Faith and Endurance in the Wyoming Wilderness – Orren (US SOCOM)

From the moment I got the invite to this hunt, I knew this would be difficult for me.
I did not know it would change my life. I did not expect it to be a spiritual awakening. Life alone is a struggle in a place as wild and as high as this. Adding the physical challenges of the hunt made it one of the most difficult events I’ve ever undertaken, but I was never alone.

The WHP guides were so remarkable that by the end of day one of rifle season, four of the six veterans had bull elk down, and three of them had been recovered. By the end of the second day, the fourth bull had been recovered and a fifth had been taken. I was now the last.

After an unsuccessful hunt on day one and seeing no elk on day two, it was becoming apparent that this mountain wilderness would require an ongoing effort from me before it would allow me to harvest one of these magnificent animals. Every single attempt required the challenge of elevation gain and every single breath required my struggling lungs to strip the meager oxygen content from the thin air.

Day three would prove to be an immense challenge.
The search yielded nothing for the first half of the day but my guides were relentless. We spotted a small herd of elk at the top of a mountain and made our way there, tied up the horses, and began the climb. The familiar burning returned to my lungs and my heart rate elevated, but the guides kept the pace manageable for me.

They got me to within acceptable shooting range of a herd bull and I missed a 250-yard chip shot. It only required the agonizing climb the rest of the way to the summit to verify that there was no dead bull, no blood, and Daniel had seen a clean miss. I had to return to camp to inform the other hunters that I had failed yet again and we would be in camp another day.

I felt nothing but love and support from my fellow hunters and the guides, so we planned to go out again on the morrow.

The weather forecast was abysmal, and we woke to near-freezing temperatures and rain with the promise of falling temps and snow to follow. We saddled the horses and rode out in the dark for the hardest day of elk hunting yet. It took hours to find our quarry, but there they were, at the summit of yet another mountain—but this time was different.

This time the precarious pile of boulders was slick and wet under a darkening sky and dropping temperatures. We made the climb, found the elk, and circled around to approach from downwind. We low-crawled until we had a shooting position and I got on the gun. We watched for nearly a half hour verifying that Daniel and I were watching the same bull.

As we waited for a shot, the rain turned to snow and the temperature continued to drop. When he finally stopped moving and presented his broadside, I broke the shot and connected—398 yards through both lungs.

On that cold, triumphant ride back to camp, I realized that valuable experiences took place in those mountains. Even more valuable than putting several hundred pounds of elk meat in the freezer and a magnificent shoulder mount on the wall.

I learned some incredible things about my faith, myself, my fellow hunters, and the guides.
I learned there is healing in that wilderness.
I learned that God lives in Wyoming.
I learned that God lives in me.

-Orren (US SOCOM)