Two hunters. Seven months.
One blind we'd actually hunt out of.

We did not set out to start a blind company. We set out to build a blind that we as tree stand archery hunters would actually hunt from.

We hunt from trees. Saddles, sticks, climbing stands. That is how we grew up doing this, and that is where we feel at home—strapping in before you can see your hand in front of your face and listening to the woods wake up from twenty feet in the air while everything below you has no idea you're there.

For a long time, we resisted box blinds. Sitting inside four plywood walls felt like selling out. But hunting teaches you something as you get older: the right tool depends on the moment. When the wind locks a mature buck onto a bedding edge with no timber worth climbing. When it is seventeen degrees and your fingers need to be warm at full draw. Or when your eight-year-old kid is sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with you for their very first sit.

When we finally decided to build something, we didn't ask what hunters in general wanted. We asked what bowhunters need. When you hunt from a saddle, the whole tree is your shooting lane. We wanted that same freedom in a box: ten sides, a silent vertical-slide window in every panel, dead silence, total scent containment, and seven feet of ceiling clearance so a grown adult can stand up and come to full draw without thinking about it.

Seven months and a lot of scrap later we had one we would actually hunt out of. That is still the blind. We have not changed the argument since, because the geometry has not changed and neither has the reason for it.