A Couple Hundred More Yards on a Wyoming Bear Hunt

Most people don’t go on a Wyoming bear hunt by accident. They train for it, prepare for it, dream about it for years. I said yes to mine after a phone call, a looming deadline, and an alarming amount of confidence from people who believed I could do it more than I believed it myself.

A few weeks later, I found myself headed west toward my first hunt ever with borrowed gear, brand-new nerves, and absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. I thought I was signing up for a spring bear hunt. I didn’t realize I was also signing up to learn how to keep going for just a couple hundred more yards.

THE CALL

My phone rings.

“Hey, you want to go on a bear hunt?” It’s Beth.

“Me?!” Surely, she dialed the wrong number. I’m not the hunter on the team.

“Yes, you. You said you wanted to go on a hunt. I got you a hunt.”

It’s true. Last year, I told Beth that I would be open to going on a hunt someday. I’ve been around it forever in my personal life and my career at Savage, but I’ve never actually done it myself.

“Yeah, but I was thinking something like hogs or prairie dogs, maybe coyotes,” I protested. “What is it?”

“Spring bear in Wyoming,” she said. “The guide drives you right up to your spot and you watch a barrel of bait for a few days. You can do this. It’s more of a management hunt. I’ll send you the dates, let me know by Friday. Byeee.”

Click.

She probably didn’t hang up on me exactly like that, but it certainly felt like a turning-point-decision moment to me.

That evening over dinner, I told my husband about my call with Beth while our young kids dipped their venison in ketchup (if you know, you know). I expressed all my reservations to him. I’ve never done this before, I’m not prepared, I’m not in shape. Fine. These were excuses, not reservations. He had an answer to every single one, and ultimately said, “This is an opportunity that most people don’t get. You’ll regret this if you don’t go.” Well then, it’s decided, I’ll do it. My first ever hunt…it’s not deer, it’s not squirrel, it’s not turkey…BEAR!

“...Going on a bear hunt, gonna catch a big one, I’m not scared….” OK, maybe a little scared, but I can do it.

THE PREP

On paper, packing for this hunt seemed simple: layers, rain gear, warm clothes, done. I bought new boots and broke them in by walking laps around my neighborhood, which felt both responsible and completely inadequate. Mountain weather comes with a lot of “what ifs” and I had no idea which ones would actually matter. After a couple of panicked gear consultations with a friend and more rounds of unpacking and repacking than I’ll admit to, I made one smart call: I swapped the new boots for my older, warmer pair. That decision would matter more than I knew.

Surely it won’t snow in May, right?

THE CLIMB - DAY 1

The mountains slowly rose up around me as we rode up to the bait in a side-by-side. As a lifelong flatlander, being in the mountains is always special, and this was some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen. We saw rain blowing through the mountain and I suppressed the panicked feelings in my gut. What have I gotten myself into? I could feel the self-doubt about whether or not I could actually do this start to creep in. My mind was racing about not wearing the right layers and about how cold and miserable I would be for the next few hours. No, this is not the time to give into that type of thinking. This is what I’m here for.

As we climbed up a large hill, I learned that I was in fact wearing the wrong socks and my boots kept slipping on my heel. This is not good. My guide stopped periodically to let me catch my breath while he watched the bait barrel through his binos for any signs of a bear. I walk a lot at home, but there’s not much you can do to prepare for breathing at 7,400 feet when you live at 900 feet. Each time we stopped, he assured me that it was only a “couple hundred more yards”. I don’t know if he was lying to me or if we have a different perception of what a “couple hundred more yards” is because we had to walk a “couple hundred more yards” a couple of times.

I was experiencing both physical discomfort between my developing blisters and my lungs screaming for more oxygen and mental discomfort doubting my ability to do this. What can I do? I have only one option – keep moving. Put one foot in front of the other, again, again, pause to breathe, keep going for another “couple hundred more yards.”

We set up a pop-up blind about 80 yards from a barrel of bait and settled into our lawn chairs for a long afternoon. My 110 Ultralite Predator was fixed on a tripod ready for a bear. The rain we saw on the way up the mountain passed over us and continued to rain off and on all evening. I was cold and shivering but thankful for the luxury of a blind to keep out of the rain and wind.

Our eyes trained on the barrel, we saw dozens of birds and diabetic squirrels, we heard turkeys gobbling in the creek bottom, but didn’t see any bears. Time to pack it up and head back.

THE WEATHER SHIFT - DAY 2

The day started off beautiful. Temps were in the 50s and the skies were clear blue, but the forecast predicted a big shift in the weather this evening. I knew from my mistakes yesterday that “quickly changing weather conditions” on the mountain actually means “experience all four seasons in an hour” with dramatic shifts in temperature, precipitation and wind and that I needed to wear more layers and the right socks. I was still not confident that I had brought the right layers to Wyoming for this trip, but there’s nothing I could do about that now, so I shoved my doubt away and shoved everything that I had in my pack and headed out.

The hike to the blind was just as physically challenging as yesterday, but this time I knew how many “couple hundred more yards” I had to go. I did it yesterday, I can do it again today. I was still intimidated but less unsure of myself.

The forecast proved to be true, and we felt the wind pick up around 6pm as snow started to fall on the mountain. I was already layered up and mentally braced myself for a chilly evening. Within just a few minutes the light snow fall was piling up fast on the ground and obscured my view of the bait barrel. If a bear stepped out now, I wouldn’t shoot.

Fortunately, I never had to make the call on an ethical shot in the heavy snowfall because unfortunately, we didn’t see a bear that night. We packed up and carefully made our way back down the slippery slope to the side-by-side.

THE CRASH OUT - DAY 3

I woke up and looked out the window. It snowed all night and it was still snowing on the mountain with reports of 12-15 inches of accumulation. The plan was to head up to the mountain around 1pm. I am officially in over my head. There's the self-doubt and panic again. I packed for a bit of rain, not a foot of snow. I struggled to get up the hillside in clear conditions. How am I going to get up there in a foot of snow??

I crashed out. I let that mental discomfort consume me for a while. I was homesick. I was scared. I can’t do this.

What can I do? Have a snack and phone a friend, obviously. I’m going to have to do my best with what I have and stop being a chicken about the conditions. This is what I’m here to do, and I will do it. My guide won’t put me in a dangerous situation, his job is to help make me successful in this hunt and all I need to do is trust him, put one foot in front of the other and know I’m going to suffer just a little. With my plan formulated (Operation Suck It Up), I started to prepare my pack for the day.

My phone rings. It’s my guide. He tells me that the conditions on the mountain are bad for this time of year. The bears typically hunker down during storms like this and won’t be moving today. He doesn’t think today will be successful, tomorrow will be much better.

I was equally disappointed and relieved. Disappointed because I had just pulled out of my mental spiral and resolved to do something that I was scared of despite my fear. Relieved because my fear wasn’t unfounded.

Don’t let go of Operation Suck It Up, KB. There’s still going to be a foot of snow tomorrow.

LIONS, TURKEYS & BEARS, OH MY! - DAY 4

With the snowy conditions and hunters rotating spots, I headed out with a different guide on our final day. With 14 inches of snow in the mountain, we got an early start since we expected bears to be on their feet and hitting baits and our hunting party had three tags to fill today, including mine. Our guide decided to stop at one bait nearby to check for fresh sign, and maybe we’d jump a bear if we’re lucky. The snow was starting to melt, turning the landscape into a patchwork of knee-deep heavy snow, puddles of mud and slides of soggy ground. The walk wasn’t far, but the going was slow as we slogged through the snow with high knees. I was relieved that I wasn’t the only one breathing hard though. No bear and no fresh sign at this one. Let’s try the next bait site.

Piled back into the side-by-side, our guide navigated through a maze of snow-covered and washed out trails to the next bait. The plan was the same. Walk down to the bait in hopes of jumping a bear. Anything could happen in the next few minutes. With butterflies in my stomach, I put a 6mm ARC round in the chamber and followed my guide. Let’s do this.

We walked slowly and quietly, checking every few yards for a bear at the bait. No bear. Fresh sign. This is good. He went back up the hill to retrieve the other hunters and supplies to replenish the bait while I waited.

For the first time, I was truly alone in the woods. Had this been Day 1, every rustle in the brush, every chunk of snow falling from the trees, every pinecone drop would’ve had me looking over my shoulder like the girl that gets mauled in the first scene of every horror film ever made. Instead, I breathed in the smell of the mountains, listened to the birds sing, and watched the sunlight dance on the aspen bark as it filtered through the canopy.

I thought about the decisions that brought me here, the self-doubt I spent days trying to shove away, and the lessons I was learning the hard way. Standing alone in this patch of wilderness that existed long before me and will exist long after me, I felt genuinely small in the best possible way. Would I do it over again?

A few minutes later, my guide returned with the side-by-side after doing a very convincing impression of a mountain goat up the hill, saving me from demonstrating the limits of my midwestern elevation tolerance for the second time that day. As we left the other hunters at the bait site, the answer was beginning to take shape.

But first things first, I need to get a bear and notch my first tag. I’m not out of the woods yet and I’ve still got work to do. Time to head to our final bait of the day and wait for my first bear.

After a long ride and a lost race to a few playful antelope, we made it to the bait site with the same plan to walk in and hopefully jump a bear. Once again, no bear but promising signs. We set up a pop-up blind just a few feet to the left of the trail with a clear shooting lane to the bait and settled in for a cold evening.

Two hours into our sit, we spotted a turkey at the bait. Finally some action! I didn’t have a turkey tag, but at least we have some entertainment now. The turkey left soon after, but came back with a friend, and then another. I didn’t come here to watch turkeys at a bear bait, but I was happy enough to watch the scene unfold.

After the turkeys left, I was struggling to keep my eyes open and started to drift off for a few moments at a time. Startled by something, I opened my eyes and instantly focused on the bait barrel and saw a mass of black fur emerge from the woods. Bear.

My guide slowly raised his binoculars while I got behind my 110 Ultralite Predator and found the bear in my optic, my thumb on the safety ready to flick it off. As the bear came into the bait, I realized that it’s about half the size of the barrel. This is a young one and probably just left its mother this spring. This is not my bear. I came off the rifle and relaxed to watch Little Bear. Disappointment quickly faded into fascination. This is what I’m here for. Even if I don’t get a bear, to see any bear with my own eyes is an experience of a lifetime.

Little Bear spent a few moments at the bait barrel eating and sniffing around, but he quickly scampered off into the woods. He came back and picked up more food and dashed into the woods again before returning for another snack-to-go. Little Bear was acting skittish. My guide whispered to me that this was a great sign as Little Bear climbed a tree near the bait.

“There must be a big bear nearby. Be ready,” he whispered.

I take a deep breath, try to forget how cold I am, focus all my attention and tune my senses to my surroundings. My eyes scan the woods around the bait looking for the slightest movement in the distance. My ears listen for a breaking twig or for the birds to change their song.

And then the moment I’ve been waiting for. I hear soft padded steps in the snow just outside of the blind and a high-pitched noise.

“Don’t move.”

I freeze.

Soft shallow breaths, body gone still. My eyes move to each of the blind windows, desperately trying to develop X-Ray vision on the spot so I can see what’s happening outside the vinyl walls of the blind. I sense whatever was happening was 6 feet from where I was sitting. Without X-Ray vision, I remain still, but my mind and heart are racing.

Could it be a bear or something else? I don’t know what a bear sounds like, I’ve only seen my first bear 30 minutes ago. My guide told me on Day 1 that sometimes a bear will approach the bait from behind the blind and if that happens, stay calm because the bear will continue to the bait. With that in mind, I do my best to remain calm…on the outside.

After what seemed an eternity, there’s finally movement on the trail in front of the blind. It’s not a bear.

It’s a mountain lion.

My heart starts thumping out of my chest. My mind races with bits of half-remembered advice about mountain lion safety and pure amazement at what I am seeing with my own eyes. It’s the mountain lions you don’t see that you have to worry about, I can see this one and it’s awfully close to me, I can’t believe that’s a real-life mountain lion! It stops, turns and looks directly at us. Do I look like prey right now? Am I supposed to make eye contact with big cats? This is so cool, I’m so scared. The lion turns back and crouches toward the bait. Is this actually happening right now? I can’t wait to tell my dad.

The mountain lion disappears into the woods. I am still frozen because the last thing Simon Said was “don’t move”, so I am not moving! Eventually my body thaws just enough to start shaking like a leaf.

My guide is just as floored by the encounter as I am.

Twenty minutes later and I finally have the trembling under control. The mixture of fear, excitement, awe, freezing temps, and a foot of snow on the ground is like plugging my body into a live wire.

And then the moment I didn’t know I was waiting for. We hear soft padded steps outside of the blind and another high-pitched noise. We both freeze instantly. Is the mountain lion back? The lion emerges onto the trail again, this time with no attention or curiosity towards us in the blind. I quickly and quietly grab my phone to shoot a video of the lion walking across the trail and disappearing into the woods again. Cue the shaking limbs.

My guide and I exchanged various versions of “I can’t believe that just happened…again!” for the remaining 45 minutes in the blind until our legal shooting light faded with no sight of another bear. We scrambled out of the blind with as much grace as two half-frozen people can and looked around for cat tracks. We immediately found evidence in the snow that the mountain lion had approached within 8 feet of our blind, not once but twice.

With that, my first bear hunt was officially over, tag unfilled, but fulfilled.

THE ANSWER

Sure, it would have been incredible to actually harvest my first animal. But ultimately that wasn’t what this was about for me.

It was about saying yes to something that intimidated me. It was about existing in discomfort instead of avoiding it. It was about learning that sometimes the only way forward is one foot in front of the other for just a “couple hundred more yards.”

This wasn’t technically the hardest hunt in the world, but it challenged me in ways I wasn’t expecting. The cold. The elevation. The self-doubt. The constant mental game between panic and perseverance. Seasoned hunters feel those things too, but experience teaches them they can push through it. I’m still learning that part.

The reward wasn’t just the opportunity to punch a tag. It was finding out that I could be cold, scared, in over my head, and keep going anyway – and that the world beyond a “couple hundred more yards” looks like a mountain lion standing in fresh snow.

Would I do it again? The answer is clear to me. Yes.

Maybe hogs next time, though.