Caribou Gear Tarp

Home on the Range - or - The West has Ruined Hunting for Me

charliebravo77

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Finally got around to writing up my experiences hunting in WY. I've only been hunting for 3 years, with this trip having been about 2 years in the making. Definitely something I won't forget, and hope to replicate for years to come.

Along the way I've tried to capture my hunts, experiences, and thoughts on the culture with a blog, which the curious can see here.

The west has ruined hunting for me.

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If you asked me 10 years ago I’d have probably said I had no interest in hunting, and that I was more than content with not having to think about where the steak sitting on my plate came from. Over the years though, I began to take a passing interest in one day going hunting, just to be able to say I had done it, and to add that experience and to my bag of “this might be useful to know one day” pieces of knowledge.

Fast forward to just three years ago in 2011 when I was able to go on my first real hunt and everything began to fall apart. Despite being cold, slightly damp, and unsuccessful at shooting anything, after sitting in that duck blind for 12 hours with my friend Kurt I felt that something had been unleashed inside of me. It was a primal feeling, almost instinctual, that this moment was something I had been waiting for and didn't even know it. Hunting became much more than just going into the “wild” and shooting an animal for whatever reason I had justified to myself at the time, it was a calling that had been buried deep within, for generations near as I can tell, given that neither my parents or grandparents were hunters as far as I could ascertain. However, sitting in that blind and staring out over the river as the sun began to set I could feel a calling to hunt break free from my subconscious.

It wasn't blood lust, or some voracious appetite to kill that was drawing me into hunting, it was much more complex than that. If you didn't know I drove a truck, owned firearms and a compound bow, and had a closet half filled with camo gear you probably wouldn't peg me as a hunter. I’m not a violent person, I’m non-confrontational almost to a fault, and I don’t generally wear camo in public. That’s not to say that I think other hunters are violent, bloodthirsty, or any of those things, but when describing the desire to hunt as a primal instinct that has risen from within it’s hard not to conjure up an image a primitive hunter carrying a spear dripping with blood or Ted Nugent emptying the magazine from an M-16 into Bambi. I’m neither of those things, I’m more of a big soft teddy bear who likes to eat wild game.

That’s really been the driving force behind my new found passion for hunting, a desire to harvest the most organic, free range food that exists, and to connect with nature in a way that is often overlooked in today’s society.

In the pursuit of continuing to add game to my freezer and fulfill the primal appetite to hunt, Kurt and I went on a dozen or so hunts in the years since that fateful morning in the duck blind, some successful, some not, though all were an enjoyable and provided for many learning experiences along the way.

A common conversation topic during these hunts, and the many hours of driving that accompanied them, was that of hunting the west. For Kurt and I, midwestern hunters, we were accustomed to stand hunting, ground blinds, shotgun and muzzle loader only deer seasons, and very small pieces of public land to hunt on, especially in the Chicago area where we both live. The western US seemed like the land of salvation with its rifle hunting, spot and stalk pursuits, and vast tracts of BLM land free to explore. After a bit of research, Kurt proposed the idea of an antelope hunt in Wyoming, as the tags were relatively easy to draw, inexpensive for non-residents, and from all accounts a fairly ‘easy’ hunt.

Whether out of necessity or subconscious masochism, few of our hunts have ever been ‘easy.’ Whether it’s dragging duck decoys and gear through a mile of flooded corn and to then sit in chest deep water waiting for a few ducks to fly by, crisscrossing a state park in 10 degree weather looking for deer sign, or busting through thick brush for hours in the hopes of flushing a couple pheasant I always seem to find myself wondering if today will be the day that I finally keel over in a field. Fortunately though, Kurt’s seemingly inexhaustible stamina and physical ability seems to push me along and I pull through the other side a little stronger and more confident than when I woke up that morning.

With that thought in my mind, when I bought my antelope tags I couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of fear along with the excitement, fear that I might finally meet my match and become a burden on the hunt, as there was almost assuredly a good deal of hiking and packing out quarters to be involved.

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As we exited the highway, bleary eyed after having driven through the night, we entered the wild west that we were going to call home for the next week, and any fear I had went out the window. We had reached the promised land, and adrenaline alone could have powered me for the week. The terrain was like nothing we were used to, and there was wildlife everywhere. As we drove through the area, scouting the sections of BLM land I’m certain we saw more mule deer before noon than I've seen wild whitetail deer in my entire life. Mulies, antelope, jackrabbits, prairie dogs, whitetail, geese, ducks, there were animals everywhere. At that moment hunting was ruined for me, as the concentration of game and huntable land was unrivaled by anything accessible to us in the Midwest.

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After driving through the area, we set up camp around 5 PM after the light rain that had fallen the entire day had subsided. Once our tents were pitched we quickly grabbed our binoculars and cameras and set off into the area we had pegged as prime antelope habitat in hopes of providing some validation to our theory. After reaching the edge of the treeline that opened out into a large field of sage brush and grass, we were immediately rewarded with three antelope in the distance, including two bucks who were engaged in a battle to determine who would be king of the hill that was prominently featured in the center of the land in front of us.

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We couldn't have asked for a better introduction to the land in front of us than what we had the privilege of watching unfold in front of us for the 20 minutes that followed. After successfully defending his territory, the larger of the two bucks retired just beyond the hill as the sun began to set. We scoped out the treeline that ran along the open area in front of us, ranged some points in the field and developed a game plan for opening morning which was roughly 10 hours away.

After a Mountain House dinner we settled into our respective tents for some much needed rest, alarms set for 4AM. As I laid there under the western sky, I couldn't help but feel a bit like Lewis and Clark, or Daniel Boone, falling asleep under the stars in a place I had never been before with the intent of exploring the land that laid in front of me and pursuing game to feed myself, albeit much better equipped on top of my Thermarest, snugly zipped in my sleeping bag. I felt a bit giddy, both with anticipation of the following morning, but also simply reveling in the moment, successful or not, this was going to be a trip to remember.
 
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I awoke a bit after 4, and by 5AM we were settled into the treeline just to the west of where we watched the two bucks fighting the night before. As the sun rose we marveled at the land in front of us, and reflected upon how even just sitting there watching the day begin in a new part of the country was just as great as hunting there. Soon after, we saw our first antelope come into view, though we quickly determined that the buck we were after was just out of view and reach behind the hill. If we moved now, we had the wind and to some extent the sun in our favor. We quickly gathered our gear and made our way to the southwest side of the hill, where we began to glass for the elusive buck.

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After a few minutes on the hill, we noticed that a few hundred yards down from where we had been glassing earlier a truck had driven down the road and gotten itself stuck. A bit dismayed that other hunters had chosen to drive into the area rather than hike, we returned to the task at hand and continued waiting for our buck to appear. Shortly thereafter, a series of shots rang out and by the dumbest of luck, the hunters in the truck had shot two antelope that wandered into the area at the wrong time.

With the buck we had intended on trying to hunt occupying his time on private land, the other hunters’ gunshots having startled anything else in the immediate area, and the arrival of other hunters in pickup trucks and a UTV we decided to apply our often used Midwestern hunting tactic and picked up and pushed on deeper into the unit, away from the other hunters.

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While wandering into a bowl a couple hours later, we kicked up a buck that Kurt tried to put a stalk on. Unfortunately, after pursuing the buck over a ridge he missed the shot at approximately 350 yards with a pretty stout crosswind. Though seemingly dejected after I caught back up with him, this would later prove to have been for the best.

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I’m not sure if either of us would have admitted to it at the time, but I wonder if we had a sort of misconception that we were doing something wrong, and that we should have had at least two antelope down by this point. Deep down I think we felt a little conflicted on the subject, or at least I did.

Pushing onward into the unit, we eventually spotted a herd in the distance, almost a mile away. We began to move towards the herd trying to utilize the terrain to our advantage, as there was no brush taller than 18 inches. Around 600 yards out, the antelope’s superior vision detected something amiss, and we were forced to the ground, and Kurt set up on the Bogpod while sitting behind a sage bush.

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The herd picked up and started to move, fortunately closing some of the distance between us. They stopped at 238 yards, and rather than taking the small buck, Kurt put a shot on a large doe. Despite some confusion as the herd took off at the sound of the shot, we eventually spotted the doe running towards a fence line, obviously hit though showing no signs of stopping any time soon. Kurt put another shot on the soon nicknamed ‘doezilla’ and we were then able to recover the doe and began to dress and quarter it.

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After packing the quarters and backstraps into game bags we sat down to eat lunch, content with our efforts for the day and feeling vindicated after having been outrun by the trucks and UTV earlier. Our determination and willingness to walk the distance required to get away from the roads and venture deeper into the unit had paid off, and we set off back towards camp for some much needed rest and warm food after double digit miles being logged by the end of the day.

After another drive through the area that evening, we spotted some antelope in a small area of public land surrounded by private, split by the county road making it legal to hunt on. With the anticipation of the other hunters in the area sticking to the larger unit in their trucks, we decided to venture somewhat off the beaten path and try our luck elsewhere. Again, it was a tactic we were familiar with and generally proved to be successful in the past.

The next morning I awoke first, and boiled some water for coffee and breakfast. After a quick meal, we jumped in the truck and drove down the road towards what we hoped would be a promising piece of land. After sitting in the truck for a few minutes, we set out into the field to try and find a spot to wait for the sun to come up. Miraculously, as if we knew what we were doing, just minutes after legal shooting time, and not even having set down all of our gear, I spotted a group of does about 100 yards to the west.

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I grabbed my rangefinder from my pocket and tried to get an exact reading, though the tall grass interfered. I set the rangefinder down (this was a very, very bad idea) and grabbed my rifle. Knowing my load and the fact that the does were no further than 150 yards away, they were easily within range.

After confirming that Kurt had the group on video, I settled the crosshairs on the rear doe in the group, steadied myself and the rifle with the Bogpod, and pressed the trigger. The doe dropped instantly in the scope, and I watched as the other antelope took a few hurried steps, but then began to settle as it appeared that they weren't quite sure what had happened. We watched for a few minutes as the other does continued to graze, curious if there might be a buck nearby that would come investigate what happened but after no other signs of antelope in the area then picked up and walked over to the doe.

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We took a couple pictures and donned rubber gloves to begin quartering the doe, but before we could start we caught a glimpse of a buck across the road in the other public area. We had the wind in our favor, but he could see that there was something across the road (us) that piqued his interest. He began to move to our side a bit, and disappeared into the grass with the sun at his back, blinding our vision of him temporarily. As I couldn’t shoot across the road, I grabbed my rifle and started to move towards the edge of the field to cross over into the other field. I made it halfway to the road before we realized that when the buck disappeared into the sun he had somehow managed to get across the road and was now standing about 60 yards from me to the left. I swung my rifle around and placed a shot just behind his shoulder. After running 20 yards or so he stopped and I took a second shot, dropping him there. The prior 6 months of practicing at the 300 yard rifle range, selecting a load and bullet that performed at long distances, and I had dropped 2 antelope within 12 gauge slug distances. Go figure.

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We hauled both antelope towards the road, and that’s when I realized that when I took the shot on the doe earlier I had dropped my rangefinder to free both my hands but never picked it back up. With the prospect of having just thrown $375 down the drain I hurried back to where we thought I took the shot from, but in knee high grass and sage brush everything looks the same and despite a good half hour then, and another half hour after dressing and quartering both the buck and doe, my rangefinder appeared to have been sacrificed to the plains for having given me two antelope in the span of 15 minutes. Not sure I agree with the conversion rate there, but it provided another valuable lesson: carabiner that damn thing next time. If anyone hunting public land in Crook County, WY stumbles across a Vortex Ranger 1000 I’ll give you $100 to return it to me.

After giving up hope on seeing my rangefinder again, we threw the meat in the cooler and hopped back in the truck. It was only about 9AM at this point and we had the whole day in front of us for Kurt to find a buck. We decided that we’d venture deeper into the large unit via truck this time, as it afforded us the ability to cover more ground quicker, though our intent was to reach the end of the road and continue on foot deeper in, beyond where the other hunters had been turning around.

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We explored most of the area accessible by road, before ending up on the corner of the property where the only way to continue on was by foot. As I was feeling pretty exhausted, Kurt decided to head off on his own a couple miles to the north where we were fairly sure nobody had ventured into yet. Rifle, binos, and Bogpod in hand he disappeared over the ridge and I settled back in the truck, ate some food, then took a nap for a couple hours.

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I was awoken by Kurt knocking on the window with a big grin. He had found a big buck, and was able to make a good shot on him. We grabbed my pack and headed out to go recover the buck. He had made the shot at somewhere around 400 yards, which is fairly impressive without a rangefinder for confirmation, but thanks to the previous day’s miss at 350 yards, he knew what a buck looked like at 350-400 and made an educated guess on the range.

After reaching the buck, Kurt’s iphone was dead, and I had stupidly left both my DSLR and my own cell phone at the truck, so we were unable to take any photos of the full buck posed. Quickly, we butchered the buck and packed it up for the hike back to the truck. I was a bit disappointed with myself for not having been there to capture the hunt on camera (both during and after), but with my energy level at that point and the need to move quickly during the pursuit, I’m not sure I would have been anything but a hindrance to Kurt. Fortunately, the ordeal had been textbook for him, and exactly what he had driven 15 hours two days prior to experience. I can only imagine how excited yet content he must have felt watching a rainbow form over the hilltop he watched his buck from. I’m glad to have been able to provide at least a little bit of help in him achieving his goal.

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We returned to the truck just as the temperature dropped significantly and it began snowing. Upon arriving at camp we took down our tents and stowed our gear in the truck in record time, I’m not sure it took more than about 12 minutes.

We drove out of the area wet, cold, tired, and hungry but without the slightest bit of regret or unhappiness about our state. It was exactly what we had hoped that our hunt would be. We hadn't set out with the intent of shooting trophy antelope (though Kurt may have), or limiting out on opening morning, but simply to experience a western hunt on our own, using nothing but our own planning and ingenuity to gain success. In the end, I wouldn't change a thing, except tethering my rangefinder.

Sitting here a month later, after having caught up with work, gotten married (a word of advice: don't go on a hunting trip with no cell service a week and a half before you get married), and had some time to process the hunt mentally, I’m left with something of a void, knowing that the next opportunity at a hunt like this is at minimum a year away. Hunting here in the Midwest is fulfilling, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something about the west that captivates me, and has grabbed hold in the same way that primal instinct to hunt has.

As I prepare for the whitetail season here in IL, I can’t help but also daydream about the possibility of continuing western hunting next year, possibly with elk in the New Mexico wilderness, or mule deer in Idaho. A buffalo hunt in Wyoming suddenly doesn't seem like an entirely harebrained idea. Time to build those preference points and contemplate which lotteries to try and draw into next year.

Brewster Higley, though I’m sure rarely credited as it took a fair bit of digging to identify who actually wrote the piece, said it best in “The Western Home” which often has its’ first stanza quoted but never the second to last.

The air is so pure, the breezes so light,

The zephyrs so balmy at night,

I would not exchange my home here to range

Forever in azure so bright.

Were I to have a home on the range where the deer and antelope play I would be hard pressed to exchange it for anything.
 
Congrats on a successful hunt - and great write-up.

If anything, a hunting trip before the marriage would have flushed out any unforeseen issues later on in the marriage. Good idea to get that out of the way before hand.
 
Fantastic story and measure of success. You should consider writing in the future, as you have a way with the language, a way of putting the reader there in the field with you; a rare gift. And not a single misspelled word!
 
Per Kurt: "His horns measured at 15" and he scored 79 2/8" B&C which is 1" under awards and 3" under all time record book. I may have him officially scored since its so close that he might go 80" with someone else measuring him."
 
Wyoming does have a way of getting into the psyche of a man. Nice work with camera and pen.
 
congrats on a great hunt and storytelling! Bummer about your rangefinder, but you have a lot of memories to help make up for it.
 
Damn good post!

x2!

After taking my first trip out west this year, I also agree that midwestern hunting has kinda been taken down a notch for me as well. I have spent the last couple of weeks in my Indiana and Michigan treestand's dreaming about hunting out west.
 
Very well written and composed, thanks for sharing it! I get you on the "ruined" part. I grew up in Indiana and lived Out West for most of a decade before moving back. Not sure of the sanity of that decision. Congrats on a great trip and good luck on your future hunts.
 
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