Brotherhood and Healing in the High Country – Reg (US SOCOM)

It was harder than usual to unzip the oversized zipper on my sleeping bag.
A combination of a rough night’s sleep in a new place, and the crisp mountain cold in the morning dark fought against me. Donning my headlamp and throwing on my old BDU Goretex, I stumbled out of the tent and over to my horse, Rowdy, to fumble through the saddling process. Once the horses and mules were ready, I gladly headed to the warmth of the cook-tent to inhale a plate of breakfast hash and as much cowboy coffee as I could gulp down. The fog in my brain began to lift.

Daniel, our imperturbable guide, led Nick and I out of camp just as the first vestiges of light were streaking the horizon. We rode for hours, mostly going up. Some “light” Wyoming weather blew in as we were rounding the top of the mountain. At 11,000 feet elevation there were no trees to break the wind, and it drove the sleet and snow right into my core. We pushed on, over jagged granite and scree, eventually dropping into the edge of the valley, where we would hunt for the day. To my relief, the sun began to break up the icy clouds and thaw some of my frozen motivation.

The plan was for Daniel, Nick and I to hunt the timbered draws in that area on our way to a deep, creek fed valley that the larger herds often bedded up in while the other two groups were hunting a large herd of elk along the top of the mountain, potentially pushing the animals directly to us. I tied Rowdy off to the only scrub pine available and followed Daniel and Nick up the inclining terrain toward the ridge where we thought the elusive prey would crest on their way to the timber behind and below us. Nick, a new friend I just met, was on his first hunt ever, so we determined he would take the first shot if we saw something.

We were still hiking up the incline when Daniel turned around with a look of excitement and intensity and motioned for us to get down. They were coming!

Nick was on the left of our formation and got behind Daniel’s suppressed bolt-action .308 still facing up hill. Daniel was in the middle spotting with his binos. I was on the right trying to control my excitement and steady my lever-action 45-70 for whatever shot I might get.

Suddenly, a cow came into view above us on some high ground. Then, as if the Mongolian horde were charging to glory, elk poured over the ridge! There were too many to count, but at least 150 of the massive creatures began to bear down on us, closing the distance fast. Silently laying in the grass, they had not spotted us. Daniel and Nick identified a magnificent bull, and Nick took his shot. I will let him tell his story, but when he shot, the herd paused for just a second, and my opportunity had arrived.

Daniel spotted a monster bull slowly moving from left to right as the shock of Nick’s shot wore off the herd. I rested in a prone, unsupported position with my rifle, the crosshairs of my underpowered 4x Leupold scope doing a figure-eight on the target. He asked if I was good and just as he did, the bull began to drop behind a slight rise. I didn’t have a shot. The herd was now in full panic mode and began moving swiftly away from us, down the ravine steep ravine to our right that fed into Blue Holes.

Without hesitation, Daniel handed me his rifle and stopped, looking me dead in the eye. “When I move, you move. When I freeze, you freeze. On me, move!”

With that he sprinted 100 meters to the top of a finger ridge overlooking the ravine the fleeing animals had just descended. Daniel was already glassing the herd when I huffed up quickly behind him. I dropped to the prone and set the bipods in a stable position, shouldering the rifle I had never fired before. My heart was pounding, excitement and elevation both having a serious effect.

I peered through the scope at the running herd, now ascending the far side of the ravine. The beauty of the animals all moving together in a giant mass was only broken by the realization the further they moved, the less likely I would be able to snatch my bull from the group. Again, Daniel identified the beast we had seen previously on the ridge. He was moving with the rear half of the group.

I confirmed I had him in the scope as he bugled, motivating his herd up the ravine. I asked for a range and Daniel deferred by telling me, “don’t worry about it, dial 4 mils” on his scope. I knew from enough shooting experience we must be over 500 meters. I needed to steady myself a bit more for this distance.

The wind was so stiff it almost took my hat off when I crested the ridge, around 20-30 mph gusts. The bull turned back, facing to the left on a small ledge, overlooking the last stragglers in the group. I had the crosshairs focused right behind his left shoulder as he was slightly quartered to me. Daniel told me to, “Standby for wind”, the wind shifted directly in our face, “never mind… just send it.”

I slowly let my breath out and gently pressed the trigger. I barely noticed the recoil, but it moved me enough I lost sight of my target. Daniel was silent, watching the bull in his binos. Please tell me I didn’t miss!

“Good hit” he said, “reload and get back on him”. The rest of the herd was passing by the location I had last seen the bull, and there he was, laying down. I saw him raise his head and lay back down. He was finished! It wasn’t until then Daniel told me the shot was ranged at 610 meters. I was blown away!

By the time we got the horses and rode over to where my bull was laying, it was mid-afternoon. I was hesitant to actually look at him, fearing I might be disappointed. Was he smaller or younger than I thought? Did I REALLY see the right one?

As I approached him from the side I immediately noticed his size. He was huge! His rack was the most beautiful part. He was the brawler of the herd and the oldest of the bulls taken that week in the group. His two eye-guards were broken off uniformly like bloody prison shanks from a recent conquest. His face and body bore the marks of countless battles in the wild. This bull had character, and he was mine.

After all the gutting, cleaning, de-boning, and packing were complete for the day, we began the 3 1/2 hour trek back to camp. It was almost 9pm, totally dark, and cold. I mounted Rowdy and followed Daniel back through some of the most treacherous terrain I have ever ridden on horseback. The scree and granite threatened to trip the horses and mules all along the climb back over Mount Arrow. One slip on their part could pitch rider and cargo quickly down rocky slides that would most likely result in serious injury or death. Thankfully the horses had better night vision than me. I trusted my horse, and I especially trusted my Guide.

Back at camp, as dead-tired as everyone was, it was still an occasion for celebration. What a day it had been! Stories of each man’s hunt that day with successes and failures brought the six of us hunters and our three guides together way more than I expected. We were all in this mission together, and excited for everyone in the group to be successful. Long days and nights with more successes, and more stories just added flavor to the experience. I needed it.

Over the next few days I had time to reflect, build new friendships, and support those who were still striving for their goal. The serene beauty of the valley where we were camped was almost too much to take in. My heart was soaring, even when rain and eventually snow covered everything with an icy cold crust. Sitting around the cookstove each night, eating fantastic camp food with men who were very different but all similar in many ways was so cathartic. Then it was time to leave.

To be honest, I really didn’t want to. This place and experience had left a mark on my soul, a good mark, and I wanted to drink it in just a little longer.

Looking back on that week now, as I sit in an office doing everyday things, I realize the whole experience was never just about the elk. The elk was what got me there; a reason to go out into the wild. I did not know at the time what work and life was doing to me on the inside, but it all came into focus when I returned home. The mundane everyday things have a tendency to create a hole in a man’s heart. A hole that we were designed to have filled with adventure, danger, challenge, and beauty, all in the company of fellow men and warriors.

The Wilderness Healing Project has found a way to fill that hole. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had a vital piece of my heart back that I had been missing. I cannot thank Daniel and the entire Wilderness Healing Project team enough for this experience!

My deepest hope is that I can contribute to their efforts to provide this experience for more men in the future.

–Reg (US SOCOM)