Better Late Than Never, Hopefully

[rwc101]

If completely successful, this hunt recap would have appeared as it happened in late October. If you manage to make it ½ way through, you’ll read why that wasn’t the case. The story starts with my elation upon realizing I hadn’t messed up my pronghorn application as I had thought. Not only that, I drew a rather hard-to-get type 1 tag in SW Wyoming. The wheels started turning rather quickly on how to get my dad, brother-in-law, and our friend out here to enjoy the hunt. We have hunted together for years, but that has been limited to a pheasant hunt every 2-3 years since I moved west. No, it’s (mostly) not a public land hunt. Just a chance to walk through 5 miles of milo and mud while shoot a few birds before imbibing at the best restaurant/bar/bowling alley in the Dakotas.




I was able to convince my dad to make the trip out for the pronghorn tag right off the bat. My BIL is a Game Warden and somehow managed to get vacation for a whole 5 consecutive days. The only kicker was that the days were in mid-October. Rather late in the season. I tried enticing our friend with the fact I also had a general elk tag we could hunt if we tagged out early. He’s a hardworking guy, USCG vet, and unfortunately, probably not able to make a trip out for an elk hunt of his own despite it being his dream hunt. My psychological warfare was unsuccessful, so it would just be my dad, BIL, and I along for the hunt.

I only made one scouting trip out for my buck pronghorn tag. I figured it was worth the gas money to get a lay of the land but drooling over bucks would be counterproductive since I was hunting later in the season to accommodate my BIL’s vacation schedule. No use searching for a buck that was shot weeks before. I have to say, I was less than impressed. Lots of O&G development, scrubby, ankle high sagebrush, and not a whole lot of pronghorn. I stuck to the accessible areas in the checkerboard since I had a pet theory it would deter non-residents who didn’t do their homework (nope).




Pick up trash. Seriously. Conversing about tags and the season ahead at a BHA public lands cleanup event resulted in a Huntalker providing some much appreciated info about the hunt. Go South, young(ish?) man. Didn't even have to ask.

My parents drove out so my mom could watch my incredibly needy cat. We all thanked my sister for watching the parents’ dog while taking care of my 5 month old niece so the boys could crawl around the sagebrush. We hitched up my teardrop, bought tons of ice, and headed west. The wind. My god, the wind. I have become rather used to wind since moving to Wyoming, but this was something else. We drove dead on into 40-60 MPH wind for three hours. I usually manage 18 MPG while towing the trailer on flat terrain. We averaged 12 on the way out. Battered by the wind in both Rawlins and Wamsutter while topping of the tank. Neither my dad or BIL had been west of the Snowies, so they got to experience the magnificence of southern Wyoming during the fall whenever they were able to look up from their phones. I almost slammed on the brakes in the middle of I-80 when I noticed a badger running down the median. Despite the wind, truckers, and badgers we made it to the southern portion of the hunt area late in the day having only seen 1 buck, a few mule deer does, and a coyote while driving through my e-scouted camping spots. We drove to the eastern side of a ridge in an attempt to escape the wind. Nope dice. Headed into the hills to try to escape the wind. Still windy. We accepted fate and selected a spot that, at the least, had wind and great views. I'm sure anyone who has spent time in SW Wyoming has figured out where we were, but this is the only picture I'll post of camp (for now).

 

[rwc101]

We huddled around the truck while I tried very hard to cook some brats in the wind on the old Coleman stove. Game Wardens have blacked-out faces, don't ya know?


We quickly retreated to bed despite it being 7PM just to get out of the wind. My dad got the teardrop by virtue of being an old fart and a horrible snorer. He and his CPAP machine got the memory foam mattress and down blanket while my BIL and I emptied the truck bed of gear and inflated a Walmart air mattress I bought for the trip. We were able to maintain our state of denial about the integrity of our air mattress for an hour before admitting defeat as the ridges of the truck bed realigned our spines. We retreated to the truck cap and got a horrendous night's sleep propping our bundled up jackets against the windows. Oh yeah, our pillows remained safe at home by the front door where we knew we couldn't forget them.

The next morning was a no-shoot day. I knew I would get too excited over my first pronghorn buck and shoot a 12 incher if I didn't spend at least a day looking over bucks in the area. We found lots of bucks between average and less than impressive. The good news was that even the unimpressive bucks looked like they either had great mass or great length. Shooters in a year or two in my uneducated opinion. We went on some practice run stalks and managed to get within 200 yards of a few groups. The rut must have been over since does, young bucks, and the nicer bucks were all mingled together in groups of 10-20. A lot of miles were driven and lots of glassing went on. We got to see loads of wild horses, a few sage grouse, and a lonely cow elk making her way across the plains. Typical Wyoming traffic jams delayed our progress.

 

[Carl 9.3x62]

Good write up so far. I am following.

 

[rjthehunter]

Enjoying this one so far, I actually laughed out loud when you mentioned your pillows at the front door

 

[rwc101]

The next two days went a lot like the first. We stuck within 5 miles of camp where we started seeing pronghorn. More of the same average to below average bucks. I found one that was short but had some nice, heart-shaped curl going on which is one of my pronghorn weaknesses. We put a stalk on him by heading up a sagebrush lined gully in an effort to stay hidden while closing the difference. Two grouse flushed on us while we made our way up. Heart attacks were nearly had by all. The draw was 20 feet deep at times and could be very steep which made occasionally popping our heads up for a better view downright farcical with the talcum like dirt.



Alas, after cresting the draw and crawling 75 yards across a bare, rocky ridge we hit 9AM. 9AM was the precise time where the wind picked up going from dead calm to 30+ instantly. We watched does move off one by one and head into the crosswind before the buck followed suit. We had closed the distance to around 280 yards, but that was much further than I felt confident shooting in that sort of wind. Lesson learned no.1: stalk to where the pronghorn are headed.

 

[rwc101]

Another night of eating vacuum sealed meals before heading to bed at 7. Between "sleeping" in the truck and the wind I could sense that my BIL and father were getting a bit worn down. My dad's idea of hunting is sleeping in a tree stand and my BIL hates the wind and cold. I wanted to make the next day our last before delivering them back to hot showers and beds.

Not wanting to repeat the last two days I decided to we would head west from our camping spot the next morning. We were rewarded with lopes. Lots of lopes. The only trouble was they were miles apart. My dad was barely keeping up with us on the first three days and I knew he would have issues walking miles with no guarantee of success. We took note of a group that included a few bucks. No real idea about size. The optical quality of the spotter I bought for $100 in high school was getting stretched pretty thin. I pointed out a hill where my dad could watch us through binos while we made our approach. Parked the truck behind a hill and headed over the top. About 20 yards in the hill dropped off to a plateau and we froze.

 

[rwc101]

There were six pronghorn making their way towards us. Four does and two respectable bucks. They were not the B&C bucks that danced through my dreams after pulling the tag, but they were nice specimens I would put on my wall any day which was my only goal for the tag beyond hunting with family.

We took a knee while they approached us. It was early in the morning so not much wind. What little there was drifted away from the group. I looked through my scope trying to find a clear shot at what I believed was the bigger buck of the two. The does were like Secret Service agents. No clear shots as they meandered by only stopping to look at us for 10 seconds or so before continuing on. I was a bit gutted.

 

[rwc101]

We stayed motionless and watched as they walked off. Not even chancing a going away shot. Again, gutted. At least until more of them appeared. First the does and then a lone buck emerged from a draw so slight it was hard to believe a pronghorn could be hidden by it. Aside from the desire to get the guys home for some R&R, I knew this buck was up to snuff. Not even close to a book buck, but his right prong/digger/whatever bent outward giving him some good character to go along with a slight curl.

I slowly repositioned the tripod while the does again played Secret Service and shielded the buck from any possible shot. It felt like minutes passed waiting for the shot. The group looked at us without quite knowing what we were. My dad kept hissing take the tape off your barrel! (not a practice he was familiar with) while I tried to wave him off. Eventually the heavens aligned and I got a decent, slightly quartering-to shot. I still can't remember touching off the shot. It was all a blur as the 150 gr. Accubond hit its mark. I was only confident I hit when the buck wheeling onto his back legs, kicking himself into the air, and landing motionless.





I walked up to the buck alone as my dad and BIL headed to the truck to get gear. I filled out my tag and gave him a pat while admiring these strange and magnificent creatures from another era. Moving to Wyoming, I about broke my spine rubbernecking when I saw my first pronghorn buck. They've been my favorite animal ever since. Due to residency and injuries I hadn't been able to big game hunt since moving to Wyoming. Looking at lopes through my binos filled many hours before I was able to hunt them. It was very special to lay my hands on one and admire it up close. We snapped some pictures. The knife was made by my friend who wasn't able to join us. He gave it to me for getting my Eagle Scout, and I hadn't been able to take it on a succesful hunt before. I was able to send the pictures to him due to middle of nowhere Wyoming having better cell reception than Laramie.





Then the wind... At 9AM sharp, the wind picked up quite possibly worse than any day since.

 

[rwc101]

Please play this while imagining the three of us trying to cape an animal for the first time while getting sandblasted.

 

[rwc101]

Eventually, the deed was done and we made the 300 yard pack out in one piece. Celebratory beers were had.

That's when my dad got a call from my sister. My parents' strange, quirky, psychotic vizsla had gotten scared of some distant gunshots and run off. He hadn't been seen since the day before. Knowing how much my parents love that dumb dog, I knew they would be a mess of anxiety. They were, so we packed up and headed home only stopping so the kid at G&F (I have to assume he was an intern) could fiddle around with pliers for 20 minutes before successfully pulling a tooth for aging. The next two days we processed meat and hung around the house waiting for a call from a stranger who found their dog that never came. My mom flew back to Virginia to help look for the dog while my dad stayed around the house waiting by the phone. My general tag was good for almost another week, but nobody really felt like heading up into the mountains with the dog situation. My dad eventually convinced my BIL and I to head out for elk since he felt guilty if his dog kept us from hunting. We reluctantly headed out to where I had seen a few small bulls while unsuccessfully trying to punch a cow tag earlier in the season. Odds were already pretty slim since I have no idea how to hunt elk. I figured we could hunt a day, report that we saw nothing, and be back to hang out with and comfort my dad since his anxiety was growing each night with no news about that damn dog.

 

[rwc101]

I vastly underestimated how long it would take to type this out so tune in tomorrow for elk hunting ineptitude, freezing balls off, confusion, and maybe a little bit of redemption.

 

[Carl 9.3x62]

Good deal on the buck. Looks like a good one!

 

[rtraverdavis]

Congratulations on the buck. I hope your folks' dog is alright. Enjoying the write up so far.

 

[Jbotto]

Following! Fun read so far! Congrats on the pronghorn buck! I hope my first is as nice as that one, though after watching them this year with deer tags in my pocket, I have a feeling that I won’t be able to hold out as well as you!

 

[madtom]

This is a fun read so far. Thanks for sharing and I hope you found the elk!

 

[mdeerjunkie]

Following. Congrats on the buck so far!

 

[rwc101]

Reluctantly, we left my dad at home and headed out to the area where I had hunting my cow tag earlier in the season. The Mullen fire torched a good portion of the hunt area and forest closures left only a sliver of accessible public land. My pre-season strategy was to hunt one area hard for both the cow and general seasons rather than bouncing around general areas blindly so I was committed to this area.



After setting up camp we made our way to the best glassing spot I had found in the area which still only offered limited views. I had seen two small bulls earlier in the season about 500 yards from our glassing spot but nothing since. The two bulls were the only elk I had seen all season so hopes were not very high. The ridge they were on was the thickest deadfall in an area filled it. I'm not sure if I wanted to shoot an elk in there even if we saw one. No, I definitely would have.



Right at dusk we started to hear elk. Lots of elk.

There were cows making a raucous downhill to our left in a thick stand of aspen. The wind was carrying our scent right to them, but it was getting dark and my desire to shoot an elk with my BIL overrode common sense. We slowly made our way towards the aspen stand when the cow calling stopped cold. No sounds of elk crashing through downed timber. Just gone.

We shrugged our shoulders and headed back to our glassing spot when we heard more elk. This time they were upwind of where we had been glassing, so we hustled back. The elk kept calling for 5 more minutes. Sounded like a mixture of cows and possibly a bull. We strained our eyes glassing into the thick stand of pine the calls were coming from but without spotting so much as a patch of hair. We agreed they would be off in a flash if we tried to walk through the deadfall after them, so we waited along the edges of a clearing with the hope they would make their way down before dark. We watched a doe and two fawns make their way into the clearing before calling it a day as darkness arrived.

 

[rwc101]

Back at camp we cooked a sad hotdog dinner and climbed into bed. It was getting cold. Real cold. Anything not under the down blanket froze hard overnight. I stuck my hands into freezing chopper mitts and boots so I could cook a sad breakfast of instant oatmeal and pre-heat the truck. We didn't want to wait around for the percolator, so our caffeine fix came in the form of the slushy remains of exploded energy drinks my BIL brought. I can tolerate cold pretty well most of the time, but with moods down worrying about my parents I just couldn't see going back to the same glassing spot and sitting for the morning when the truck's thermometer read 9 degrees.

With the heat blasting and seat warmers on we headed to a spot where I thought we could glass from the truck before heading back to be with my dad. As we headed down the BLM road we could see a SxS parked in the spot with two hunters glassing the area. We retreated a half mile or so and settled for glassing more timber.

 

[rwc101]

I pulled the truck off the road where there were at least a few open lanes through the woods where we could see 100 yards or so. We headed in different directions both needing to expel some energy drink. Mid-stream, our necks snapped towards each other as the sounds that had repeated in our minds all night hit our ears. Snapping branches and elk calls. We zipped up, grabbed packs, and made our way through the timber and over a small rise towards the sounds. We were treated to a beautiful sight. Thick conifers faded to more open aspen and sagebrush.

We desperately combed through the aspen stands with our binos hoping to see the elk we had so far only heard. I spotted a very young and barely branch antlered bull as it took form on the edge of the clearing but quickly disappeared into the thick conifers. After spotting the first bull it seemed like there were elk everywhere. We counted four more small bulls that offered no clear shot. Then, the largest bull in the group materialized from the timber and started raking a small aspen with his antlers while offering a good, slightly quartering away shot. I ranged him at 220 yards. I ranged him again at 220 yards. I couldn't believe the opportunity I was presented with so I quickly handed the rangefinder to my BIL. 220 yards. I settled the crosshairs behind the shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

Every bull in the group took off uphill except mine. He stood perfectly still for a moment before taking a few steps. He collapsed as I was waiting for him to present for a follow up shot.

There were high fives. There were hugs. More than a few expletives beginning with the word 'holy.' I never felt confident that I would punch an elk tag this year and I had just done it with my BIL/BFF to share the experience.

 

[rwc101]