SherpaPhil
Member
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2014
- Messages
- 81
Having never hunted the West, my father, brother and I put in for Wyoming antelope but didn’t draw our first choice unit. Instead, we drew our second choice which ended up having many leftover tags. With the gracious help of this board and a lot of research, I felt I was able to locate more than enough accessible public land to keep us busy for several days of hunting. Thinking that we would prefer spookier animals to more hunters, we decided to hunt the second week of the season. My brother met me in Dallas and we started the long drive north. We picked up my dad at the airport in Denver and planned to have our camp set up on BLM land outside of Buffalo, WY by nightfall. Unfortunately, we were delayed by fatigue and good barbeque and pulled out of Buffalo just as the last shades of purple darkened into black above the Bighorns.
Long before leaving, I had marked several potential campsites on our map. As it was so late, we decided that instead of groping around blindly for the perfect one, we would just find the closest flat spot and pitch a tent. Of course, being our first time hunting in the west, the first campsite we tried to access was blocked by a gate and a sign stating that it was a private road. Though I am certain the road was public, I wasn’t going to press the issue and moved onto our second choice. Using the wonderful chip from OnX Maps, we found a tiny sliver of BLM land just on the border of a Walk In area. We set up camp in the dark and got a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, we decided to check out the walk in area and, as we crested our first ridge, we saw a herd of antelope a long way off, but still within the walk in area. We carefully plotted our course so we could stay hidden behind a ridge and then sneak down a dry creek bed and hopefully pop up within range of the heard. Everything went perfectly according to plan. We made it all the way down the creek bed and slowly crept up over the bank as I pulled out the range finder. I crawled forward until I could see the closest antelope and shot a range. 800 yards. Hmm. Clearly, our sense of distance didn’t quite translate to this terrain.
We rethought our approach and decided to retreat a few hundred yards to find cover and work our way down behind a ridge that appeared to run right up to the edge of the heard. After making a long sneak, this time the range finder told us we were just beyond 500 yards from our quarry. At this point, we realized that the herd was standing in an open valley much larger than we initially realized. As soon as we began to try to cross the open distance, the antelope took off and our opportunity was lost.
Over the next two days, we saw a lot more antelope, but unfortunately, very few on public land. It seemed that with all of the private land in our unit, the antelope knew where they were safe. On the upside, we had a comfortable camp, some pretty good homemade meals vacuum sealed and frozen, and it was the first time in a long time that the three of us had been together alone.
We did, however, manage to find a handful of pronghorn on public land. After parking the car, we put a few miles on our boots checking several valleys before retracing our steps back to the car. Just before we made it back, in an area we had crossed not two hours before, we nearly walked right up on a buck pronghorn feeding. He didn’t know we were there, but he was moving deliberately away as he fed. Dad tried to line up a shot on the shooting sticks but found them too short for the fairly tall brush we were in. The buck was now about 200 yards away and covering ground fairly quickly. Feeling like it was now or never, he took the shot from an awkward kneeling position and missed.
The next day, in nearly the same area, we climbed a ridge and spotted a handful of antelope two valleys over. After a long, careful stalk, we ended up about 220 yards from three does. My brother took aim, but was unable to connect and we started walking back towards the car. As the three of us walked across the middle of a hillside, we suddenly spotted a lone buck on the opposite hillside staring directly at us. We nearly just kept on walking as there was no cover at all within 300 yards and he was over 800 yards away. Out of a lack of other options, though, we just sat down, in plain view, to see what he would do. 10 or 15 minutes passed and instead of running off, the buck lowered his head and began feeding. I told my brother and dad to stay put and draw his attention, while I started crawling downhill on all fours. Rather than crawl straight at the buck, I took a 45 degree angle in hopes to not alarm him. After probably 45 minutes, 400 yards, and an unholy number of thorns, I was able to put a tiny ridge between the buck and myself.
With the ridge between us, I closed the distance quickly and was able to stalk within 125 yards of the buck. Unfortunately, the only thing I was ever able to see was his horns as he sat in the brush. I sat there, with all my soft parts full of thorns, and tried to decide what to do. There was no way I could stir him without causing him to take off at full speed. Due to the brush, I would have to be within 20 or 30 yards to have a shot at him sitting. Just as I was wondering how long my dad and brother would sit still on the hillside, the buck stood up and began slowly walking almost perfectly broadside to me. In the same awkward kneeling position my father had tried, I squeezed off a shot.
As the buck tumbled within 50 yards of where he stood when I took my shot, I stood up with the deep satisfaction that can only come from the successful conclusion of goal more than two years in the planning. I turned around and saw my dad and my brother stand up, and though they were 500 yards away, the way I see it in my mind, I can see my dad smiling for me. Then, suddenly, they both sat down quickly and obviously tried to blend into the landscape. “Oh no, did he get up?” was my first thought. I wheeled around ready for a follow up, even though I knew the buck went down in a very convincing heap.
I was looking in the same direction as the others, but I couldn’t see anything that made sense. The buck was still down, there were no other antelope, I knew there was something I was missing, but I just couldn’t figure out what it was. As I was nearly ready to ignore them and go find the buck, three does suddenly crested the ridge in front of me and stopped. I actually remember saying to myself, “Oohhhh,” as I raised my rifle again.
We spent most of the day butchering the two pronghorn and getting the cape and horns to the taxidermist. As we drove back to our campsite in early afternoon, for the first time, was passed a small heard of antelope standing on public ground. Despite my protests, my dad said that “we have two", and that was enough. He didn’t want to put a stalk on them.
Long before leaving, I had marked several potential campsites on our map. As it was so late, we decided that instead of groping around blindly for the perfect one, we would just find the closest flat spot and pitch a tent. Of course, being our first time hunting in the west, the first campsite we tried to access was blocked by a gate and a sign stating that it was a private road. Though I am certain the road was public, I wasn’t going to press the issue and moved onto our second choice. Using the wonderful chip from OnX Maps, we found a tiny sliver of BLM land just on the border of a Walk In area. We set up camp in the dark and got a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, we decided to check out the walk in area and, as we crested our first ridge, we saw a herd of antelope a long way off, but still within the walk in area. We carefully plotted our course so we could stay hidden behind a ridge and then sneak down a dry creek bed and hopefully pop up within range of the heard. Everything went perfectly according to plan. We made it all the way down the creek bed and slowly crept up over the bank as I pulled out the range finder. I crawled forward until I could see the closest antelope and shot a range. 800 yards. Hmm. Clearly, our sense of distance didn’t quite translate to this terrain.
We rethought our approach and decided to retreat a few hundred yards to find cover and work our way down behind a ridge that appeared to run right up to the edge of the heard. After making a long sneak, this time the range finder told us we were just beyond 500 yards from our quarry. At this point, we realized that the herd was standing in an open valley much larger than we initially realized. As soon as we began to try to cross the open distance, the antelope took off and our opportunity was lost.
Over the next two days, we saw a lot more antelope, but unfortunately, very few on public land. It seemed that with all of the private land in our unit, the antelope knew where they were safe. On the upside, we had a comfortable camp, some pretty good homemade meals vacuum sealed and frozen, and it was the first time in a long time that the three of us had been together alone.
We did, however, manage to find a handful of pronghorn on public land. After parking the car, we put a few miles on our boots checking several valleys before retracing our steps back to the car. Just before we made it back, in an area we had crossed not two hours before, we nearly walked right up on a buck pronghorn feeding. He didn’t know we were there, but he was moving deliberately away as he fed. Dad tried to line up a shot on the shooting sticks but found them too short for the fairly tall brush we were in. The buck was now about 200 yards away and covering ground fairly quickly. Feeling like it was now or never, he took the shot from an awkward kneeling position and missed.
The next day, in nearly the same area, we climbed a ridge and spotted a handful of antelope two valleys over. After a long, careful stalk, we ended up about 220 yards from three does. My brother took aim, but was unable to connect and we started walking back towards the car. As the three of us walked across the middle of a hillside, we suddenly spotted a lone buck on the opposite hillside staring directly at us. We nearly just kept on walking as there was no cover at all within 300 yards and he was over 800 yards away. Out of a lack of other options, though, we just sat down, in plain view, to see what he would do. 10 or 15 minutes passed and instead of running off, the buck lowered his head and began feeding. I told my brother and dad to stay put and draw his attention, while I started crawling downhill on all fours. Rather than crawl straight at the buck, I took a 45 degree angle in hopes to not alarm him. After probably 45 minutes, 400 yards, and an unholy number of thorns, I was able to put a tiny ridge between the buck and myself.
With the ridge between us, I closed the distance quickly and was able to stalk within 125 yards of the buck. Unfortunately, the only thing I was ever able to see was his horns as he sat in the brush. I sat there, with all my soft parts full of thorns, and tried to decide what to do. There was no way I could stir him without causing him to take off at full speed. Due to the brush, I would have to be within 20 or 30 yards to have a shot at him sitting. Just as I was wondering how long my dad and brother would sit still on the hillside, the buck stood up and began slowly walking almost perfectly broadside to me. In the same awkward kneeling position my father had tried, I squeezed off a shot.
As the buck tumbled within 50 yards of where he stood when I took my shot, I stood up with the deep satisfaction that can only come from the successful conclusion of goal more than two years in the planning. I turned around and saw my dad and my brother stand up, and though they were 500 yards away, the way I see it in my mind, I can see my dad smiling for me. Then, suddenly, they both sat down quickly and obviously tried to blend into the landscape. “Oh no, did he get up?” was my first thought. I wheeled around ready for a follow up, even though I knew the buck went down in a very convincing heap.
I was looking in the same direction as the others, but I couldn’t see anything that made sense. The buck was still down, there were no other antelope, I knew there was something I was missing, but I just couldn’t figure out what it was. As I was nearly ready to ignore them and go find the buck, three does suddenly crested the ridge in front of me and stopped. I actually remember saying to myself, “Oohhhh,” as I raised my rifle again.
We spent most of the day butchering the two pronghorn and getting the cape and horns to the taxidermist. As we drove back to our campsite in early afternoon, for the first time, was passed a small heard of antelope standing on public ground. Despite my protests, my dad said that “we have two", and that was enough. He didn’t want to put a stalk on them.
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