I'm probably one of the few who walked away from a rifle pronghorn tag without filling it. But here's why:
I spent the first day in the southern end of the unit. I had reserved a Type II Block Management Area for two days, after talking with some folks at FWP & who have hunted there in the past. The Landowner was exceptionally kind & was clear that all the goats had cleared out of his place and were further North. I spent some time scouting the BMA. If I were a mule deer, I'd have neverleft that country. Solid river bottom w/ lots of grain for feed & deep, winding coulees to hide out in. No Whitetail to be found anywhere. EHD has done a number on the Teton River.
I went North. Passing one small band of pronghorn who would graze towards the edge of the wheatfield and then realize they're too close to the road, and hightailed back to the center of the section. Spooky, and it was only the first week of the season. I topped the bench & things looked more promising. A lot more CRP & Native grasses, rolling hills, good terrain for cover & stalking. q
I pulled up to the Type I BMA sign in box, signed in, and as I was heading back to the truck, saw this guy on the right:
That was exactly what I was looking for. Tall, heavy and while not a huge buck, one of the better ones in the unit according to folks in the know. He was on two sections of private ground surrounded by State & Bloick Management. It was just a matter of time before he would slip up, and get in front of the rifle. He bedded down 300 yards from the road. Sunning himself, he wasn't in too much of a hurry to get anything done. Either was I. I drove around to the back of the section to check out the state ground. Lots of goats moving between the private & state sections. Nothing as big as that buck though.
As the sun set, he moved over to the rest of the herd, closer to state land. I drove to Great Falls to see an old friend & in the morning ,we headed back into the unit. As we came to the BMA sign in box, there he was. 125 yards off the road, on the inaccessible private land. He had a little 1/5 year old buck along with him. They bolted directly for the state land. Game on.
We parked the truck just as the entire herd of 50 or so crossed a two track 1/2 mile ahead of us. In a hurry, I grabbed the rifle & field dressing kit and was off. The wind was about 15-20 mph. Not a bad wind at all. We crested a little hill and there was the herd at the bottom. They were grazing but the bucks were still on high alert. Then I saw him: Two towers of black tuned directly into me. I dropped, tried to set up but was not getting a clear line of fire due to a small berm between us. 150 yards and a 2 foot rise of black dirt were all that seperated us. I waited until I had a clear shot, put the crosshairs right on the lungs and squeezed the trigger. Dirt flew off to the right of the buck, right on the berm. Before I could rack another shell into the chamber, they were gone.
That 150 yards turned out to be 200. I ranged the berm, not the critter.
Dejected and feeling a little like the kid who got candy corn for Halloween instead of snickers, I headed back home. A week & a 1/2 later I was back out.
The Goats were even more skittish but they were still around and on the island of private. I dropped the camper and went looking again. It was already afternoon, but they were moving, just not on to accessible land. I went in to Ft. Benton and fueled up, got a few small supplies and headed back out to the camper. Three does crossed 100 yards infront of me onto block management close to the camper. The herd was breaking up it looked like.
The next day I was onto the buck. He was tucked into the leeward side of a hill, staying out the wind and grazing on new shoots of winter wheat. The herd spread out before him 1/2 mile onto the plain. I belly crawled to try and get a decent shooting position. Watching me belly crawl is akin to watching a walrus make it's way across the beach. It ain't pretty, it is fairly comical and in the end, I get to where I want to go.
Wind was right, but the herd spooked. I just never got a good shooting lane. Half of the herd stopped about 3 miles east of where they started.The other half circled around the hill, and went up the coulee onto the island.
So be it.
I went for a long walk on a long, flat coulee hoping that there'd be something worth taking a shot at. There was a lot of sharpies, but no ungulate worthy of the effort presented itself.
I headed back to the camper to dry out, get some lunch and then make another attempt on the big buck if he was moving. He was. Once again, he crossed the old two track onto state land, this time with a single doe. In hot pursuit, I grabbed the gear and headed after him. They ducked behind a hill 1/2 mile away and within a few minutes I was where they were standing. As the plain laid out in front of me, there was nothing resembling a pronghorn. They vanished.
I cdrove the 4 miles back to the sign in box. Just as I arrived, another large buck crossed the road and hightailed it 1.5 miles up the side of a hill and joined three does on Block Management. Not wanting to spook them any more, I signed in, and went up the road a bit. Big mistake. As I came back to the parking area, there he was, hell bent for leather running at full speed trying to find the right spot to cross. My skills as a pronghorn hunter are weak. I should have planted and just crawled into a hidey hole and waited.
I headed back to the camper and drowned my sorrows in a couple of Guiness'.
Morning came, and like all morings in camp, it proved spectacular:
The situation repeated itself the next day. Almost exactly as it did the day before. I walked another 2-3 miles looking for any sign of life. The only sign I had was a 14 inch buck across the coulee with another single doe. 600 yards & with a 15 mph crosswind, he turned and faced me. There was no way to get closer to the SOB.
I watched as he took the same route as the big buck. Once more into the breach I walked. Once more, the result was the same: They vanished. My scientific analysis of the situation resulted in the discovery of a wormhole that transports these fracking Pronghorn back into the center of the off limits private land. It may not sound feasible, but I know this is the truth.
I pulled up stakes and loaded up the camper. I missed several opportunities, but cannot with any sense of reality claim that the hunt was a failure. I spent five days chasing one buck. I've never really done that before. Hopefully, next year I'll draw again and the chase will be on.
Now, on to deer & Elk with a little more earnestness.
I spent the first day in the southern end of the unit. I had reserved a Type II Block Management Area for two days, after talking with some folks at FWP & who have hunted there in the past. The Landowner was exceptionally kind & was clear that all the goats had cleared out of his place and were further North. I spent some time scouting the BMA. If I were a mule deer, I'd have neverleft that country. Solid river bottom w/ lots of grain for feed & deep, winding coulees to hide out in. No Whitetail to be found anywhere. EHD has done a number on the Teton River.
I went North. Passing one small band of pronghorn who would graze towards the edge of the wheatfield and then realize they're too close to the road, and hightailed back to the center of the section. Spooky, and it was only the first week of the season. I topped the bench & things looked more promising. A lot more CRP & Native grasses, rolling hills, good terrain for cover & stalking. q
I pulled up to the Type I BMA sign in box, signed in, and as I was heading back to the truck, saw this guy on the right:
That was exactly what I was looking for. Tall, heavy and while not a huge buck, one of the better ones in the unit according to folks in the know. He was on two sections of private ground surrounded by State & Bloick Management. It was just a matter of time before he would slip up, and get in front of the rifle. He bedded down 300 yards from the road. Sunning himself, he wasn't in too much of a hurry to get anything done. Either was I. I drove around to the back of the section to check out the state ground. Lots of goats moving between the private & state sections. Nothing as big as that buck though.
As the sun set, he moved over to the rest of the herd, closer to state land. I drove to Great Falls to see an old friend & in the morning ,we headed back into the unit. As we came to the BMA sign in box, there he was. 125 yards off the road, on the inaccessible private land. He had a little 1/5 year old buck along with him. They bolted directly for the state land. Game on.
We parked the truck just as the entire herd of 50 or so crossed a two track 1/2 mile ahead of us. In a hurry, I grabbed the rifle & field dressing kit and was off. The wind was about 15-20 mph. Not a bad wind at all. We crested a little hill and there was the herd at the bottom. They were grazing but the bucks were still on high alert. Then I saw him: Two towers of black tuned directly into me. I dropped, tried to set up but was not getting a clear line of fire due to a small berm between us. 150 yards and a 2 foot rise of black dirt were all that seperated us. I waited until I had a clear shot, put the crosshairs right on the lungs and squeezed the trigger. Dirt flew off to the right of the buck, right on the berm. Before I could rack another shell into the chamber, they were gone.
That 150 yards turned out to be 200. I ranged the berm, not the critter.
Dejected and feeling a little like the kid who got candy corn for Halloween instead of snickers, I headed back home. A week & a 1/2 later I was back out.
The Goats were even more skittish but they were still around and on the island of private. I dropped the camper and went looking again. It was already afternoon, but they were moving, just not on to accessible land. I went in to Ft. Benton and fueled up, got a few small supplies and headed back out to the camper. Three does crossed 100 yards infront of me onto block management close to the camper. The herd was breaking up it looked like.
The next day I was onto the buck. He was tucked into the leeward side of a hill, staying out the wind and grazing on new shoots of winter wheat. The herd spread out before him 1/2 mile onto the plain. I belly crawled to try and get a decent shooting position. Watching me belly crawl is akin to watching a walrus make it's way across the beach. It ain't pretty, it is fairly comical and in the end, I get to where I want to go.
Wind was right, but the herd spooked. I just never got a good shooting lane. Half of the herd stopped about 3 miles east of where they started.The other half circled around the hill, and went up the coulee onto the island.
So be it.
I went for a long walk on a long, flat coulee hoping that there'd be something worth taking a shot at. There was a lot of sharpies, but no ungulate worthy of the effort presented itself.
I headed back to the camper to dry out, get some lunch and then make another attempt on the big buck if he was moving. He was. Once again, he crossed the old two track onto state land, this time with a single doe. In hot pursuit, I grabbed the gear and headed after him. They ducked behind a hill 1/2 mile away and within a few minutes I was where they were standing. As the plain laid out in front of me, there was nothing resembling a pronghorn. They vanished.
I cdrove the 4 miles back to the sign in box. Just as I arrived, another large buck crossed the road and hightailed it 1.5 miles up the side of a hill and joined three does on Block Management. Not wanting to spook them any more, I signed in, and went up the road a bit. Big mistake. As I came back to the parking area, there he was, hell bent for leather running at full speed trying to find the right spot to cross. My skills as a pronghorn hunter are weak. I should have planted and just crawled into a hidey hole and waited.
I headed back to the camper and drowned my sorrows in a couple of Guiness'.
Morning came, and like all morings in camp, it proved spectacular:
The situation repeated itself the next day. Almost exactly as it did the day before. I walked another 2-3 miles looking for any sign of life. The only sign I had was a 14 inch buck across the coulee with another single doe. 600 yards & with a 15 mph crosswind, he turned and faced me. There was no way to get closer to the SOB.
I watched as he took the same route as the big buck. Once more into the breach I walked. Once more, the result was the same: They vanished. My scientific analysis of the situation resulted in the discovery of a wormhole that transports these fracking Pronghorn back into the center of the off limits private land. It may not sound feasible, but I know this is the truth.
I pulled up stakes and loaded up the camper. I missed several opportunities, but cannot with any sense of reality claim that the hunt was a failure. I spent five days chasing one buck. I've never really done that before. Hopefully, next year I'll draw again and the chase will be on.
Now, on to deer & Elk with a little more earnestness.
