The deer hunting in western Wyoming this year was preceded by its reputation of following the “worst winter ever.” I would still hit the backcountry in search of a big, mature buck but of all the years, I wasn’t going to put a lot of pressure on myself.

I laced up my boots and pointed the truck towards the trailhead.

—

Upon arriving at the trailhead early afternoon, one other vehicle had beat me there.

“Great,” I mumbled. I hate dealing with other people when I’m hunting.

My gear was basically packed when I arrived. I locked everything up and started walking to the trail. 

The “other guys” were between me and the trail. “Might as well introduce myself,” I thought. Maybe I would find out where they were planning to generally hunt, and hopefully it was far from where I was headed. 

“How’s it going?” I said casually as I got closer…

15 minutes later, we were headed down the trail together with plans to camp nearby. After looking over maps and discussing plans, it was apparent we were hunting the same 2-3 basins. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em and have their pack animals carry some of your stuff.

—

I normally don’t hunt with or camp by strangers I meet at the trailhead. I knew these guys from social media. They were killers. I was happy to share a camp and learn from them. 

After the 9 mile hike in, camp was set. We hit some nearby peaks for the evening hunt with no luck.

The following couple days included more bucks than I planned on seeing, especially after the winter rumors floating around. That said, we were all after a “next level” buck, one that costs you a taxidermy bill. The 150”-170” bucks didn’t make the cut.

—

By day 3, we had covered the surrounding canyons. I would head east, hunt the morning relatively close, then look into a further basin for the evening. My camp friends hit one more remote basin close to camp for the day.

Mid day found me perched just below a small saddle in between the two basins I was planning to glass and hunt. 

“Holy crap!” As I was sitting back against a rock, two small bucks came flying by me at 40 yards. I grabbed my rifle but quickly assessed they were not shooters. I watched as their tongues hung out of their open mouth while they trotted hurriedly by.

I assumed hunters in the other basin pushed them. “So much for the evening hunt.”

I decided to sit a while longer and take in the scenery. I wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere and it felt good. 

—

As I contemplated how refreshing a late morning nap would feel, there she was. I didn’t know she was a sow at the time, but to be honest, I’m not sure it would have changed my mind. A beautiful chocolate black bear was working over the saddle, just 150 yards from me and closing.

My only concern, were there cubs? I saw nothing following her. As she ducked behind a clump of trees, I grabbed my 25 SAUM, quietly chambered a round, and rested the gun on my knee for about a 100 yard off-hand shot. 

Crack!…..Thud! The shot broke and the bear gave a snarl. I hit her. 

She took off on a dead sprint across the small finger, paralleling me. I knew I had one, maybe two more shots at her.

Crack! Miss.

As I racked my third and final shell, I saw my opening. She hit the last open window before a thick string of pine. I squeezed off the last shot, leading her a good amount.

Crack!……..Thwap! The unmistakable sound of a bullet squaring up an animal. Two bullets in her and the rest was history. 

I waited about an hour, caught a blood trail and found her dead. I had killed my first bear.

My deer hunt was ruined but I didn’t mind. It was a good year to leave a buck on the mountain.