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Author’s note: Before we get to the fly-in hunt, I’d like to thank the people who made it possible. The sponsor for this aerial adventure has been building the World’s Finest Triggers since 1946. Timney, the oldest and largest trigger manufacturer, offers upgraded bang switches for everything from vintage Mausers to modern Marlins and everything in between. If you’re in the market for a trigger upgrade, please check out their offerings. Special thanks to Chris Ellis, Timney’s VP of marketing and communications, for saying yes to a hunt many deemed crazy, controversial, and even dangerous. To Timney’s owner, John Vehr, I will forever be grateful for the support. Without your blessing, this story never could have been told.

Rotors whirling and Lycoming engine straining, the Robinson R44 detached from the makeshift helipad. After slowly gaining elevation, Tony Chambers pitched the helicopter forward. Before long, we were hurtling above desolate Wyoming rangeland at 100 mph. In minutes, we rounded the corner of dry riverbed and locked eyes on our destination, a tall ridge dotted green by clumps of juniper and pine. From above, Tony picked a coalbed methane (CBM) well carved into the hillside and delicately set us down. Start to finish, the flight was just four minutes. Engine running, managing editor Jayce Kadoun and I pried our gear from the fuselage, ducked our heads, and scampered beneath the twirling rotors. Once safely out front, Tony lifted off and swung north to pick up the next load of hunters. When the helicopter disappeared behind a ridge, Jayce and I stared in awe at the Holy Grail of public land hunting before us, over 20 square miles to roam. No guides or trespass fees required. “We did it, Jayce. We finally did it.” “No, you did it,” he said. “This was all you.”

Landlocked Public

Before moving to Wyoming, the issue of landlocked public land never crossed my mind. It didn’t take long to change that. In my county alone, over 70,000 acres of Wyoming State Trust and Bureau of Land Management (BLM) is virtually inaccessible to hunting, angling, and countless other forms of outdoor recreation. The reason for this is simple: Private ranchers won’t allow the public to cross their land. It’s hard to blame landowners. After all, their land, their rules. This is a big deal locally, as it condenses most of the hunters on the accessible parcels of public land. But across all of Wyoming, an area the size of Hawaii (4+ million acres) is essentially off limits to outdoor recreation. Again, that’s just one state. Throughout the West, a staggering amount of landlocked public land exists. According to OnX Maps, 6.35 million acres of state land is entirely landlocked by private land holdings in Western states. Another 9.5 million acres of federal land — an area larger than New Hampshire and Connecticut combined — is inaccessible by land vehicle, hoof, boat, or boot. What this means is if you don’t have permission for ground access from adjoining landowners, the only way to legally enter these vast swaths of public property is by air.

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Booking the Flight

Four years ago, the idea for this fly-in hunt took shape. Three years ago, I took it seriously. Last year, a DIY hunt on landlocked ground became an obsession. I had to make it happen. The first step was finding an aircraft. How hard can it be? I thought. After striking out with 26 air operators across Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Colorado, I realized that chartering a fixed wing or helicopter for a public land hunt was next to impossible. Most commercial pilots with a bush plane or helicopter won’t take hunters in. Pilots either don’t want to upset the ranchers who give them business each year or they lack the Part 135 certification from the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), which covers non-scheduled carriers, helicopters, and charter operators. Part 135 exists for passenger safety, so it’s no surprise this is both difficult and expensive to acquire. Before giving up on my dream, I began carpet-bombing the aviation industry, begging for someone to join us on a hunt. All we needed was an aircraft and a pilot. If we didn’t pay them for the flight, we could all hunt together. I may not be a smart man, but I am a determined one, so I reached out to a dizzying number of aircraft manufacturers, including helicopter, fixed-wing, powered parachute, weight-shift trike, and even commercial drone manufacturers. (I really did explore using a giant drone to access this land.) However, the most comical call I made was to a hot air balloon manufacturer in the Midwest.

“You ever sell a hot air balloon for hunting?” I asked. “I’d like to fly into landlocked public land, and this seems like it might work.”

“No, you’re the first to ask,” said a representative who no doubt still cackles each time he tells this story. “You do realize you can’t steer hot air balloons, right?”

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(For the record, I did know that, and I still think a hot air balloon could work.)

I’d nearly given up when I did one last Google search and stumbled upon Tony Chambers of Wind River Air (windriverair.com). To my astonishment, Chambers owns a Robinson R44, is Part 135 certified, and has a passion for accessing landlocked public land. When Tony said yes to an early October deer and elk hunt, step one was complete. The plan was coming together. But I was so fixated on how to make the hunt happen that I never addressed an important question — should I?

Black and White, or Gray?

Like corner crossing, using an aircraft to access public lands is a contentious topic in the hunting world. Leading up to the trip, I conducted informal polling. Amazingly, not a single hunter I knew had flown in. That surprised me. Even more surprising were the split opinions on whether this was the right or wrong thing to do. The majority deemed an aerial hunt on public land a righteous endeavor. “Hell yeah,” they’d say. “Go for it!” Others thought I was crazy. I couldn’t understand why until the truth came out. They were concerned about our physical safety.

It’s an interesting take. Their argument boils down to this: When someone has sole access to land for generations, eventually they will consider it theirs. If someone sets foot on this land, they must deal with the consequences. Could an unhinged rancher or outfitter use violence to keep hunters off public land? Sure, but it’s unlikely. Real life isn’t like an episode of “Yellowstone.” In addition, today’s hunters have it better than ever. GPS software like OnX allows land ownership disputes to be resolved in real time.

“Sorry, Mr. Rancher, but as you can see, we’re standing on BLM land, not Double Tongue ranch. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

If that’s not enough, hunter harassment statutes can and do prevent most shenanigans. Wyoming law states that, “No person shall … prevent or hinder the lawful taking of any wildlife” or “Interfere with the lawful taking of or the process of lawfully taking any wildlife.” A conviction could result in up to $50,000 in fines. Unless it’s an ornery billionaire, that’s enough to give anyone pause. After considering possible outcomes — getting our asses chewed (likely), my family becoming social pariahs in our community (unlikely), being lynched from a gnarly tree by a posse of landowners (worst case) — I determined that an aerial hunt on public land was worth the risks. There’s no grey area, no dilemma. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I believed that it was the right thing to. Legally, I knew it was as well, but to be safe, I had to confirm that.

Landlocked Legality

My first call was to Ben Bump, assistant director, field services, Wyoming Office of State Lands & Investments. According to Bump, there’s no issue with landing an aircraft on state land. “As long as you land on a maintained road, we treat aircraft the same as any vehicle,” said Bump. “However, don’t block the road for other users. This means if you’re leaving the aircraft unattended, it’s best to park on the shoulder.” Bump also explained a key difference between BLM and state trust. Unlike BLM, where you can camp for up to 14 days at a time, camping is not allowed on state trust land. This means you must go in and out daily. On foot or 4X4, this is only a minor issue, but if you’re relying on an aircraft, it adds complexity and cost. To avoid this hassle, I focused on landlocked BLM for our hunt. BLM Outdoor Recreation Planner Rachel Woita provided pointers on accessing BLM-managed land. Not only did Woita confirm it’s legal to land on BLM roads, but she also stressed that public land is public land — it doesn’t matter how you get there. In other words, those arriving by plane, helicopter, or parachute have just as much right to be there as someone driving a Bentley, riding an elephant, or using a pogo stick. While discussing various BLM parcels, Woita pointed out that she had flown over the properties before but had never set foot on them. Amazingly, access to landlocked public land is a challenge for everyone — even the land managers.

“It’s hard to manage land you can’t access,” she said. Throughout conversations with representatives from State Lands, BLM, and Wyoming Fish & Game, the takeaways were clear.

1. Using an aircraft to access public land is legal.
2. If the aircraft is for transportation and not scouting purposes, you can hunt the same day you land.
3. Legally speaking, there’s nothing anyone can say or do to interfere with the hunt.

Clear for Takeoff

On the day of the hunt, our crew met at a grassy cul-de-sac of a CBM well. This BLM land had ample parking for vehicles as well as a flat spot for Tony to land. As our mound of rifles, food, and four days of camping gear slowly grew, a thwop, thwop, thwop pierced the air. The others were excited, but I felt my stomach beginning to contort. After years of dreaming, scheming, and anticipating this moment, I should have been thrilled. Instead, I was dreading a run-in with a rancher or outfitter who didn’t want us on “their” land. Dealing with an angry landowner or outfitter isn’t for everyone, which is why I told our group to expect confrontations. “Make no mistake,” I said. “We will be found. It’s only a matter of time. What I can’t predict is how they’ll react. Deescalate if you can, but don’t back down. We’re in the right.” During our group briefing on helicopter safety that consisted of how to close doors, how to fasten seat belts, and most importantly, how to avoid becoming a headless horseman for Halloween, a flatbed truck pulled up. Inside were two small children and a lady with a perplexed look on her face.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said. “Who are you with?”

“We’re not with anyone,” I replied.

“OK, but who are you with? What company?” she pressed again and again. Each time, I’d answer without giving away too many details. Eventually, I had no choice.

“We’re not with any company,” I said again. “We’re six hunters flying into landlocked public land. Why all the questions?”

With that, her face went white, curiosity replaced by panic. “I, uh, I’ve … just never seen anything like this before.”  

That was the end of our short but weird conversation. Before departing, she took a photo of the helicopter’s tail number and began to make a phone call. Five minutes after she left, Jayce and I were strapped into the helicopter as Tony went through his preflight checklist.

“You think that lady owns the property surrounding the public land?” Jayce asked through the headset.

Before I could answer, a four-wheeler appeared. Atop the mechanical steed was a large man in a cowboy hat and full-length duster. Rather than dismount, the man slowly circled the helicopter, his face displaying the mightiest of artificial smiles. Once adjacent to us, he stopped the quad.

“Good luck,” he said, enunciating each word like a villain in a Western. “We’ll be seeing you soon.”

The man stopped alongside the rest of our group before riding off. “I hope it’s worth your time,” he told them.

While Tony fired up the helicopter, I took a series of deep breaths and pondered what he meant by, “We’ll be seeing you soon.” As the helicopter lifted off, I pulled the microphone close to my mouth.

“Jayce, I believe we just met the rancher, and he seems like one helluva guy.”

Behind Enemy Lines

The distance to our drop point was less than five miles, which is a short flight if you’re not pondering a future “Dateline” episode about six hunters who vanished on a landlocked public land hunt in 2024. Jayce and I were dropped first. Tony then made two more trips to our location, bringing in my father and Joel Moore. On the far side of the property, Tony dropped Luke and Tripp Thorkildsen. Remember the rancher? True to his word, he found Luke and Tripp after they landed. Impressively, he did it in less than 10 minutes. According to Luke, the conversation was enlightening. Obviously, the rancher didn’t want us hunting in there because he leases his land (and by default, the public land encapsulated by it) to an outfitter, but his demeanor wasn’t nasty. Instead, he was in disbelief, struggling to process exactly what was happening.

The rancher told Luke we were the first group to ever fly in. “I never thought it would come to this,” he said. However, he also understood that we did everything by the book, were as legal as possible, and thanked Luke for doing it the right way instead of trespassing like others. Overall, it wasn’t a good encounter, but it wasn’t bad either. A few hours after Luke’s chat, Jayce and I hiked above camp for a brief scouting trip, where we encountered an outfitter in a pickup. As he approached, he rolled the window down. Oh man, I thought. Here it comes. Please be a quick death.

“You must be the elk hunters,” said an older guide with a smile.

“Yes, sir. That’s us.”  

“Any luck yet?”

“Not yet, sir. We just started. But it sure is beautiful country.”

“That it is,” he said, gazing across the property. “Well, good luck on the hunt.”

With those interactions out of the way, my concerns vanished. It was time to focus on the task at hand: hunting.

Hunting Realities

I was naïve about many facets of the fly-in hunt. Topping the list of delusions was a belief that this land would resemble a Louis L’Amour novel. Sure, we might encounter a few cowboys on horseback, maybe a peaceful tribe of Indians, but the largely primitive landscape would be overflowing with trophy animals. I could not have been more wrong. Between energy workers and outfitted hunters, trucks were often crisscrossing the BLM property. As far as game numbers and trophy size, both were a fraction of what I expected. In other words, it was still public land hunting, a sport with zero guarantees. To maximize opportunity and get away from the road hunters, we explored roadless areas, the first of which was a canyon behind camp. From the moment we landed, elk sign was everywhere. This was encouraging, as the trip was primarily a deer hunt. Not 30 minutes after leaving camp, I lifted my Swarovski NL Pure 12x42s and spotted an elk tucked into the shadows of a north-facing slope. Using a Spartan Precision tripod for bino stability, I probed the surrounding area for five minutes before uncovering ivory-tipped antlers. It was the first hunt of the first day, and Jayce and I were already in elk. He was a good bull, no monster, and I thought long and hard before making the decision to pass. There was too much country to hunt. I was the only one in camp with an elk tag. Besides, over the next four days, we’d likely see a bigger bull — sound logic.

However, as Jayce and I pressed on, climbing ridges and skirting sage flats, glassing into hidden basins and huge bowls, I began to doubt that decision. By late evening, we’d only seen a handful of deer and zero additional elk. I might have made a mistake.

“Jayce, you think that bull is still out?”

“Probably. Let’s go see.”

From afar, we found the herd feeding on a west-facing slope. Closing the distance was straightforward, and an hour before sundown, Jayce and I peeked over a ridge. Across the canyon, broadside, was my first opportunity to test Federal’s revolutionary 7mm Backcountry cartridge on game.

What makes the 7mm Backcountry special? It uses patented Peak Alloy case technology to provide magnum performance in a standard bolt face rifle. When developing the cartridge, Federal engineers confirmed these high-strength steel cases were safe even when loaded to 80,000 psi. For hunters, the benefit is this: In a 20-inch barrel, the cartridge achieves 3,000 fps with 170-grain bullets, enabling the use of shorter barrels and a suppressor. This minimizes overall length without sacrificing performance.

Prone behind a Weatherby 307 Alpine CT on a Javelin bipod, the reticle of my Nightforce NXS 2.5-10×42 was as steady as I’ve been on game. When enough pressure was applied to the Timney, I sent a 170-grain Terminal Ascent out the 20-inch barrel at nearly 3,100 fps. Both noise and recoil were tamed by a SilencerCo Scythe-Ti suppressor. I fired twice more before the bull was down for good. When Jayce and I arrived at the elk, we marveled at the size of his body and the pearly white tips on each tine. As the evening sky morphed from yellow to orange to purple, we donned headlamps and Benchmade knives to begin a long night of butchering.

“He’s more than just a beautiful elk,” said Jayce, forearms bloody up to his elbow. “This is proof of concept for your fly-in hunt. The plan worked perfectly.”

“Hopefully, it’s just the start,” I said. “Tomorrow, we find you a mule deer.”

Mule Deer in the Clear

The next morning, as daylight illuminated the landscape, Jayce and I were atop a high nob with 360 degrees of visibility. Optimism overflowing, I expected to find a whopper as we picked apart thousands of acres. That wasn’t the case. Besides does, fawns, two small bucks, and a cow or calf elk, game was sparse enough to remind me of a conversation I’d had with a Wyoming Game and Fish biologist about mule deer numbers. According to him, the population in this area was at an all-time low. We’d still likely find nice animals, but the numbers were way down. The drought didn’t help, either. I was ready to call the morning hunt when Jayce pointed his binoculars to the ridge above camp. Our luck changed in a hurry.

“There’s a buck sky-lined near that water tank,” he said, grabbing his backpack and PROOF Research Glacier in 6mm Creedmoor. “Let’s get closer. I think he’s a shooter.”

Before we could get within rifle range, the buck scurried over the hill. There was no way he could have seen or smelled us.

“Why did he leave?”

“There’s your answer,” said Jayce, pointing to an outfitter’s pickup slowly driving towards the water tank. “Bummer. At least we know there’s a good deer around.”

We were too close to give up. Cresting the ridge, we glassed the drainage where the buck vanished. Dozens of small ravines could hide hundreds of mule deer. After 10 minutes, we hadn’t seen a thing. While discussing what to do next, I caught movement at the water tank.  

“There’s the buck,” I said in disbelief. “He’s back at the water tank.”

Jayce quietly chambered a cartridge while I ranged the tank. The buck was at 230 yards and actively drinking when he squeezed the Timney HIT trigger, detonating the primer on the 6mm Creedmoor from Black Hills. I watched as the 108-grain ELD-M entered his ribcage. The deer ran 40 yards and piled up. With matching kickers and good mass, Jayce’s buck was a trophy by most standards and the largest deer we saw all week. I found it baffling that a mature deer was in the open near a gravel road at 8 am. Maybe that was his normal time to drink. Maybe we got lucky. More likely, animals behave differently in areas with hunting pressure this low.

Our second hunt of the trip was complete. After less than four hours of hunting, Jayce and I had 250 pounds of game meat hanging. The only issue now was keeping it from spoiling.

Can’t Beat the Heat

October in Wyoming might be snowy and cold. Then again, it can be hot and dry. The only negative about our fly-in hunt was the weather. One of the hottest and driest summers on record morphed into an equally hot and dry Indian summer. On October 2nd, the day Jayce killed his buck, the daytime high was over 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Even worse, the overnight low was 52. Without ice, cooling our meat wasn’t possible, so we called in Tony. On the morning of the 3rd, Tony touched down. The plan was to load Jayce, his camping gear, and his deer inside the helicopter. After dropping Jayce at the truck, Tony would return for the elk and “sling it out.” A sling load involves tethering cargo to the bottom of the helicopter. After quick instructions on how to fasten the rope to the underbelly hook, Tony and Jayce headed out. When they left, Joel and I hustled to get the elk meat. Before Tony returned, we needed the meat and antlers on the road. Even though he wasn’t “landing,” the rules are the same. Everything must arrive and depart from a maintained road. On the way to retrieve the elk meat, Joel chatted with an energy worker who was bulldozing a flat spot for a CBM well and explained that his day was about to get more interesting. Two trips took us maybe 10 minutes, and we had the meat bags, quarters, and antlers tied into a bundle on the edge of the road. The package was ready. We just needed the carrier. Tony swooped in low and slow, hovering above me as I hooked the rope. Tugging on the line as he climbed skyward, the cargo left the ground. The energy worker watched in awe as bloody game bags and antlers sailed over his bulldozer. Our meat wouldn’t spoil. That was comforting. But as the helicopter flew into the distance, I was paralyzed by fear. Please don’t let that knot come loose, I thought. That would really suck. Luckily, it didn’t.

Doubling on Deer

Game density low near camp, Joel and I decided to spike out for the final night of the hunt. We selected a series of basins to the northwest, loaded our gear, and hiked during the heat of the day. To save weight, we left my rifle in camp with my father. After a long hike, we reached our perch. As shadows spilled into the basin, Joel pegged a group of deer. The spotting scope confirmed they were all bucks, and the top one was what he was after. I stayed put as he made the stalk. Scaling a ridge, Joel climbed above the buck and then slowly, inch by inch, peeked over the edge to avoid being sky-lined. It didn’t happen; this time, the deer pegged him. But at just over 150 yards, it didn’t matter. Joel tripped the Timney, and the buck was his. While taking photos, I asked Joel if I could borrow his rifle to peek over the next basin. I still had a deer tag, and as every hunter knows — and I believe Einstein theorized — the grass is always greener over the next ridge. Always. This time it wasn’t. The basin was a bust. But then I turned around, facing the canyon where Joel was dressing his deer, and spotted a grey object tucked into a cut. It was a buck, and not a bad one. I chambered Joel’s Rifles Inc. Model 70 in 6.5 PRC and peered through the scope. Two shots rang out. Thwop! Thwop! Both bullets impacted flesh. Joel and I had two deer down, less than 150 yards apart. Separately, we boned our bucks and then packed them to the mouth of the canyon, where we set up camp and discussed the fly-in adventure. After four days of this unique escapade, I was curious to hear Joel’s take.

As Good As it Gets

“Joel, you’ve hunted far more than most people,” I said. “What do you think about this landlocked deal? Is it as good as I think it is?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know how you beat it,” he said. “Sure, we could access this same ground by paying an outfitter, but it wouldn’t be the same hunt. We’d stay on the roads and beg the guide to let us hike somewhere. On this trip, we decide where, when, and how. We’re hunters, not just trigger pullers, and if we get away from the roads, we have no competition. It’s just us and the animals. That doesn’t mean you’re gonna get anything, but in my opinion, this hunt is as good as it gets.”

Joel was right; the hunt was impossible to beat. It’s easy to argue that all public land should have an easement for public access, but is unfettered admission best for the land or the wildlife? Certainly not, which is why private land hunting trumps public land and why we had so much success in a short amount of time. Less humans equals better hunting. During the hunt, my father pointed out an interesting detail. He said he’s never seen BLM that was better managed. The land was in fine shape, roads were well maintained, and there wasn’t a speck of garbage to be found. In that regard, it was like a Louis L’Amour novel, one set in the modern era, where cattle ranchers, coalbed methane extraction, and DIY as well as guided hunters were all jockeying for natural resources. The health of the land is largely due to ranchers, who not only control access but also decide the duration and density of cattle grazing. Like it or not, they are the land managers, game managers, and law all rolled into one. This explains why many landowners consider this public land theirs. Practically speaking, it is their land. While ranchers may be the de facto stewards, the ownership of millions of acres of landlocked land belongs to the American people. This means you and I can access this public land right alongside ranchers and outfitters, even if they don’t always want us there. Doing so just takes a lot of work, a bit of luck, and finally, a rifle with a Timney trigger.