Playing Baseball: 2nd Season Deer 2009

Pictures - http://s911.photobucket.com/albums/ac312/lkhanson/2009_Deer/?albumview=slideshow

If you’ve been keeping track of my progress over the years of hunting stories, you know by now that I have started leaning towards highly-accurate, long-range shooting systems. I have several products to aid me in my quest towards the ability to be able to connect with animals at a greater-than-normal distance and ensure that the shots are ethical (that I’m not just firing off rounds to see if any of them randomly hit an animal because I don’t have a way to hit them otherwise). These products include:

7mm Remington Ultra-Mag – this rifle, a Sendero model with a 26” heavy stainless fluted barrel is a finely tuned ‘tack driver’ (most standard rifle barrels are 22” or 24” inches – there is a lot of debate whether longer barrels = better accuracy, but, it certainly doesn’t hurt – see http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20071024050459AAt6nbK)

Huskemaw Optics Scope – This is a 5-20 power scope, with a 50 mm lens. That means it gives me a huge picture of the animal in my scope, if set to 20x power. So, essentially, the animal is 20-times larger than what I would be able to see without a scope. Inside the scope it also has windage marks, so that I can effectively make the correct hold for a 10 MPH crosswind, or, a 20 MPH crosswind if I have the scope set to 10-power. All I have to do is check the distance, dial in that distance on my Ballistic Drop-Compensating Turret, check the wind, and hold for that wind with the correct Minute of Angle marks next to the crosshairs. See this long-range hunting article

Berger Bullet - The Huskemaw scope is customized to my rifle, to 1 specific bullet – 180 grain Berger VLD Bullet, in a Remington case, with 91 Grains of slow-burning Retumbo powder, with a CCI 250 Primer. The VLD stands for “Very Low Drag” which means that the bullet is able to ‘slice’ through the air better than a lot of bullets, because of the design of the bullet itself. It tends to out-perform other bullets at ranges longer than 500-yards, retaining more velocity for more knock-down power. The bullet, with that combination, flies at about 3144 feet per second. See “Ballistics for Dummies”

Caldwell Wind Wizard – this little device measures the wind speed for accurate hold. Even out to ranges at 1000 yards, if the wind is different at the target than it is where I’m shooting, the bullet will retain 70% of its flight path over the 1st 300 yards to effectively hit the target. See “Reading the wind”

Leica CRF 1200 – this rangefinder accurately gives me the range to a target within 1200 yards. Any living target farther than that I don’t have any business trying to shoot.

Stony Point Bipod – I have a quick-connect bipod to attach to the front swivel of my rifle, to give me extra-steady prone-position holds, required for long distance shots.

For this deer hunt, I am ready to hit a home run. I am ready to shoot any doe out to 1000 yards, or maybe a little farther.

1st Base
I arrive in Craig, CO., at about 4:45 Friday afternoon. My buddy Mike Finch has already been elk hunting there since Thursday evening, and I pick him up at the Elk Run Inn motel. On the way to my deer spot, he tells me about his hunting thus far: He has found a new area for us to hunt elk if we have a Unit 11/211 elk license. The terrain is steep, but he has found an easy access point. Plus, he knows of at least 5 elk that have been taken in that area during the 2nd season. He had been hiking all over that area for the last day-and-a-half, and found a ton of elk duds (elk poop), plus tracks and game trails and other indications of elk activity. He indicated that cover was really thick, as there is a lot of scrub-oak where the elk travel, and, difficulty seeing the elk when they’re traveling through such areas. But, he’s optimistic that we can find elk after I get my deer.

2nd Base
We travel to an area my hunting partners and I call “The Fingers” – it’s an area where a juniper-covered plateau branches out to a basin below it, and the branches, or ridgelines, which extend down to the basin floor are like long fingers, with valleys between. The animals like these fingers as they provide plenty of cover to travel down to the basin to feed, and then in the morning they can snake back up to the cover and shade of the junipers.

We begin our walk along the base of the fingers, along a fence-line. Our strategy is to spot the deer coming down the fingers, and pick one off as it snakes through the junipers. However, about 300-yards in, we spot another hunter walking ahead of us. Then, as we continue walking, we spot hunters on each one of the fingers. So, we shift our strategy to head over to the main part of the basin where all paths lead down, across the highway, and down to the Yampa river. A lot of the deer like to head down to the river to feed and drink at night. So, we continue on our journey, annoying all the hunters that are up on the fingers (because we’re walking across their viewing area where they expect the animals to cross) and hop a fenceline to get to our area. However, by the time we get there, my watch says there is about 20 minutes of shooting light left.

3rd BaseI pick out various objects and measure their distance, as I’m now looking over this vast plain of long grass. Juniper – 705 yards. Rock – 820. Different rock – 623. I’m expecting to see a deer at any moment. It’s what hunters call “the magic hour.” I’ve hunted this area before and some years you have your choice of deer. Not this year – due to winter-kill a few years ago. But, there should still be at least a few to choose from. The sun is sinking further and further, and the once bright colors of evening are now turning to gray. However, I do spot a big white ass. It’s the Caucasian version of “Refrigerator Perry” in antelope form, streaking across the plains. It must have either heard us or smelled us, and knew enough to get out of Dodge. Five minutes left of light. I pull out one of my bullets from my shell-holder on the side of my Sendero and show Mike how much bigger the 7 RUM case is vs. his 7mm Magnum. You know, because size matters. He then looks at me, looks over my shoulder, points, and says, “Deer!”

Bunt, goes through Pitcher’s legs, Short-stop overshoots the ball and trips the 2nd baseman, ball rolls to a stop just as the runner on 3rd trips over the chalk line but manages to get a finger on home plate as the Catcher misses the ball thrown right over his head

I turn around. Two deer are standing about 90 feet away. I see them, they see us, I raise my rifle and try to find the deer. Now, if I had had the scope scaled down to 5x power, I could have spotted them easily. However, when things are super-huge, and close, it’s difficult to pick them out! I spot one, and fire, but I shoot over it. Stupid. I should have dropped to a kneeling position at least, so that I could have a steady rest. Standing up (offhand) shooting is difficult, as it is extremely unsteady (especially with how heavy my rifle is – it weighs about 14 pounds). The deer squats and runs off like a greyhound. I then drop my rifle down and move about 5 feet to my right. I’m not seeing any other deer, so, I raise my rifle and look through the scope. There’s a deer in my scope! I thought, “No way,” and put my rifle down. I can’t see the deer with my own eyes. But, I raise the rifle again, and sure enough, there’s a deer standing there. It’s amazing the light-gathering power of the scope in low-light situations. I find the shoulder and squeeze off a round. It drops. It’s probably 2 minutes left of legal shooting light. So much for all of my long-range equipment and preparation! I could have made that shot easier with my $40 3x-9x scope on my inexpensive .30-06 rifle.

Mike and I approach the deer. I put my backpack down and am about to grab my knife, to slit its throat, just to make sure it’s dead. Mike pokes the eye with the barrel of my rifle. It doesn’t move. He tells me there’s no need to slit the throat. I then poke the eye with my finger. No reaction. Yep – it’s dead. He then flips the deer to the other side. The shoulder has a hole in it about the size of a baseball, or maybe even a softball.

Oftentimes, when shooting, you can hear the sound of the bullet hitting the mark. On animals, when the bullet finds its mark, you hear a ‘thwak’ sound. But, being that my bullet is travelling at 3144 feet per second, and the deer was maybe 90 feet away, Mike estimated that the bullet hit the deer in 1/35th of a second. And when my bullet, flying that fast, hit the opposite shoulder, the bullet fragmented instantaneously, as if it were hit by a small grenade. The shoulder meat, what was left of it, was absolutely ruined. I’m happy that the deer died instantly. But, as close as it was, I really could have hit it with a baseball, if I’d been able to see it.

7th Inning stretch
I put my headlamp flashlight on, and Mike dug out his small flashlight, and we unzipped the deer to remove three of the four quarters, plus the backstraps (the rows of meat along either side of the spine). I have gallon-sized Ziploc freezer bags for each of the backstraps, and Hefty 30-gallon trash bags for the quarters. I pack a shoulder and the backstraps in my backpack (recently repaired from my previous antelope hunt), and Mike, thankfully, hauls out both rear quarters in his frame-pack. It was pitch-black when we started back towards the truck. Our only guide in the dark is that we know there are some lights from a close-by town to the south, and to the south is where we pick up the fenceline that will lead us east to another fence, which we can then follow to the south back to the truck. Thankfully I knew the area, as it would be easy to get lost.

We pack the animal out, put it in the cooler, head back to town, and settle in for the night. The next couple of days (Saturday and Sunday) we hunt for elk in an area southwest of Craig. I let him borrow my rifle in case we did come across some long-distance elk. I showed him how to use my rifle, and he easily nailed a rock, the size of an elk-chest, at 500 yards. However, although we did see some amazing country, and have some great spots picked out for the next time we have tags for that unit, we were not able to connect with any elk for Mike. There was a lot of climbing up and down, and on three separate occasions I fell flat on my ass. I told Mike it was a “controlled descent.”

Post-game wrap-up
One of my buddies from work is going to turn most of the deer into Biltong. It’s an acquired taste, and not for the weak of heart. But I enjoy it – hardened, desiccated meat naturally seasoned.

Next hunt – 4th Season elk. This has typically been a low- to no-game count season. If, for some reason, we don’t get any animals, the next hunt report will be for my Christmas elk hunt (unless there’s something amazingly cool to report on – but otherwise, it’s kind of like reading a novel and the end of it is a letdown and you wouldn’t recommend it to friends, because of the utter disappointment factor).

Brokepack Mountain - Antelope 2009

http://s911.photobucket.com/albums/ac312/lkhanson/4x_Antelope_2009/?albumview=slideshow

“I wish I knew how to quit carrying you…” I said to my backback, on the side of the mountain, which had snapped under the pressure of all the antelope meat it was carrying. There was no one else for miles around to talk to…

The antelope hunt started Thursday September 24th at 4:00 PM. I had just disconnected from my work machine (VPN connection) and was scrambling like crazy to get everything in my truck. Rifle, ammo, backpack, clothes, sleeping bag, cook stove, sleeping bag/cot, 150-quart cooler, licenses, maps, rangefinder, etc. Finally underway, I met up with my buddy Kevin, his wife Jennifer, and two of Kevin’s hunting buddies, Joe and Ty, at a gas station off of I-70 and Colfax. We were headed to the small town of Medicine Bow, WY., and from there towards the “Miracle Mile” (which is actually 7 miles of river) where we would camp. There were 3 trucks; mine, Kevin’s, and Joe’s. I’m not going to specify exactly where we were camping, nor hunting, as Kevin and Jennifer want to keep it their private little spot. I certainly don’t blame them.

After stopping at Carl’s Jr. in Ft. Collins, and then in Laramie at the Wal*Mart (I didn’t pack any food, ice, gas, etc., and was hoping that we would stop somewhere), and also getting some Immodium for Jennifer (thanks to the Carl’s Jr.), we were well on our way to Medicine Bow. We kept in contact via walkie-talkie. For a short stretch Ty rode with me – and he told me about what life was like living “off the grid” in the mountains with his wife and son/daughter. It sounds like life is great until your backup generator dies, and costs just about as much to fix it as it does to get a new one… I also found out Ty is new to hunting – Kevin introduced him to it a few years ago when Ty’s wife mentioned that it would be great to be able to have your own meat instead of getting store-bought, hormone-laden, injection-filled, penned-and-slaughterhouse meat. I can certainly understand that, and, was happy to have someone new to the experience along on the trip. That way, you can tell them all of your hunting stories and they probably haven’t heard them before. I think I told him enough to scare him…

After we arrived at Medicine Bow, we filled our tanks to the very top, as that was the closest gas station to where we were going to camp, for 50 miles. It was about 10:00 PM, and we had at least another hour and a half on the road. That is, if you don’t miss your turn as you’re traveling across the prairie on 2-lane roads. But, being that went right by the turnoff, we overshot our turn by what seemed to be 20-30 miles. Nice. Always great to be out in the middle of nowhere, and miss your turn, and then having to backtrack and hopefully not miss it again.

After several close run-ins and actual hits during previous hunts, Kaoru had bought me some ‘Deer Whistles’ to put on the front of the vehicle. He had put them on for our previous antelope hunt, and we didn’t have any issues. However, as we were traveling across the prairie, I ran over 3 rabbits – two jackrabbits (the size of small coyotes) and one cottontail. As I was last in line of the three-car convoy, all of them seemed to pick out my vehicle as the one that was going to end their life – suicide-by-F150. I’m not sure whether it was the deer whistle, or, something else entirely. But, I made a few coyotes happy that evening.

We pulled into the camp site at zero-dark-thirty (after taking a different route to the camp site) and I proceeded to set up my cot and sleeping bag in the back of the truck. Because I was going to be hunting two units, I didn’t want to take the time to set up a tent, etc. Joe (and his Weimaraner, Maya) slept in the back of his covered truck. Ty had a nifty little cot pop-up tent (a cot with a built-in canvas roof). Kevin and Jen slept in the back of their pickup truck (with a covered top). I was the only one who would be sleeping under the stars. Thankfully it didn’t get too cold at night. Someone (name withheld to protect the guilty) did, however, posit the question to Joe, “Have you ever dry-humped your dog?” (This technique can apparently be used on dogs that are overly alpha and want to be the boss of their owner as well. And, surprisingly enough, it wasn’t me that posited the question.) Joe laughed and said he hadn’t done that. However, for the rest of the trip, the term “dry hump” became a running joke, and other crude humor followed. I fell asleep to the sound of coyotes howling in the distance.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of chatter, and Kevin, Joe, and Ty were up drinking coffee and getting some breakfast. I got out of my cot and proceeded to get my hunting clothes on and gear ready. After some coffee and a few morsels shoved in my mouth, we were off to go to the hunting spot, which was just down the road from where we were camped. Kevin led the way, with Jen, and Ty and I followed. I think something was mentioned about dry-humping your tailpipe on the truck before it goes out of control… Joe took his truck and headed up another road to the west side of where we were hunting. Kevin turned off on a two-track trail, and, Ty and I went about a mile up the road and turned in on another two-track that headed towards a power station (not sure what the correct term for it is). We stopped the truck, got out, and immediately saw a herd of antelope to the south-east. Ty stayed there, and, I headed to the southeast side of the power station.

When adrenaline starts coursing through my veins (I’ve never asked anyone else how it affects them) I immediately notice thing pertinent to my body: I’m thirsty (I didn’t drink enough water that morning), I’m hungry (I didn’t eat enough breakfast – two granola bars wasn’t enough) and that I forgot to put on sunscreen. But, it was too late now. I’m not going to go back to the truck and remedy these issues. There’s antelope to hunt! We only had to make sure that we weren’t in each other’s line of fire. Kevin and Jen were somewhere to the southeast of the power station, Ty was northwest. But, through radio contact, we could determine where we were in relation to each other (so it wouldn’t end up like the Politically Incorrect term ‘Polish Firing Squad’). I rounded the corner along the fence on the opposite side of the power station (which was about 15 feet below the top of the hill I would have to crest to get a view of the antelope) and went up the hill to find the herd. I low-crawled to the crest and peered over – the herd was between 200 – 300 yards away (according to my rangefinder). I could see where Ty was, and he also had a small herd making their way towards him. I imagine, in all, there were about 50 antelope in this herd. Now all I had to do was get my rifle set up on my backpack, pick out a doe, dial in the range, and squeeze off a round on my 7mm RUM Sendero. No problem…

But as I scanned the herd, it was mostly bucks! It was older bucks with 12-16 inch black branched horns, and young bucks, with 1-4-inch horns. Although the young bucks were considered ‘antlerless’ and therefore legal to shoot, I was willing to wait for a doe to present an opportunity. Finally, I spotted a doe, and all I had to do was range it and wait for it to become clear of all the other animals (moving in front of other animals, other animals moving in front if it, the doe turning to face directly towards me, etc.). I ranged it at 250 yards, held for a high-shoulder shot, and when the moment presented itself, I squeezed the trigger. The rumble of the shot was heard by all in proximity, and as I checked the area with my Huskemaw scope, I saw that the antelope was down.

In typical antelope fashion, the herd grouped up and started moving towards me. I confirmed via radio that I had an antelope down, and that I was going to pick out another one. Ty moved his position towards me, as the herd came within 150 yards. However, a few bucks walked ahead of the herd, and they spotted me from about 30 yards away. If I had had the licenses, I could have easily had three really nice bucks. But, I continued to scan the herd. It seemed that I would find a doe, but then it would turn its head, and I would see that it was a young buck. I kept scanning and scanning, but, I couldn’t see any doe antelope! Finally Ty made it over to where I was, and, he scooted up the hill. The antelope sensed something, and, the herd took off. They broke northwest, and, try as we might to go after them, they were gone. So, I went up to the antelope I had shot and started to quarter the downed beast, removing the shoulder, backstrap, hind-leg on one side, then flipping it over and doing the same on the other side. I managed to slice my left index finger across my first knuckle. Man, they ought to put warning labels on these knife things: “Warning – contents might be sharp.” I stripped off my plastic glove, busted out the first-aid kit, poured water over my bleeding knuckle, shot a wad of Neosporin across the cut, slapped a cotton-ball on it, and then wrapped it with medical tape. I then put on a fresh plastic glove and continued my work. Someone asked over the radio if anyone had ever dry-humped an antelope. Someone else responded that that technique only worked on ‘live’ antelope.

Kevin and Jen made their way over while Ty chased the herd and met up with Joe. Kevin helped hold the plastic bags as I put the quarters in each one, while Jen went to go drive my truck a little closer to where we were. Then, packed on ice, we continued the hunt. But, wouldn’t you know it, the screw holding in my sling, on the butt of my rifle, stripped its threads and came right out. Luckily I had a grip on the sling at the time, so my rifle and expensive scope didn’t go crashing to the ground. What a pain in the ass. I slipped the screw back in the hole, and used the weight of the rifle pressing down on it to hold the screw in. But it continued to pop out the rest of the day.

Later that day, on our way to a different area, Kevin spotted a herd of antelope to the northeast side of the power station, and we made a stalk up to a line of rocks that were about 400 yards from part of the herd. As we carefully crept up, I artfully put my knee down on top of a cactus. Mmmm…. Nothing like the sweet sense of a thousand needles penetrating your skin at one time, only stopping their inward entry because they hit the bone. I was able to pull out most of them, and then get in position to square-up on the antelope. I ranged it at 396, then 400. I set the Ballistic Drop Compensating (BDC) reticle on 400, measured the wind (5 mph) and held high shoulder. BANG. Right over the top. I guess the true range was 396, and as a result, the bullet sailed over the top of the animal. But, that’s okay – I would rather have a clean miss than a wounded animal. It’s one of the reasons I shoot for the high shoulder – if I miss, it’s a clean miss (not a gut shot). If the bullet drifts to either side, it will either go through the lungs, or, break its neck. If it’s low, the bullet still penetrates the lungs, breaks both legs, and the animal goes down. Then, after the shot, a portion of the herd, that we didn’t see, erupted in front of us (they were only about 250 yards away, but, because of the terrain, we couldn’t see them). They took off. We attempted to give chase, and cut them off, but all efforts proved vain.

We drove to another hunting area, about 15 miles west of our camp, and began hunting. Kevin spotted a herd on the south side of the road, so we parked and began to formulate a plan. We walked down a trail, popped up over the top of a ridge, and saw that the antelope had moved to a ridge farther south. I saw how drainage would lead down one way, and back up the other way, so that we would be shielded from the 8x power of the eyes of the antelope. Sneaking down, and heading back up the opposite side, we flushed a Sage Grouse. It’s like a B-52 taking off – magnificent and enormous birds. We continued on our way, and as we neared where the upslope would no longer cover us from the antelope on the opposite ridge, we made our way up the far ridge to see exactly where the antelope were.

BUSTED! The antelope saw us moving around and took off. And, when they travel at 60 mph across the prairie, it doesn’t take them long to get anywhere, especially anywhere out of range, even for my Huskemaw scope. So, we made our way back to the trucks and continued on.

We made radio contact with Joe and Ty, and started to scout the area. That afternoon we all tried our luck on a main herd of antelope (probably about 100 antelope in all), but, none of us were able to get in range, under the right conditions, to get a shot that dropped an animal. Jennifer had two opportunities, but, the antelope she was sighted in on happened to wander over to where a vehicle was parked behind where she was going to shoot. Ty had one shot, but missed (he was breathing too hard to get steady). I tried a stalk on a herd, but, I couldn’t get consistent readings from my rangefinder, my hat kept blowing off, the animals kept busting me, and then ran onto private land. I was within 200 yards, but, a rancher had some private land along a ditch (the land wasn’t fenced off, but the map indicated that it was private), and the animals made their way to the sanctuary.

Joe made a huge batch of spaghetti for dinner, with sausage and vegetable sauce, and we packed it in for the night (no one dry-humped the spaghetti). The next morning, I woke up first, and fired up the stove to brew some coffee. Next Ty made his way out of the sack, and he quickly got dressed, grabbed a cup of coffee, ate a few morsels, grabbed his rifle, and headed up the ridge just to the east-side of the camp site, and made his way towards the power station. Early bird is supposed to get the worm, right? Well, if he had a buck license, maybe. He came within 30 feet of a buck, but otherwise, proved unsuccessful until we met up with him later that day. I showed Joe and Kevin the stripped screw and hole, as I was trying to shove some wet paper towel down the hole and screw the post into that. No such luck. Joe handed me a piece of string and told me to tie the screw/swivel/sling to the butt of the gun, wrapping the string around the stock several times. Success! Thank you, Joe. That worked a whole lot better than the other method I was using. So, after Kevin and Jennifer got ready, we headed out. Joe wasn’t too far behind, but, had to take care of his dog, etc. Kevin headed back towards the power plant area, and I stayed east of the landmark we called “Nob Hill.” Ty was on his way towards me, and, there was a herd of antelope that was running around. None of us came within range of this herd, and eventually Ty and I headed back to my truck to head north to a rock quarry.

As we rounded a bend in the two-track, we saw a small herd of four. I pulled off the two-track and we lined up on the herd. They were 250 yards away. I braced the rifle across the hood, as Ty lined up as well, and I put an animal in my sights. I lined up on the high shoulder, and squeezed off a round. The herd took off. I was convinced that I had made contact. Ty just looked at me, and said, “I saw 4 animals run off.” “I’m pretty sure I dropped one,” I said. So – we spent the next 45 minutes looking for my antelope – a shot that should have been a chip-shot. But no such luck. No animal, and no drops of blood, anywhere to be seen. I was baffled. The shot must have, again, gone right over the top. *sigh*

Two weeks prior, I nailed a styrafoam coffee cup at 600 yards on my first shot. So, at least, under 500 yards, the elevation/altitude/air density shouldn't have an effect on the 7mm RUM Sendero with 180 grain Berger bullets. At 750 yards, it's a half-click +/-, and at 1000 yards, it's a full click, +/-. I.e., if the air is denser, (altitude lower, temperature higher) then it will require a click up. If the air is less dense (higher elevation, temperature lower) then it will require one click down at 1000 yards. (I hope that's all correct - anyone reading this who knows, let me know). But, being that my shots were high both times, and at ranges less than 750 yards, it must be just me. I can accept that. I guess I should hold about a 3rd of the way down the shoulder instead of a third of an inch down on the shoulder.

So, the antelope headed back northeast towards Nob Hill, and, Ty and I took a two-track towards the area. Kevin and Jen were also near that area, tracking a heard from NW to SE towards Nob Hill. But, they didn’t intercept the herd of antelope, and Ty and I scouted the south side of the hill for them. The herd scooted along and rounded the side of the hill and headed north again. We gave chase, and, as we found them, they took off again. Ty and I watched in our binocs as they disappeared. But, Ty then looked north, and saw a herd of 3 crossing right in front of us, at about 200 yards! The terrain was such that they must have been going up a low point in a fold of the earth. So, Ty and I aimed in. There were 2 antlerless and one antlered. I ranged them at 200 yards, there was no wind to speak of, so I aimed lower shoulder and squeezed. It dropped. Ty then aimed in on the other antlerless. The first shot went low. I was following in my scope, and told him to try again. He adjusted and squeezed off another round. It dropped in its tracks. Awesome.

Jen and Kevin then radioed and asked if I could pick them up and take them back to their trucks – Jen was really hungry and tired and couldn’t make it back. I told them that after Ty went and ensured that both animals were down, I would come pick them up. Ty radioed that he found them, so I drove to where Kevin and Jen were. I handed Jen a Lunchable and a Verve energy drink. I gave Kevin a roast beef and mustard on wheat sandwich. Kevin then walked back to his truck and I drove Jen down to where the antelope were down.

After dragging the animals back to the shade offered by the truck, I set about quartering my antelope, and Ty began to eviscerate his antelope. Kevin arrived, and assisted Ty (it takes a few animals in order to get the hang of gutting an animal cleanly). We additionally heard over the radio that Joe was back at camp with an antelope he got that morning. After packing my animal in ice, and putting Ty’s in the bed of the truck, we all made it back to camp. I was all tagged out for that unit, and still had two tags for another unit. I packed up my stuff, bade my goodbyes to the crew, wished Kevin and Jen good luck filling their tags, wished Ty good luck on filling his additional tag, and took off to Unit 45. There was no dry-humping involved in the good-byes.

The drive was uneventful – I stopped in Medicine Bow and filled up with gas and bought more ice. I called my parents to let them know exactly where I was going to be hunting (as I was going to be by myself, I wanted someone to know where to start looking in an emergency). I was going to be hunting the Strouss Hill HMA – part of the Private Land Public Wildlife program that Wyoming offers. You essentially apply for, and are granted access to, private land ranches where the rancher allows hunters onto their ranch, as long as you give them the license voucher – for every voucher the rancher turns in, they get $16 from the state of Wyoming. Not a bad deal.

At 4:30 in the afternoon, I pulled off the exit from I-80 and drove a few miles to get onto the land. My expectations were that I would see animals everywhere, and that I would tag-out with two more antelope that afternoon. No such luck. I drove all the main roads through the ranch to familiarize myself with it, and, by the time I covered all the main roads, the sun had gone down. I had thought about another night of camping, but, instead, I decided to find a hotel room in Laramie. A hot shower sounded appealing. Plus, a warm, comfortable bed, and a place where I could wash my knives, would be most wonderful. “Motel 8” did the trick, and not staying up too late (Adult Swim, on the Cartoon Network, was having their Saturday night Anime marathon, most of which doesn’t appeal to me).

The next morning I awoke to the sound of the wake-up call. The thoughts in my head said, “Hey, this is a nice warm bed. You’re tired. You can just continue sleeping, and roll out of bed at 9 or 10. There’s still plenty of daylight left after that…” But, with the same motivation that morning exercisers must feel, I got out of bed, made coffee, grabbed a few granola bars, and headed out the door. I drove back to the ranch and began again with my search for antelope.

I took some dirt roads to the south, which led me into some hilly country, and, apparently, where all the antelope hunters were. I spotted a few herds, miles away, which were being spooked back and forth from various hunting parties. “Meh,” I thought, “I’m not going to hang around here – too many people. I’m off to find unoccupied areas of the ranch.” So, after doing more cursory talks with other hunters in pickup trucks, I headed north and west.

Sure enough, going down one of the dirt roads, stopping and glassing every few 100 yards, I spotted a herd on the side of the hill, right at the edge of the antelope-hunting boundary on the ranch – about two miles from where I was (the section farther to the west was for cow-elk hunting only). I made a drive to the farthest edge of the property, where the herd, so I thought, would only be about three-quarters of a mile, up to a mile, south (I lost track of the herd due to the rolling nature of the large hill; the landscape undulated and the antelope were in a bowl-area out of the wind). I parked my truck and looked around to survey the area. Being unfamiliar with the landscape, I wanted to train my eyes to where I was, so that I could visually pick out the features where my truck was on the way back. I then thought, “well, Leif, you’ve come this far – make this stalk on the herd. If it’s successful, and you get one down, then that’s great. If you get two down, that’s going to be a lot to pack out. If the stalk is unsuccessful, then, you can go home with at least two tags filled.” It was about 10:30 AM.

I grabbed my backpack, my rifle, my rangefinder, and with one last look, I quietly closed my truck door. I headed south towards the far hill. I’m hoping that the antelope herd is still there when I come over the rise – I’ve done several stalks on animals that, when I finally get to where they last were, they have disappeared. I head across, down the hill, up a hill, down again, cross a creek, and then up again. I keep looking back over my shoulder to view my route, and finally, I come just over the rise of the far hill. The antelope aren’t there, but, there’s kind of a lip, and then the topography drops down into a bowl feature. I creep forward and I see the ears of an antelope just over the rise. I back up, take my backpack off, lay flat on the ground, and push myself forward with the toes of my boots. Thankfully there are no cacti up here, and, the stones on the ground are rounded off thanks to the passing glaciers of the last ice age that carved this bowl to begin with.

The antelope know something is up, but they’re not sure what. A herd of three breaks off to the right and stop right in front of me, 30 yards away. I pick one out, put the scope mid-shoulder, and squeeze the trigger. It crumbles to the ground. The rest of the herd breaks off, going right and left, and in general, getting the hell away from the large boom-stick. There was none left in the area for a second shot. I stand up and walk towards the downed antelope. As I reach it, I see one of the herds silhouetted on a ridgeline. I lay the backpack down on top of the body of the antelope and get in a prone position, resting my rifle on the backpack. I range the animals at 360 yards. I weigh in my mind… “Do I really want to shoot another? I have one down, it’s already going to be laborious getting it back to the truck.” While I was thinking, the antelope take off down the other side of the ridgeline, out of site. Oh well.

Then they appear again a little farther down the hill, coming down a little from the ridgeline, so they aren’t silhouetted – there’s dirt behind them, from my angle. I shift my prone position slightly. I range again. It was 340 yards. I check the wind. The Caldwell Wind Wizard indicated a 5-10 mph crosswind. I dial in my scope, pick out a doe, hold on the shoulder, and squeeze off a round. The herd turns and flies over the hill. Did I miss? Could I have missed again? It was 340 yards, and, there was a crosswind. Well, the ethical thing to do is to follow-up all your shots. I grabbed my rifle (just my rifle – nothing else) and walked the distance to where the antelope were. Nothing. I walked up over the ridgeline. Lying on the ground was the antelope. I checked for the bullet hole, and saw that the bullet entered just before the front shoulder, and exited just behind the opposite shoulder. I didn’t open it up, but, it must have been a heart shot.

Okay, now what? Two antelope down, the sun was climbing in the sky, I had to get home that day, and pack out these animals first. After stacking and making some stone pillars near my 2nd antelope, so that I could see where I had dropped it from a distance, I walked back to my 1st antelope and tagged it. I then grabbed my licenses and walked back to the 2nd antelope and tagged it. I then walked back to the 1st antelope (where I had left my backpack) and quartered it. The same voice that had told me that I could lie in bed that morning piped up again. It told me, “All right, you best be careful when you’re cutting, because there’s no one around to cart your crazy knife-wielding ass to the Emergency Room if you slice yourself open.” How true – how very true. I was extra careful, and, the only time I cut myself was not with a knife, but with my saw, when I was cutting off the bottom of the legs (like the shin area) – as there is no meat there, and I had enough to pack out as it was. It happened as I made a cut, pushing away from me, with the coarse-side of the saw. It bounced out of the groove in the bone and glanced off the base of my thumb. Nothing requiring stitches, though. I put the quarters in a bag, and then walked to the 2nd antelope and quartered it. By that time I was competing with the flies and occasional wasp. I did manage, however, to cut one of the flies in half as it landed near me. I am Leif the Viking, notorious Flying Insect Killer.

I now had a choice…. Either pack one back to the truck, walk back, and pack out the other one, or, try to pack out both at the same time. What aided in my decision was an article I had read about a hunter who was hunting coastal black tail deer in Alaska. He had shot one, gutted it, and, instead of packing the meat out, he left it to go hunt another one. When he returned, he spooked a bear in the high grass that was feasting on his deer, and the bear killed him. I decided I didn’t want to come walking back to my antelope and spook a bear that had come down from the hills above, so, I packed all the quarters and backstraps in my bag. I then walked back to my other antelope and I had enough room to pack 3 of the 4 quarters. The last quarter I strapped to the outside (back) of the backpack.

I then tried to lift the bag. It wouldn’t budge. I begged and pleaded. If I had thought crying would work, I might have shed a tear or two. It works on me when women do it, so, why shouldn’t that work on a lifeless backpack? No such luck. So, I stood the bag upright on the ground, sat down in front of it, put the shoulder straps on, fastened the chest strap, and rolled it onto my back as I got on my hands and knees. I then fastened the hip straps. Then, using my rifle (it was unloaded) as a prop, putting the recoil pad on the ground and grabbing the barrel, I pulled myself up. “Baby steps, baby steps,” I told myself, as I put one foot in front of the other. Managing the weight of the backpack, plus my rifle, with the sun bearing down on me, going up the ridge, down the hill, up the hill, down the hill, cross the stream…

As I crossed the stream, warily balancing myself on the rocks and tree-limbs, I encountered the extremely-steep embankment on the opposite side. I cleared the water, and with one heave and reaching my arm to grab sagebrush to pull myself up, I heard a clear, crisp, “SNAP!”

Using my other hand, I quickly grabbed the shoulder strap, got up the embankment, and dropped the backpack to the ground. One of the plastic snaps at the bottom had broken from the weight and my exertion. I mustered up my best gay-cowboy voice and spoke the line mentioned at the beginning of this tale. Well, maybe it was something like that, but, perhaps with more four-letter words. My meat-filled backpack again didn’t respond. I even threatened it with a good dry-humping, but it still didn’t fix the problem. Wet-humping? No dice. So, I set about trying to fix the shoulder strap. I was able to wind and twist and pull the strap through another buckle-joiner (whatever those things are called) and, yet again, had to go about getting that thing on my back in the same fashion as before. Sitting down, shoulder straps, chest strap, hands and knees, hip strap, prop myself up via my 7mm RUM… Up the hill - baby steps, baby steps…

Finally, with the truck in sight, I headed directly towards it. An antelope buck watched me the entire way across the last open field, standing about 400 yards from where I was at. I think that, given how I was walking, like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame, it couldn’t quite figure out what kind of animal I was – a lame cow? A gimpy elk? Some other creature it hadn’t seen before?

But, I eventually made it back to the truck and unloaded all my gear. I took a picture of all the bags of meat on the tailgate before I loaded it all into the cooler. After it was all said and done, all of the meat packed on ice, tarp strapped down, and I was heading home, I called to let people know where I was and that I was a successful hunter. Maybe I was bragging a little, but I certainly don’t feel bad about that. Next year, though, I might just be satisfied with two antelope.

Okay – who am I kidding – I’ll be trying to get 4 licenses again.