In Wyoming, a heated debate is brewing over extreme long-range hunting, a practice that’s raising eyebrows among hunters and lawmakers alike. The issue came to a head during a recent meeting of the Wyoming Legislature’s Travel, Recreation, Wildlife, and Cultural Resources Committee, where the question wasn’t just about how far is too far to shoot—it was about whether the soul of hunting is at stake.
The controversy stems from stories like one in Fremont County, where a hunter dropped an antelope from an astonishing 2,000 yards away. For perspective, that’s over a mile, a distance that makes even seasoned hunters question the ethics of the shot. Many argue that anything beyond 600 yards pushes the boundaries of what’s fair, both for the animal and the sport itself. The committee, grappling with how to address this growing trend, found themselves stuck: how do you regulate something as personal as hunting ethics without stepping on individual freedoms?
Rep. Andrew Byron, a committee co-chair from Jackson, shared a story that hit home for many in the room. A hunter was lining up a careful 400-yard shot on a big game animal, only to watch it collapse after a deafening shot rang out from another hunter—positioned 400 yards behind them. Incidents like this aren’t just frustrating; they’re sparking concerns that extreme long-range hunting could be tarnishing the reputation of hunters across Wyoming and beyond.
The discussion was kicked off by Rep. McKay Erickson from Afton, who, while not a committee member, felt strongly enough to bring the issue forward. Erickson worries that the rush to embrace cutting-edge firearms, high-powered optics, and other gadgets is outpacing the sport’s traditional values. “We’re so caught up in the latest gear that we’re not thinking about what it means for hunting, for Wyoming, or for the idea of fair chase,” he told the committee. He’s especially concerned about how this trend might shape the next generation’s understanding of what hunting is supposed to be—a pursuit rooted in skill, patience, and respect for the animal.
Erickson was quick to clarify that he’s all for extreme long-range target shooting, where competitors push the limits of precision at ranges stretching out to a mile or more. In fact, Wyoming made headlines in 2022 when a local rifle team set a world record by hitting a target 4.4 miles away. But hunting, he argues, is different. It’s not just about hitting a target; it’s about the unspoken code that governs the chase.
The rapid advancement of technology is a big part of the problem, according to Sen. Larry Hicks from Baggs. “This issue keeps coming up, but it’s tough to stay ahead of how fast firearms and optics are evolving,” he said. High-tech scopes and rifles make shots at extreme distances possible, but just because you can take a shot doesn’t mean you should. That’s where the concept of “fair chase” comes in, a principle that’s central to hunting ethics but tricky to pin down.
Joe Sandrini, a retired Wyoming Game and Fish game warden and biologist, offered some historical context. He helped draft a 2017 study that explored how technology was impacting hunting ethics in the state, but he admitted that a lot has changed in the eight years since. Fair chase, Sandrini explained, is about giving animals a reasonable chance to escape. When hunters are shooting from distances where animals can’t even sense their presence, it starts to feel less like hunting and more like sniping. “At those ranges, the animal doesn’t even know you’re there,” he said. “Is that still fair?”
The committee tossed around ideas, but no one was eager to propose heavy-handed laws. Erickson himself suggested that this might be better handled by the Wyoming Game and Fish Department or the Game and Fish Commission, which oversees it, rather than the Legislature. One possibility raised was creating special hunting seasons for shorter-range weapons, like rifles with open sights, lower-powered scopes, or even handguns. Sandrini pointed out that some states have already gone this route, and it could be a good fit for Wyoming—especially in more populated areas where long-range rifle shots might pose safety risks.
There’s also the question of how extreme long-range hunting is being seen in the public eye. Erickson warned that the sport’s image could take a hit if hunters are perceived as relying on high-tech gear to stack the deck against wildlife. “We don’t want to be seen as catering to big-money companies pushing this stuff,” he said. “It could turn people off from the sport and make it harder to defend.”
For now, the path forward is unclear. The committee agreed that the issue deserves more attention, with Sandrini suggesting it might be time to revisit the 2017 study to account for new technology and attitudes. But regulating something as deeply personal as hunting ethics is no easy task. It’s hard to write laws that balance individual rights with the collective responsibility to keep hunting true to its roots.
In Wyoming, where hunting is more than a pastime—it’s a way of life—the debate over extreme long-range hunting is far from over. It’s a conversation about tradition, technology, and what it means to be a sportsman in a world where a mile-long shot is no longer the stuff of fantasy. As hunters head out into the field, they’ll carry not just their rifles but the weight of these questions, knowing that the answers they find could shape the future of the sport they hold dear.
