needed break while parenting our first kid. Without much knowledge of the Caribbean, we took her co-worker’s advice and headed to Anguilla, an 18-month-old baby in tow. In retrospect, it was an odd choice. Big resorts, wildly expensive but average food, and the lack of a strong indigenous culture to explore are not really my thing. But the promise of your own private piece of paradise at a reasonable price was…

I really enjoyed Joseph Hooper’s take on testosterone treatments [“A Cure for Middle Age?” December 2017]. Although it’s tempting to think testosterone might have anti-aging effects, it isn’t clear what the benefits and risks are. There’s controversy about the potential for heart disease and stroke. What is clear is that these supplements are not an elixir of youth. —DR. BRADLEY ANAWALT UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON, SEATTLE ON THIN ICE I read about Sam Elias’ epic climb in Iceland with great interest [“Holiday on Ice,” by Ryan Krogh, December 2017]. I teach ice climbing, and it’s a risky sport with the possibility of avalanches, though the biggest risk is getting too cold. When you’re looking up at the waterfall you’re about to summit, it can be daunting, but it’s important to focus…

DISPATCHES FROM A WILD WORLD NINE DAYS INTO A VOYAGE spanning hundreds of miles, photographer Chris Burkard captured passenger Steven Tonkinson diving into the arctic waters of eastern Greenland last September. Burkard cruised from Kulusuk, in the southeast part of the country, through icy waters on a Danish sailboat, photographing glacial remnants and rugged, wind-eroded landscapes. Erratic weather patterns forced the crew to adapt to changing surroundings. “A lot can go wrong,” says Burkard, “and you never know what will happen above deck.” On a day with clearer conditions, while in the Sermilik Fjord, one of the largest in Greenland, Tonkinson volunteered to take the plunge from a nearby glacier and experience the freezing temperatures unprotected. “The water will stop your heart for a second,” says Burkard. From the boat,…

ON A SNOW-covered mountain in northeastern Utah, somewhere between the towns of Eden and Paradise, I stepped out of a snowcat, clicked into my skis, and soon discovered why those names might just be warranted. The first run of the day was about 1,200 vertical feet of almost impossibly perfect, fluffy, shin-deep powder, layered over an impressive variety of terrain. A small ridge led to a wide-open face, followed by some well-spaced trees, with other drainages punctuated by little facets and snow pillows on either side. By the time the eight skiers and two guides in my group reconvened at the bottom, the verdict was unanimous: Every one of us was caked in powder and smiling widely. It was going to be a good day. And then the best part:…

BALDFACE LODGE, NELSON, BRITISH COLUMBIA This backcountry lodge, which offers every conceivable comfort, including an in-house masseuse, is reached via helicopter and sits in the middle of 32,000 acres of pristine terrain in the Selkirk Mountains. Three-day trips start at $2,000. BURNT MOUNTAIN CAT SKIING, SUGARLOAF, MAINE This year, Sugarloaf is debuting New England’s only true cat skiing, a side-country experience on Burnt Mountain’s 1,400 feet of vertical. And there’s no need to commit to the whole day: You can book a single cat ride, at just $20 to $30 each. CASCADE POWDER GUIDES, STEVEN’S PASS, WASHINGTON Just 75 miles east of Seattle, this cat operation lies deep in the Cascades on nearly 2,000 acres, with the option of overnighting in its backcountry yurts. Just be sure to plan ahead:…

I met a hunter recently, an interesting guy for sure, though I don’t know what to make of his eating habits. That’s because this particular hunter enjoys nothing more than catching a squirrel, slashing it open at the belly, and feasting on its innards. His name is 49. Forty-nine is a male hawk with a three-foot wingspan. His trainer, master falconer Chris Davis, calls him by the last two digits of the ID tag around the bird’s left leg. “I don’t give them names,” says Davis, who runs New England Falconry in Hadley, Massachusetts, one of a handful of outfits across the country where ordinary Joes can get up close and personal with one of nature’s fiercest predators—as well as getting a taste of the ancient sport of kings and princes.…