Hunting in Casper Wyoming

I was disappointed to discover that I hadn’t drawn a prize elk tag in one of the limited quota areas near Casper. In twenty years, only twice have I been lucky enough to draw one of those boutique “any elk” permits. And with our pronghorn herds still recovering from the brutal winter of 2022, I chose not to apply for antelope.

On the bright side, there are plenty of other hunting opportunities along the logging roads and BLM lands just a short drive from town. Wyoming doesn’t often rank in the states known for upland bird hunting. People usually think of the Dakotas and Nebraska when they dream of a bird-hunting destinations. But while Wyoming doesn’t have upland hunting in terms of shear numbers, the Cowboy State makes up for it in variety of species to hunt. Wyoming has sage, dusky, ruffed, and sharp-tail grouse. There are also wild populations of Hungarian partridges and chukars. (But I’m afraid if I wrote too much, and too specifically, about the Huns and chukars, the small but dedicated society of hunters who pursue these wild birds might come for me and break my nose.)

Of all of Wyoming’s upland birds, I choose to hunt the dusky grouse—he fits my style. Duskies don’t voluntarily give themselves up. They live in steep, desolate country where you have to put in the miles if you want to be successful. You have to memorize patches of thimbleberry and mountain laurel. The deadfall is intimidating. Though, if Wyoming is known for anything, it’s its vast tracts of public land and immense walk-in areas where you are free to press the landscape as long as you are able.

For decades I’ve owned a Labrador retriever and a bit of knowledge about where I might stumble upon a grouse or two. Henderson, my 80-pound, black lab, has no idea about drawing odds and elk surveys. He was energetic as ever when I put on my blaze orange bird vest and shoved my twenty-gauge shotgun into its travel case. He nearly exhausted himself leaping on my hardwood floors. He knows the grouse woods and I’ve followed him for eight years. We’ve never missed on opening day. And even if we don’t bag many birds, we each shed a few pounds before the Holidays.

This year there were new clear-cuts in one of the areas near Casper. Beetle-killed trees gave the forest a gray, gauzy appearance. And it was hot—85 degrees--even in early September at 6 pm. Someone using a chainsaw had cut a dozen of the downed trees into usable pieces. The logs, were carefully stacked, and they were the perfect size for a woodstove. There were the obvious tread marks left by a mountain biker in the sand. A spray of grasshoppers clattered in the black dog’s wake as he went huffing down the old logging road with his nose to the ground. In the first hour, Henderson required two thirty-two once water bottles to cool him down. He flopped in the shade. His tongue was hanging out of his jaws. The light was slanting through the spruce trees and I knew it was time to head back.

We took a game trail that led to an area that had been logged long before my arrival in Wyoming. The stumps had blackened. The dog’s posture changed immediately. Henderson has obvious body language for when he’s found bird scent. His tail wags at double-speed. He boxes his ears and frequently stops with his front legs locked, almost a true point. He was going crazy among the stumps and thimbleberry bushes. The first bird burst from a terrible snag of downfall. There was no shot. But the second bird fluttered up toward the woods line. I missed, but the second shot was on the money. Henderson brought the bird to me. He flopped in the dust. His tongue was covered with gray feathers.

One grouse is enough. Sometimes, I end up with more than one. But one is enough to make a fall stew with sweet potatoes and andouille sausage. It was dark by the time we made it back to the truck. Casper appeared below on the prairie like a fistful of sparkling glass shards. The dog gulped down a huge bowl of water while I cleaned the grouse on my porch. I saved the fan and spread it out to dry. I put it in the dark garage with the other fans, a whole library of feathers that I use to mark the time.

Casper’s North Platte River isn’t just for trophy trout fishing. Migratory ducks and geese arrive from the North when the temperatures plumet. There are a few hardcore waterfowlers around town and even a few guides who will take you out. Some of the same public areas that allow for trout fishing are available for duck hunting in the winter, though you must take precautions and dress for the weather. It’s also inadvisable to put your dog in the water when it’s blisteringly cold.

Wyoming is the only state I know of that supports a robust pheasant stocking program built to serve the hunting public and invite newbies into the field. The Cowboy State has two pheasant farms (Sheridan and Downar) where some 30-thousand birds are raised and released each fall. These ringneck pheasants originate from North Dakota birds. They are stocked in walk-in areas, state parks, and on BLM lands. For a fraction of what it would cost to hunt in the Dakotas, one can train their dogs on real birds. There are specific youth days in the Eastern part of the state where youngsters can get introduced to upland hunting and flushing dogs.

Read the regulations at least twice. The general pheasant season runs from November 1 to New Year’s Eve. Typically, shooting hours run from 8 am to 4 pm. Some areas require that you use nontoxic shot and use a plug that limits your shotgun to three shells. The Wyoming Game and Fish recommends wearing blaze orange or fluorescent pink on some areas; while in others, it’s mandatory.

Henderson and I won’t make all of the days, but we will get our share. Perhaps we’ll drop a few pounds as we ply over the landscape. Say hello to us if you pass us in the field.