“Tom Oar’s Final Trapline Journey Marks the End of an Era in the Wild Yaak Valley 🏔️🐾”

In a deeply emotional season finale, Tom Oar, the legendary trapper from Mountain Men, takes what may be his final ride along the Yaak Valley trapline — closing a chapter that has defined his life and the very soul of the show.

In the episode, Tom pulls his last sets, handing over the reins of his rugged legacy to longtime comrades Sean and Hank, as his 48-year career in the wilderness draws to a close.

The final journey begins early in the cold Montana morning.

Tom, now in his eighties, straps on his gear, checks his traps one last time, and rides out — the forest is still, the snow crisp under his boots, and the weight of years nearly tangible in the air.

He pauses at each trap site, gently releasing or collecting his sets, his movements deliberate and nostalgic.

It’s not just a job for him — it’s his life, a way of being, and now it’s time to pass it on.

He doesn’t ride alone.

Alongside him are Sean and Hank, trappers who have long respected Tom’s path and now stand ready to carry forward his enduring work.

Tom offers them advice in his soft, grizzled voice: “You’ve got to feel the land.

Not force it.

Know where the animals walk, where they hide.

That’s how you survive out here.

” There’s a pause, and then he adds with a small smile, “This here is the best school anyone could ever go to.”

As they complete their rounds, Tom reflects on the years he’s spent in the wild with his wife, Nancy, at their hand-built log cabin.

He recalls mornings like these — the peaceful, loving exchanges as he heads out to check his line, drinking coffee beside their simple hearth.

Nancy, supportive and steady, has always held the homefront: “Be safe,” she tells him now, her voice tremulous but brave.

“Bring ‘em all in.”

He grips her hand, nods, and replies, “I always do.

That’s my promise.”

The ride is not just nostalgic but symbolic.

With each trap Tom pulls, he also unwraps memories — the bobcats, beavers, minks, and pine martens he’s trapped over the decades.

He remembers hunched shoulders and raw fingers, the bitter cold biting through his clothes, long hikes to remote sets, and the delicate balance of life on the trapline.

Trapping, he says, “isn’t doing until you’re done — it’s being who you are out there.”

At one point, Sean asks, “Tom, you ever scared you won’t make it back one day?” Tom doesn’t hesitate.

He stops, breath forming small clouds in the frosty air, and looks over the snow-laden pines.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly, “sometimes.

But not because I don’t think I can.

Because someday, I might not want to.

And that’s okay.

” The honesty in his voice is raw — not prideful, just real.

By midday, the riders reach a ridge that faces east, where the sun breaks through dense clouds, casting long shadows over the forest.

Tom dismounts and gazes out at the landscape he knows better than any map.

The forest is his old friend, sometimes cruel but always honest.

He pulls a final set there — one of his best, where animals frequently pass — and steps back, taking in the silent woods.

“This set’s mine,” he murmurs, “just for always.”

Back at camp, Sean and Hank circle around Tom, showing him where they plan to maintain his line.

They ask how he built his most effective sets, how the tracks change season to season, and how long it took him to study every ridge and creek.

Tom answers patiently, sharing hard-won wisdom passed down over decades.

He tells them, “When you know what snow does after a storm, or how the wind shifts at certain treelines — that’s when you’re ready.”

As the light fades and cold creeps in, Tom makes his way home — saddle creaking, dogs barking in the distance, his breath slow but steady.

Nancy meets him by the cabin door.

She hugs him tight, and he rests his face on her shoulder, eyes closed.

“That was a good run,” he says.

She nods, tears glistening in her eyes.

“The best,” she whispers.

Later that night, by the fire, Tom recounts stories from his earliest years in the Yaak Valley — how he came to love the land, the first trap he set, how he’d ride out in the darkest of nights just to check his lines.

He talks about the cost of solitude, but also the peace it brought.

Sean and Hank listen in respectful silence; they understand now that what Tom is giving them goes beyond lessons in trapping — he’s giving them his heart.

As the episode closes, there’s a gentle sense of passing.

Tom looks out his window at the forest, silhouetted against moonlit snow, and smiles.

“You’ve got to let go,” he tells himself softly, “just enough.”

Outside, the wind carries the promise of a new season, new trappers, new rhythms — but also a legacy that won’t fade.

Tom Oar’s final journey on the trapline is more than a retirement.

It’s a farewell to the rough, untamed wilderness that shaped him — and a resilient handing-off of his lifetime’s work to those who will continue in his footsteps.

For viewers, it’s the end of an era, but for Sean, Hank, and the wild itself, it’s a beginning.