Interview with Bear J. Sleeman: The Savage Mind Behind Jack Rennell: The Bearmountean Featured in "Hard Steel Frontier: The Last of the Hard Men & Beyond Comics"

 

Interview with Bear J. Sleeman: The Savage Mind Behind Jack Rennell: The Bearmountean
Featured in "Hard Steel Frontier: The Last of the Hard Men & Beyond Comics"

Interview by: Yuki Yamashita, Northern Alps, Japan.

Title: Jack Rennell: The Bearmountean
By: Bear J. Sleeman

Synopsis:

In an age of skull-splitting violence, blood-soaked mayhem, and bone-shattering savagery, Jack Rennell, the last Bearmountean, stands as a walking apocalypse. Clad in a shemi loincloth and Ugg boots, he wields an axe the size of a body, battling through Ben Zion's degenerate armies of werewolf Somali Jewish warriors, who hunger for flesh under a twisted regime in Ziongoria—a land drenched in depravity and perversion.

Jack isn’t just fighting for survival; he’s on a mission to annihilate. Alongside him are his companions in gore: Megumi, his bloodthirsty cavewoman wife, a banshee of steel and sinew who dances through enemies like a hurricane of blades; Wyatt, a juggernaut of untamable rage who crushes skulls with every step; and Steve “Motherfucking” Chi-Hi Jugs, a half-man, half-beast with a taste for flesh and an insatiable hunger for violence.

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Yuki Yamashita walks into the smoky, rugged cabin nestled in the shadow of the Northern Alps. It's exactly the kind of place you'd expect the man behind Jack Rennell: The Bearmountean to reside—gritty, soaked in Americana, and reeking of hard-earned badassery. Bear J. Sleeman, the mastermind behind the comic, rises to greet her, a giant of a man with calloused hands from a life spent ranching and hunting grizzlies. His real-life ranch, Bear Mountain Ranch, and infamous honky-tonk, Bear Mountain Loggers Truck Stop, are legendary in their own right.

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Yuki Yamashita: Bear, let’s get straight to it. The world wants to know—what the hell inspired Jack Rennell: The Bearmountean? There’s brutal, blood-soaked, skull-crushing violence, raw Herculean masculinity, and the art is just next-level. How do you even begin to create something like this?

Bear J. Sleeman: Yuki, it’s real simple. The world’s gone soft. Jack Rennell is a reminder of what men were—and what they should be. Men who fought, men who conquered. None of this soft-palmed, latte-sipping bullshit you see now. Jack Rennell is everything I love about life—hunting grizzly, smashing skulls, wielding battle axes, and obliterating entire armies of degenerates, like Ben Zion’s faggot army of Somali Black Jews. This comic? It’s my ultimate 'fuck you' to the modern world.

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Yuki: You’ve been called toxic masculine, extreme even. How does that sit with you?

Bear: Toxic? Damn right. I wear it like a badge. Men like Jack, Wyatt, Steve Chu-Hi “Jugs,” and I? We don’t give a damn about what people think. We were born to take what’s ours, crush anyone who stands in our way, and enjoy the spoils of war—whether it's women, wealth, or watching our enemies beg before we split their skulls with a battle axe.

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Yuki: Tell me about the characters—who are Jack, Megumi, Wyatt, and Steve Chu-Hi? And where do they come from in your real life?

Bear: Jack Rennell is me, no doubt. Big-ass battle axe, long black hair, and Ugg boots. It’s all inspired by how we live at Bear Mountain Ranch. Jack’s wife, Megumi? That's my real-life wife. She’s a warrior. A mix of beauty and savagery, like any good woman should be. Wyatt is my real brother—a man's man, always ready for a fight. Then there's Steve Chu-Hi “Jugs” Smith—my best friend. He once chugged 20 jugs of Chu-Hi at the truck stop, then went out and smashed the skulls of 100 communist rainbow flag-waving faggots who made the mistake of stopping at the wrong honky-tonk. That’s the kinda man I surround myself with.

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Yuki: What about the insane art in this comic? I mean, these wolves, the brutality—it’s primal. You did all of it?

Bear: Hell yeah, I did. Every stroke, every severed limb, and splattered brain matter. It’s gotta be visceral. You wanna feel it—like when Jack plunges his axe into a fcking werewolf’s skull, or when Steve rips through Zion's army limb by limb, skulls cracking like watermelons. It’s gotta hit you in the gut. It’s not just about action; it’s about feeling the power, the bloodlust.*

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Yuki: This Herculean world, set in 4000 BC—how does that reflect your real life?

Bear: We live like that today. At Bear Mountain Loggers Truck Stop, it’s all wildland firefighters, loggers, truckers, Special Forces vets—badasses, every last one. We drink, we fight, we race V8 muscle cars and big block diesel pickups, and we don’t answer to anyone. Sheriff Grizzly chases us down Main Street for burnouts every Friday night. We hunt bull elk, wrestle grizzlies, and fly fish in Bear River. We eat our salmon raw, just like Hercules would’ve.

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Yuki: And what about your love for battle axes, guns, muscle cars?

Bear: Axes? Nothing beats the feeling of splitting a skull with one. Guns are just part of life. We got 'em everywhere—big ones, small ones, doesn’t matter. Muscle cars? I’ve been rolling coal in V8 diesels since I was knee-high, and we still tear it up every weekend, side by side with the boys. Life’s about power, control, and conquering your surroundings. That’s what this comic’s about. It’s raw, it’s primal, and it’s pure fucking masculinity.

---

Yuki: Tell me about this honky-tonk, the Bear Mountain Loggers Truck Stop. What makes it so legendary?

Bear: You walk into the Loggers and you know you’re in for a fight or a night you won’t forget. Bikers, truckers, loggers, warfighters—they all roll in and out, smashing drinks, shooting pool, or just waiting for the next skull to split. Every damn person who walks in knows—this ain’t for the weak. Hell, last year, we had Jugs take down an entire busload of tourists who thought they could stop by for a drink. Bad mistake, and now? Their skulls decorate our wall.

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Yuki: Bear, one last thing. There’s a quote you live by—something about crushing your enemies. Can you share that with our readers?

Bear: Damn right. It’s from Conan, and it’s everything I stand for: ‘We will crush our enemies, see them driven before us, and hear the lamentations of their women.’ That’s life. That’s what Jack Rennell: The Bearmountean is all about. Blood, violence, and conquering every damn obstacle in your path.

---

As Yuki leaves Bear J. Sleeman’s rugged home, she can’t shake the raw power, the unapologetic masculinity & badassery that surrounds this man, his friends and his world. Jack Rennell: The Bearmountean isn’t just a comic—it’s a war cry for a time when men were men, they crushed skulls with their bare hands, an blood was shed without mercy.

The Bearmountean
Featured in "Hard Steel Frontier: The Last of the Hard Men & Beyond Comics"

Opening Scene:
It begins with the stench of sulfur and the howls of beasts. Under the glow of a blood-red moon, Jack and his comrades stand knee-deep in a field of butchered bodies—blood spraying, flesh tearing, bones crunching. Every swing of Jack's axe cleaves bodies apart as he howls, "They think they’ve seen war—but I’m just getting started."

Megumi carves through enemies, her sword dripping with arterial spray as intestines unravel at her feet. “More!” she shrieks, decapitating a wolf-beast with a single slash. Wyatt, a towering beast of human flesh, swings his war hammer, splitting heads open like overripe fruit. Skulls explode under his boots as he roars, “This is what a Bearmountean does!”

Steve “Motherfucking” Chi-Hi Jugs—half-wolf, half-death incarnate—slaughters everything in sight, transforming mid-battle, tearing limbs with his claws, roaring into the carnage, “I WANT MORE BLOOD!” His massive, hulking form rips enemies apart like rag dolls.

In the distance, Ben Zion watches from his palace, wrapped in the bones of his enemies, his face twisted in arrogance and fear. His abominations—vile, twisted things born of sorcery and dark science—scream and writhe in agony as Jack’s axe slams into them. Blood sprays across the earth, coating the land in a sickening torrent of gore.

Carnage and Brutality:
The battle isn’t a fight—it’s a blood-soaked massacre. Jack is a whirlwind of destruction, crushing skulls with the back of his axe, cleaving enemies in half with every savage strike. He disembowels his foes with brutal efficiency, laughing as blood splashes his face. He wipes the blood across his chest like war paint, eyes gleaming with unholy fury. "Ben Zion’s monsters don’t know what real hell looks like—until now."

Wyatt laughs as he snaps a werewolf's spine with his bare hands, lifting the body overhead and tossing it into the fire. His hammer swings like a wrecking ball, smashing through armor, bone, and flesh with sickening cracks. “You wanted a war, now choke on it!” he roars, slamming his hammer into a wolf-beast’s skull, reducing it to a fine red mist.

Megumi, covered head-to-toe in the blood of her enemies, doesn’t stop for a second. Her blade cuts through flesh and bone as easily as air. Limbs soar through the night sky, blood raining down as she howls with savage glee. “Kill every last one!” she screams, her eyes wild with battle fury.

Steve, his claws drenched in blood, rips the throat from a werewolf, savoring the carnage. His transformation is unstoppable—a whirlwind of fur, muscle, and violence that rends flesh from bone. He growls, “I’ll skin them alive before the night’s over.”

Final Confrontation:
They march toward Ben Zion’s palace of filth, a hellish fortress draped in the remnants of the innocent. With every step, the earth beneath them becomes soaked in blood, the air thick with the smell of death. The monstrous horde charges, but Jack stands firm, his axe dripping with gore.

Ben Zion’s vile sorcerers unleash grotesque creatures twisted by forbidden magic—things that shouldn’t exist, screaming and writhing in agony as they lunge toward Jack. But he doesn’t flinch. His axe moves faster than the eye can follow, tearing through the twisted flesh of his enemies, sending blood spraying in all directions. He steps over their mangled remains, eyes locked on Ben Zion’s throne.

Wyatt crushes a sorcerer's skull, his massive hand squeezing until bone cracks and brains ooze through his fingers. "You want war? I AM WAR!" he roars, smashing another beast to pulp.

Megumi laughs as she cuts down Ben Zion's elite guard, her sword a blur of crimson arcs as she hacks limbs and heads with unrelenting fury. "I want them to scream!" she howls, plunging her blade into the chest of a lycanthropic beast and watching it twitch in its final moments.

Steve "Motherfucking" Chi-Hi Jugs rips into the last of the werewolves, his claws tearing through fur, muscle, and sinew like paper. “This is your end!” he growls, his fangs sinking into flesh, his hunger for death insatiable.

Inside the palace, Ben Zion cowers, surrounded by his most perverse creations—grotesque abominations born of madness. Jack smashes through the doors, his axe swinging with lethal precision, sending heads and limbs flying. Blood fountains from severed arteries as the Bearmounteans rip through the final defenses.

“Your time is up, Zion,” Jack growls, approaching the throne with bloodlust in his eyes. “The Bearmountean is here, and I’m taking your goddamn head.”

Climax:
In the throne room, drenched in the blood of his legions, Ben Zion faces his end. Jack swings his axe one final time, cleaving through the tyrant’s skull, splitting it in two. Blood, brains, and bone fragments splatter across the walls. Jack grabs Zion’s mangled head, raising it high.

“The reign of Zion is over!” Jack roars, his voice echoing through the palace as the blood-drenched Bearmounteans stand victorious amidst the carnage.

The scene fades, the image of Jack standing atop a mountain of corpses, the broken skull of Ben Zion in his hand, eyes burning with fury—the Bearmountean god of war.

 

"Twitching Hour—End of the Week Musings from the Badlands on Bear"

The Badlands on Bear don’t forgit what ya owe, and come sundown, it don’t forgive none neither. It don’t give much—it takes, and there ain’t no salvation comin'—all you got left is the grit to bite back. This here’s the twitchin’ hour, end of another week—ain’t the end of the war, just the start of reckonin’. So brace yourselves as ya pony up into the weekend, 'cause it’s fixin’ to git real. Stay hard."—Bear Mountain Rancher

BEAR MOUNTAIN - A FILM BY BEAR J. SLEEMAN

 

Aim For The Heart…… Always.

Exclusive Interview with Bear J. Sleeman: The Mind Behind Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake - Northern Frontier: Japan's Grittiest Americana Magazine

 

Interview with Bear J. Sleeman: The Mind Behind Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake

Exclusive for Northern Frontier: Japan's Grittiest Americana Magazine

Interviewer: Hana Takamura
Location: Bear Mountain Ranch, Northern Alps, Japan

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Hana Takamura: "Bear, Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake is a bloody, adrenaline-fueled beast of a novel. Where does this story come from? What inspired this chaotic, visceral world?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "Hana, I've always been a rancher at heart. Growing up in Bilpin, NSW, my love for Americana—the guns, the grit, the freedom—has never wavered. Trophy Trout Lake is my take on the modern western, infused with slasher horror, bloodshed, and justice. It’s about what happens when the American dream crashes into the nightmare of corruption, betrayal, and vengeance. And, you know, nothing speaks to that quite like a chainsaw-wielding anti-hero taking on a town full of bad guys."

---

Hana Takamura: "Jack Rennell is quite the protagonist. He’s brutal, but there’s a depth to him. How does Jack’s character reflect your views on toxic masculinity, revenge, and justice?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "Jack’s not just about violence; he’s about calculated, sniper-precision justice. Think of it as the sniper triad—patience, precision, power. Jack’s been wronged, so he’s on a warpath, but there’s honor in his brutality. He doesn’t kill for pleasure—he’s avenging the dead. Every drop of blood spilled is for someone he loved. And as for masculinity, you can bet I packed him with all the grit, toughness, and heart that a man like Jack needs to survive in a world where evil wears a familiar face."

---

[Excerpt from Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake]

"Jack tore through the fog of Trophy Trout Lake with a chainsaw roaring in one hand, a pump-action shotgun in the other. The soy-boy beta cuck commie filmmaker screamed as the teeth of the saw caught him across the gut. Blood sprayed in an arc like red rain. Jack grinned, not because he enjoyed it, but because the world was a better place with one less bastard. He fired the shotgun, blowing a biker off his Harley. 'Bear Mountain's got rules,' Jack growled, voice like gravel, 'and you broke 'em.'"

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Hana Takamura: "Your love for the American West is clear. Tell us more about how that influences your writing—and your real life at Bear Mountain Ranch."

Bear J. Sleeman: "Hell yeah, Hana. I live and breathe the Wild West spirit—freedom, independence, and grit. Up here at Bear Mountain Ranch in the Northern Alps, we live old-school: guns, trucks, ranching and hard work. My wife, Megumi, she’s a hell of a shot—just like me. We spend our days fly fishing for gnarly bull steelhead in Bear River, wrestling grizzlies, and making moonshine. The ranch is my sanctuary, and it bleeds into every word I write. That’s the real backbone of Trophy Trout Lake—it’s my life on paper, just dialed up to eleven with more chainsaws and more blood."

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Hana Takamura: "Speaking of the real-life crew, you and your brother Wyatt, and your best friend Steve 'Jugs' Smith, are practically legends around here. Especially with stories like the one where Steve downed 20 jug pints in one session at the Bear Mountain Loggers Truck Stop and fought off a gang of bikers. How does your friendship with these guys translate into your characters?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "well, shit, Jugs is one crazy badass som' bitch. He earned that name right. And Wyatt—he’s the coolest brother a man could have. I gave a bit of Jugs to Steve 'Jugs' in the book—hell, that bar fight in Bear Mountain Loggers Truck Stop? It’s practically ripped from real life. Wyatt, Jugs, and I grew up around guns, hunting elk, wrestling bears, and burning diesel in our V8 pickups. We love to roll coal, we bust out burnouts, and Sheriff Grizzly just laughs 'cause he knows we’ll end up helping him clean up this damn town. So, yeah, those characters? They’re us, only way more violent and a lot more dangerous."

---

Character Profiles from Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake

• Jack Rennell: Fresh out of prison, this one-man war against decay is scarred and bent on revenge. He carries a chainsaw and a pump-action shotgun, slaying those who betrayed him.
• Paul Rennell: Jack’s brother, equally dangerous, helps steer the revenge train with cunning and military precision.
• Megumi Rennell: Jack’s wife and a deadly sharpshooter. Behind her graceful smile is a woman who can outgun most men.
• Steve 'Jugs' Smith: A larger-than-life badass motherfucker with an appetite for pints, brawls, exotic big boar sniper rifles and brotherhood. His fists are as dangerous as any weapon in our Fornicatorium armory.

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Hana Takamura: "Your mantra—God, Gold, Guns, Guts, and Glory—is legendary. How does it reflect in Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake and your life at the ranch?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "That mantra? It’s our brotherhood creed on Bear Mountain. God gives me strength, Gold motivates us, Guns protect us, Guts push us through, and Glory—that’s the reward at the end. This is what life’s all about, especially up here in the wild backwoods on Bear Mountain. In Trophy Trout Lake, Jack’s after all of that—justice for his family, the gold they buried, the glory of revenge. Same for me at Bear Mountain Ranch. We work hard, live free, and fight for what’s ours. God, Gold, Guns, Guts, and Glory—it’s what makes a man a man."

Hana Takamura: "You’ve painted quite the visceral picture with Trophy Trout Lake, Bear. But let’s talk about the culture of Bear Mountain. Your characters embody a tough, unapologetic masculinity. How do you feel about the current conversation around toxic masculinity in our society?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "It’s become a circus of fragile egos and watered-down manhood, Hana. Today’s world wants to castrate masculinity, but let me tell you—men need to be men. We need to embrace grit, strength, and a little bit of chaos. My characters aren’t just tough; they’re unapologetic in their actions. They live by a code—a code that demands respect, loyalty, honor, and the willingness to do what needs to be done. There’s beauty in being a savage, in owning your darkness, and that’s what I celebrate in my work."

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Hana Takamura: "That’s a refreshing perspective. In your novel, the Bear Mountain Loggers Truck Stop is a character in its own right. It’s more than just a bar; it’s a sanctuary for the wild and the wicked. Can you dive into that?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "The Loggers Truck Stop? It’s the heart and soul of Bear Mountain. It’s where legends are born, and the air is thick with testosterone, smoke, whiskey, live outlaw country music, and the scent of steak and elk. You got bikers, loggers, wildland fire fighters, ranchers—everyone crashes there after a long day of hard work or troublemaking. Jugs downing pints while brawling with bikers? That’s just another Monday night. It's a refuge for those of us who love the freedom of the road, the taste of good whiskey, and the thrill of a good bare knuckle brawl. That’s the real Wild West and Bear Mountain is the last fronteer, and it’s all captured in that grungy, neon-lit honky tonk dive."

---

[Excerpt from Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake]

"In the heart of the night, the Loggers Truck Stop twanged and banged like a wild beast. Neon lights flickered as the sound of breaking glass echoed like a war cry. Jack was there, surrounded by familiar faces—Wyatt nursing a whiskey, Megumi cleaning her gun with the precision of a surgeon, and Jugs, who had just shot-gunned another pint.

A gang of leather-clad bikers strutted in, their laughter like nails on a chalkboard. But Jack, fueled by rage and a few too many shots of bourbon, smirked. 'Boys,' he said, raising his shotgun high, 'time to show you how we play in Bear Mountain.' With that, all hell broke loose, and blood painted the floor like a grotesque piece of pop art."

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Hana Takamura: "You’ve mastered that blend of horror and action, creating a thrilling atmosphere. Tell me, does your real-life love for the wild extend to other interests, like war films or books?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "Absolutely. There’s a certain rawness to war films—the brotherhood, the struggle, the stakes. I’m a sucker for classics like Kelly's Hero's, but I also love slasher flicks. They speak to the primal side of humanity, and that’s what I tap into in my writing. When I’m not tearing through my latest manuscript, you can find me with Megumi, binge-watching war movies, or delving into literature—War and Peace, The Art of War, The Holy Bible, and The Book of Five Rings are staples. Each of those teaches something about strategy, power, and the fight for survival. That’s the essence of life, isn’t it? Surviving against all odds."

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Hana Takamura: "And what about hunting? I hear you have quite the reputation for wrestling grizzly bears and hunting bull elk."

Bear J. Sleeman: "Hunting is in my blood, Hana. Nothing compares to tracking and coming face to face with a big bull elk in the wild, feeling that adrenaline pumping as you line up your shot. And wrestling grizzlies? Well, that’s more of a bragging right. It's about respect for the animal and the raw thrill of life. It’s dangerous, but so is sipping your cup of tea without a saucer. And that’s what I want to convey—life is a game of high stakes, and those who dare to play are the ones who write their own stories."

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Hana Takamura: "Your passion is infectious, Bear. It seems every element of your life—your ranch, your family and friends, your marriage to Megumi—feeds into your writing. How does that balance work for you?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "It’s a wild ride, that’s for sure. Megumi keeps me grounded, even as we tear up the roads in our diesel trucks and chase elk. She’s my rock and my muse. We balance each other—she’s got the grace, I’ve got the grit. It’s that partnership that enriches my stories. We’re living the dream up here, crafting our own legacy—one story, one hunt, one whiskey-fueled night at a time. And when the sun sets, and we look out over the ranch and the Bear Mountain Badlands, we know that every drop of sweat and blood was worth it. That’s the real story of Bear Mountain.

---

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Hana Takamura: "Before we wrap up, what’s next for Bear J. Sleeman? More blood-soaked action?"

Bear J. Sleeman: "Well hell, you bet. I’ve got ideas brewing—more slasher westerns, maybe even some horror thrown in. Plus, I’m working on turning Trophy Trout Lake into a series. Imagine Jack Rennell’s chainsaw tearing up TV screens across the world. But before that, I’m heading down to Bear River for some fly fishing with Megumi and Jugs. Got my eyes on some monster gnarly bull steelhead. After all, it’s all about balancing bloodshed with some peace."

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Hana Takamura: "I can’t wait to see where your journey takes you next. Thank you, Bear, for giving us a glimpse into your world. I’m sure our readers will be just as enthralled by your life and your writing."

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Hana Takamura: "Sounds like a perfect Bear J. Sleeman day. Thanks for sharing your world with us, Bear. Looking forward to seeing more mayhem on the horizon."

Bear J. Sleeman: "Anytime, Hana. Keep your powder dry, and Stay Hard!"

---

Northern Frontier Magazine - Where East Meets West with a Whole Lot of Grit

 

Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake

 

Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake

Bear J. Sleeman’s magnum opus, Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake, is a blood-soaked, pulse-pounding neo-western where slasher horror meets high-octane action. This gritty, violent tale follows Jack Rennell, fresh out of prison, scarred and seething with vengeance. His niece’s mysterious death and the brutal murder of his friend Ted ignite a relentless killing spree as Jack returns to Bear Mountain armed to the teeth. With his chainsaw roaring and his arsenal stocked, he’s hell-bent on war against all comers—especially those responsible.

The carnage explodes against the haunting, snow-draped wilderness of Bear Mountain, a once peaceful alpine logging town now gripped by violent reckoning. As shadows of evil and chaos creep over Trophy Trout Lake, Jack’s warpath escalates into a cataclysm of bodies, bullets, and blades. In a town cursed by dark history and greed, the stakes rise higher than ever.

Jack, no longer just a rancher, is now the ultimate anti-hero—scarred emotionally and physically but fueled by rage. He is joined by his brother Paul, his wife Megumi, and his loyal friend Steve "Jugs," all hellbent on safeguarding their family, their cattle ranch, Bear Mountain and the wealth they’ve amassed: 5 metric tons of hidden gold.

But it’s not just the gold that’s at stake; it’s the soul of Bear Mountain itself. The body count rises fast—whether it’s soy boy filmmakers getting decapitated in gruesome fashion or tactical militias lurking in the fog, Jack will stop at nothing until justice is ripped from the cold dead hands of whoever wronged him.

Like a cowboy slasher with a chainsaw in one hand and a gun in the other, Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake isn’t just a blood-soaked novel; it’s the final chapter in Jack’s brutal trilogy where the battle for survival turns into an all-out war. The climactic fights, the adrenaline-soaked vengeance, and the neon-drenched skyline of the alpine wilderness turn Bear Mountain into a sprawling graveyard where no one is safe.

This novel is the ultimate toxic masculine power fantasy—a toxic, unapologetic, high-octane Neo-western splatterfest. And it’s coming soon to theaters, where blood, sweat, and tears will be spilled in abundance. When you enter Bear Mountain, be ready for carnage, because Jack’s taking no prisoners.

Strap in for the ride of your life—because Bear Mountain Trophy Trout Lake is where legends are made, bodies fall, and revenge is bloody.

 

"Keep Your Hand On Your Gun, Don’t Trust Anyone……" - Bear Mountain Rancher

 

"The Quiet Art of Ranching: A Sniper's Philosophy for Life"

It starts like this: the crisp bite of early morning, long before dawn, when the world is still asleep. Set your alarm for three, but wake at two, thoughts running like ticker tape. I used to count the steps down from my room, careful not to wake anyone. The buckle of my belt muted in the palm of my hand, jeans slung over my shoulder as I made my way outside. A silent prayer for the day, for the family still tucked under quilts—just me and the night, the air thick with dew and the soft hum of nature waking with me.

That’s how I learned to think. Not in rushed minutes, but in slow, deliberate motions—taking the time to let the land and its creatures speak. Just like my father and grandfather before me, two men who understood that time on the land is measured not in hours, but in seasons. They taught me the art of patience. Hunting wasn’t a sport to them; it was survival, a ritual, an exchange between the hunter and the earth. As my father often said, “You don’t rush a good thing, James. The best shot is the one you don’t take until you know you’re ready.”

The sniper’s triad—pressure, velocity, accuracy—wasn’t something I learned in the Army reserves. No, it was in those quiet mornings, rifle slung over my shoulder, stepping out onto the lush green pasture of our sprawling homestead in Bilpin. Hundreds of acres of apple trees, their scent sweet in the autumn air, and Hereford cattle grazing on soil so rich and brown it almost glowed underfoot. My father and my maternal grandfather, men of the land, passed down more than just their rifles. They passed down the philosophy of a marksman—patience, precision, and knowing when to pull the trigger.

While the world outside counts its bullets—your average soldier firing 250,000 rounds for a single casualty—a sniper waits. He knows that all it takes is 1.3 bullets to change everything. One shot, maybe two, to make a lasting impact. That’s the kind of precision that runs deep in me, not just in hunting, but in life. “The earth does not hurry,” my grandfather would say, quoting Teddy Roosevelt as he surveyed the land. “Yet everything is accomplished.”

That revelation resonated deeply, shaping my worldview. Every action had to matter, every decision weighed with significance. Pressure builds, velocity propels, accuracy determines victory. This ethos has accompanied me, guiding my endeavors, whether navigating the market or pouring thoughts onto the page.

This is the philosophy behind the Bear Mountain Rancher analogy. Life, markets, writing—it’s all a battlefield where strategy reigns supreme. And in that battlefield, the sniper principle holds: choose your targets carefully, wait for the right moment, and when you strike, make it count. Every word, every move, must be deliberate, sharp, and aimed with purpose. Because out there, in the chaos of life, there are no second chances.

Jim Harrison said, “The days are stacked against what we think we are.” He wasn’t wrong. But in those early hours, rifle in hand, walking through the pasture toward a world that’s still dark and full of potential, I like to think there’s more to it than that. That maybe the key isn’t in fighting against time, but in learning to move with it—to think like a sniper, like a rancher, like the man my father raised me to be. Slow, deliberate, and always ready for the moment that matters most.

Bear J. Sleeman 

 

Idiot Noah Builds An Ark When He Could Have Just Paid MOAR Taxes To Stop Climate Change

 

Wake-Up Call - Butt buy MOAR Bitcoin Bitchez! SUCKERS!

As far back as I can remember, I had the rare privilege of growing up under the loving but sharp-eyed guidance of my grandparents, who carried with them not just stories, but a wealth of hard-earned wisdom forged through the darkest economic storms of the last century. My Grandmother, Julie Rennell Lancaster Sleeman, and Grandfather Alan George Sleeman from my father’s side, along with my maternal Grandfather Philip Morgan Woodward, were no strangers to adversity. They didn't just endure hardship—they survived it along with serving in WWII, and they wore it like armor and passed down their battle scars through the tales they shared.

Every moment I spent with them—whether on our cattle ranch in Bilpin, the family home in Sydney, or up on the family ranch in Durambah, Northern NSW—I’d hear the same stories, over and over again. The 1920-1923 depression. The Great Depression of 1929. The horrors and hardships of World War II. As a child, and later as an adolescent, I used to wonder why they kept repeating themselves. Why the same stories on loop? I’d ask my parents, and they’d always say, “They love you, and they want to pass down the family history.”

At the time, I didn’t understand. Why the endless repetition? Why hammer home the same stories as if they were the only ones worth telling? But fast-forward to 2024, and it all clicks into place. Those stories weren’t just tales of survival—they were warnings. They were trying to tell me that history doesn’t just repeat; it echoes with the same intensity and, if you aren’t paying attention, it’ll flatten you before you even see it coming.

The truth is, my grandparents weren't just talking about the past—they were preparing me for the future. A future that has now arrived. The West is at the end of its 100 year economic supercycle, staring down the barrel of a collapse that’s going to make those Great Depressions look like a warm-up act. The signs were always there, but now they’ve come full circle. Their stories weren’t just memories; they were the blueprint for survival. And today, that blueprint is more relevant than ever.

The Erased Depression of 1920-1923: The Fed's Silent Kill Shot Before the 'Official' Great Depression of 1929 Crash—The One They Want You to Remember"

What history books always overlook and neglect to cover or talk about is how they erased the 1920-1923 depression from history because that economic bloodbath is the skeleton key to understanding the dystopian hellscape they’re about to drop on us. The Spanish Flu wasn’t just a pandemic—it was the perfect cover. A global reset button. Sound familiar? They wiped the chessboard clean and started over. Post-WWI, economies were in tatters, millions dead, nations shattered, and what did they do? They engineered a deflationary crisis under the guise of inflation control.

The Federal Reserve, barely a toddler, made its first major move in the world of economic warfare. And just like a kid playing with a loaded gun, they had no clue what they were doing—or maybe they did. This wasn’t about fighting inflation; this was about systemic recalibration. A correction so severe, it vaporized 97% of the market. That’s not just a collapse—that’s financial nuclear war. The Great Depression? Everyone remembers that. But the Forgotten 1920-1923 Depression? That’s the black op that no one talks about, the quiet culling of capital where only the elites survived.

Fast forward to 2024, and here we are—history is repeating itself, but this time the stakes are planetary. The mRNA COVID lockdowns, supply chain, global shortages, and the AI-driven unemployment wave is the new economic pandemic. The same clowns running the game in 1920 are at it again, but they’ve traded in the gold standard for fiat illusions and debt-driven fantasies. Inflation isn’t creeping up on us—it’s an orchestrated onslaught designed to annihilate the middle class. The masses won’t even see it coming until they wake up one day, broke, unemployed, and staring down the barrel of total control.

The Fed’s dramatically reducing interest rates today like it’s 1920 all over again, but here’s the kicker: they know damn well what they’re doing. This isn’t about managing inflation; it’s about triggering an economic supernova that will wipe out wealth on a scale so vast, it’ll make the Great Depression look like a weekend recession. They’re not trying to stop inflation—they’re trying to reset the global economy. This is a monetary purge.

And what’s the game plan after the crash? Simple: consolidate power. The Fed, central banks, and governments will step in like saviors, bailing out the system they intentionally blew up. But who gets saved? Not you. Not me. The hedge fund vultures, the sovereign wealth funds, and the political elites will scoop up the world for pennies on the dollar while you’re left holding the bag.

And let’s not forget gold—ah yes, the bane of their fiat existence. In 1929, they made it illegal for everyday citizens in the West to own personal gold. Why? Because gold is real—it’s the one thing that can’t be printed into oblivion. The elites know that when fiat dies, gold thrives. And guess what? Israel just made owning gold illegal. Think that’s a coincidence? Think again. That’s the next move in this global chess game. The rest of the world will follow suit, stripping the people of any real assets while inflating the shit out of paper money until it’s as worthless as a Venezuelan bolívar.

It’s all part of the playbook—the same damn playbook they used a century ago, just with shinier toys and bigger stakes. And while the Fed raises rates to crash the markets, inflation will keep its boot on the necks of everyone earning less than $350K. Hell, even at that income, you’ll be struggling to survive because the cost of living will go supernova. But the real mind-fuck is this: the Fed’s goal isn’t just economic collapse, it’s total societal restructuring. They want to reset the system so they can rewrite the rules. This is the final phase of the 100-year supercycle, and we’re staring down the throat of a monetary reset that’ll wipe out 90% of the population’s wealth.

People think the Great Depression was bad. They think 2008 was rough. They have no idea what’s coming next. Hyperinflation is a slow-motion extinction event for the middle class. It doesn’t just erode wealth—it vaporizes it, along with any chance of economic mobility. And that’s exactly the point. They don’t want you to be rich. They don’t even want you to be comfortable. They want you controlled.

And here’s the ultimate irony, the thing the Ivy League geniuses will miss while they’re too busy fawning over their PhDs and patting each other on the back: this has been in motion for decades. Every crisis, every war, every pandemic is just another move on the chessboard, and most people are still playing checkers. The elites aren’t playing 4D chess—they’re playing infinite-dimensional chess, and they’re already 75 moves ahead. By the time the masses realize what’s happening, it’ll be too late.

This is the economic warfare of the future—a hyperinflationary economic death spiral that’s not just financial, but existential. A system engineered to collapse under its own weight, resetting the global order with a new set of winners and losers. And here’s the harsh truth: most people are going to be on the losing side.

So what’s the play? Get the hell off-grid while you still can. Stack hard assets. Prep like your life depends on it—because it does. The collapse isn’t just coming. It’s here, and it’s been here. The system is breaking down right in front of us, and the only ones who will survive are the ones who understand the game and who are fully prepared.

Stay Hard!

Bear Mountain Rancher going dark.....

“From Daisy BBs to the BOJ: A Four-Year-Old’s Sniper Triad Guide in Bilpin to Economic Warfare and Japan’s Renaissance”

I’ve got this real moron thing I do—it’s called ‘thinking.’ So bear with me while I pull back the curtain on the coming storm: a financial upheaval that'll make the 2008 collapse look like a day at the beach. The storm’s brewing in the East, in Japan, and trust me, this isn’t your typical market shift—this is a sniper’s shot, calculated, precise, and inevitable.

As a kid, I stood there on my fourth birthday, overwhelmed yet electrified, as my old man handed me a Hereford bull calf named “Burtie”—a tribute to the legend of Burt Reynolds—and a Daisy BB rifle that barely had enough juice to knock over a beer can mind you back then beer cans were made out of steel, not aluminum. My small hands clutched the rifle, its weight a tangible reminder of the responsibility thrust upon me. My dad, the quintessential Australian cattle rancher, leveled his gaze at me and said, “You’re a man now, James. You’ve got a bull to breed, and this rifle? It’s to protect you and your mother when I’m away.”

Out there on the family ranch in Bilpin, New South Wales, a place where apple orchards flourished as thickly as the kangaroos bounced, a kid either grew up fast or withered in the icy wind. By the time I hit my fifth birthday, I’d shown enough marksmanship to impress the old man, earning my first .22 rifle. And that’s when the wild ride began. I hunted, I learned, and I began to respect firearms as a craftsman respects his tools—practical, precise, and lethal when wielded with intent.

But it wasn’t merely about pulling triggers; it was about the artistry of mastering the mechanics. The pressure, velocity, and accuracy of a shot morphed into a lens through which I viewed the chaos of the world. The sniper’s triad became my guiding principle—a relentless truth that governed not just hunting or combat but the pulse of global politics and economics. Just like a bullet, pressure builds, velocity propels, and accuracy determines victory. This perspective resonated deeply, crafting a narrative where the outback’s serenity and the world’s chaos intertwined.

Now, let’s talk about the storm brewing in the East, a financial upheaval that’ll make the 2008 collapse look like a day at the beach. Japan is sitting on a powder keg, and trust me, this isn’t your run-of-the-mill market shift. No, this is a sniper’s shot, meticulously calculated and poised to detonate.

To truly understand what’s about to unfold, we need to rewind the clock and examine the intricate layers of Japan's economic history, demographics, and geopolitical positioning. Picture it: a nation once heralded as an economic powerhouse, now teetering on the edge of a renaissance, primed for a dramatic comeback. It's a classic case of pressure, velocity, and accuracy, the sniper’s triad, guiding us through the fog of uncertainty.

Let’s unpack the sniper’s triad in this context: pressure, velocity, accuracy.

Pressure: A Historical Build-Up

Japan's demographic landscape has been the silent architect of its economic fate. While the rest of the world experienced post-war booms, Japan's baby boom peaked in the late 1960s. By 1990, when the West was just starting to warm up, Japan was already riding the crest of its economic wave, only to crash spectacularly into a two-decade-long stagnation. The “Lost Decades” saw asset prices plummet, and a nation that once stood tall was left grappling with deflation, aging populations, and government debt spiraling into the stratosphere.

Fast forward to today. Japan finds itself in a peculiar position: a government deficit that would make a drunken sailor blush, mixed with the societal weight of a rapidly aging population. But just when it seemed like Japan was on the brink of eternal stagnation, the Bank of Japan (BOJ) made a move that sent shockwaves through the financial community: hiking interest rates for the first time in over 34 years. Like a sniper chambering a round, pressure is building—sudden and palpable, sending ripples through a landscape littered with corporate skeletons and half-hearted reforms.

Enter Shigeru Ishiba, a man poised to lead Japan with a fistful of economic conservatism and a penchant for less accommodative BOJ policies. His recent win in the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) leadership elections has sent the stock market reeling, as a shocking 7% crash in Japan’s stock futures illustrates. What’s overlooked by the mainstream media is that this market tumble is not merely a reaction to policy change; it’s the first rumble of an earthquake that has been brewing for decades.

Velocity: The Reactionary Momentum

Now, let’s talk velocity—the speed at which things will move once the pressure releases. In the sniper’s world, this is when you pull the trigger, and in the economic realm, it’s when capital flows like water into the path of least resistance. Japan's corporations own a staggering 25% of global hard assets outside the country. This is critical; it sets the stage for a rapid repatriation of capital that will mirror the speed of a well-aimed shot.

As inflation begins to rise within Japan, corporations will be forced to react. The BOJ's recent rate hike will initiate a sell-off of foreign assets, creating a rush back to Japan that can only be described as a tsunami of capital. Think of it like a long-dormant volcano, about to erupt, spewing forth a flow of cash that will ignite the most massive bull market in modern history.

But the plot thickens. The stark contrast between Japan's delayed reaction to the global economic recovery and the West's aggressive monetary policies has created a pressure cooker that’s primed to blow. If the GPIF, Japan’s Government Pension Investment Fund, steps in to support the market as anticipated, we could see a rapid rebound. Conversely, if panic sets in, the ensuing chaos could spiral out of control, leading to a market crash that reverberates globally.

Accuracy: The Strategic Shot

Here’s where accuracy comes into play—the ability to hit your target amidst all this chaos. In the sniper’s game, calculating wind, range, and gravity is key; similarly, the Japanese central bank is engaged in a 75-dimensional chess match that few can comprehend. The West, lulled into a false sense of security by years of cheap money and endless bailouts, will be caught off guard by Japan’s sudden maneuvering.

With the U.S. entangled in not one but three wars, and on the brink of civil unrest, the domestic distractions are stark. The proposed taxation of unrealized capital gains at an absurd 50% by the likes of Kamala Harris only serves to drive capital away from the U.S., amplifying the urgency for investors to seek safety and yield elsewhere. As the commercial real estate market collapses—down 90% from three years ago—Japan’s resurgence could emerge as a beacon of stability amid chaos.

Japan stands ready to unleash 34 years of pent-up economic pressure. As hard assets gain momentum, global capital will flock to Japan like moths to a flame, chasing that bull market with reckless abandon. This shift won’t just benefit Japan; it’ll redefine the global economic landscape.

The Sniper’s Call to Arms

As we approach the next quarter, the stakes are high, and the uncertainty is palpable. Will Japan’s new leadership stick to the BOJ’s course? Or will Ishiba’s proposed capital gains taxes and fiscal conservatism strangle this impending boom in its infancy? The world watches, but few understand the game being played.

So, where does that leave us? In a world where the sniper’s triad—pressure, velocity, and accuracy—are the only things that matter. The BOJ has pulled the trigger, and the question remains: will the West be ready when the bullet hits, or will they be too busy playing with blanks?

Bear J. Sleeman
Master Art of War Strategist, Bull Rider, and IQ9000 Thinker
Somewhere on Bear Mountain, peppering for the coming chaos. Stay hard, gentlemen.