First on the adventure would be a hard to draw Wyoming antelope tag, getting my buck within sight of my Grandpa Jake’s dugout cabin.
Once the antelope was on ice, probably a couple of days hunting sage chickens, and maybe target huns and/or grouse, saving some soft hackles to tie up some flies for tiny mountain streams.
After those adventures, archery elk in the canyon where Grandma Grace homesteaded and where she and I would compete to see who could catch a brookie the furthest upstream.
Rifle mule deer to follow (pending the return of the herd) or perhaps draw the Sasquatch-rare moose tag.
On the drive home hit the Miracle Mile (no wind allowed!) for a guided float (I’m totally lost on big trout waters, but put me on a crick (smaller than a creek) and I’m money. And then relax for a couple of days down south of less taxing activities. I’d hit the hot springs at Saratoga, get a Hotel Wolf burger, and make Wally come back to Saratoga to make me some of his amazing pizzas. Get my first Merriams gobbler using archery gear. The next morning eat two whole cinnamon rolls at Mom’s diner, and then have a “should have been here yesterday” on the right day and fish the upper Platte for the spawning brown trout.