It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was a hunt of wisdom, it was a hunt of foolishness, it was the epoch of adventure, it was the epoch of misadventure, it was the season of sunshine (and Antelope), it was the season of and rain, it was the dawning of hope, it was the night of despair, in short, we had prairie and pine before us, we had piles of happiness behind us, and some of the noisiest authorities insisted on our adventure being had, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
Matt and I were lucky enough to draw doe antelope tags for a Ranching for Wildlife hunt in Northwest Colorado. Additionally, I had four antelope tags for Wyoming for the same weekend. That meant that if successful, we would be coming home with six antelope all-together. I felt as if I were recalled to life, anticipating the upcoming hunt, the first high-powered rifle hunt of the 2010 season.
We left on a Friday afternoon, and I had spent a lot of time getting my “get-unstuck” gear loaded in the back of my F150. Matt arrived just in time to not help me load any equipment, but made sure to hand me all of his heavy packs and stuff to stow in back of my pickup. A quick stop at the local grocery store, and we were on our way.
Our initial destination was near Craig, CO, a 4-hour drive from Highlands Ranch (on a good day). As it was early October, and there was yet to be any snow, it was a beautiful afternoon drive over the mountains and into the high desert of northwest Colorado. We stopped in Craig to get a bite to eat at the OP, one of the several bar and grill establishments. Afterwards, we needed to find the place where we would be checking in to the 4 Mile Ranch. Our plan was to camp near the check-in on some BLM land.
After we found the check in, the clouds opened up. The previously dry roads became slick as snot from a two-year-olds runny nose. I carefully crept my way to an area just north of the check-in and parked the truck. Debating whether to set up a tent, or, just sleep in the truck, we opted for simply laying across the seats. I took the back seat, Matt took the front seat, and by 10:00 we were sawing logs.
At 1:00 AM, Matt started coughing. At 1:30, Matt was still coughing. He couldn’t go 5 seconds without small or large explosions coming from throat. I thought about what there was to help him stop. His .44 Magnum came to mind. I offered to drive back into Craig to find a convenience store to get some cough drops. He assured me that a midnight venture wasn’t necessary. But his coughing continued. I offered again. He declined the offer, and asked me if I had anything in the truck. Finally, after rummaging around in my glove compartment, we found some Certs breath-mints. That seemed to help, and in three hours we awoke to the sound of Matt’s iPhone alarm.
Slip-sliding away from the ‘camp’ site, we arrived at the check-in around 5:30. The guy assigned to tell people where to hunt told us to wait until 6:00, so I chatted with a former Navy Air Controller and we swapped stories of our lives and times in the control chair as I drank coffee I had brewed before the trip (I was shocked that they didn’t have coffee at check-in).
At 6:00, the hunt master told us how the hunt was going to proceed. We were supposed to drive up to the property near the Wyoming border, being assigned a quarter-mile strip of land, either north or south from the road cutting through the property, on which we could hunt. Hunters were assigned a spot all along the quarter-mile stretch of road, told not to shoot east/west if you could help it, and that we would find antelope between the road and the edge of the property. Next, we were ordered not to start hunting until 8:00 AM, to give all the hunters time to get to their assigned stretch and set up.
Wow… really? This did not seem like ideal hunting conditions at all. It was like a pheasant drive, except for antelope, and we didn’t have blockers on the other side. We at least asked if we could simply check-out over the phone after we were done. I didn’t want to have to drive all the way back to Craig, then turn around and drive all the way back to the WY border. Permission was granted to simply call in the statistics, so we donned the special black and white-checked arm bands (that indicated we had permission to hunt on this private land) and took off towards the border.
We parked at the first quarter-mile mark across from a father, his wife, his daughter, and his daughter’s fiancé. They all had tags, and, as we swapped hunting stories, we saw that on ‘their’ side of the property a herd of antelope appeared at 600 yards. It was 7:40. As it was a good-sized herd (9+), I asked if we could join them in pursuit (and let them fill their tags first) before Matt and I shot. They agreed, as, ‘our’ side lacked any visible antelope.
At 8:00, we started across the flat sagebrush towards the antelope. They were close to 1000 yards away by that time, and although I could have dialed in the distance on my Huskemaw scope, I didn’t want to shoot just my antelope and have the rest of the herd run off the edge of the property to the south. We chased them (antelope have excellent eyesight and you need to use any land features available to sneak closer) for a little while until they went over a far ridge-line. I thanked them for the initial opportunity, and Matt and I headed back to our side. We weren’t sure what the terrain was over the following bluff where the antelope ran, and, I spotted some hunters from the next quarter-mile section heading in the same direction as the hunters with whom we gave chase. Nope… way too many people chasing that herd. No part of me wanted to play with high-velocity projectiles. I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet and I understand that bullets don’t taste all that great. I’d rather that the antelope eat lead.
Back at the truck, the sun was bright and the temperature was increasing, so we took off some layers and re-assessed our options. Our plan of attack would be to walk due north towards the Little Snake River to see what we could see. The rancher had indicated that the antelope run east and west along the river, and that eventually an opportunity would be had. Our options scarce, we headed north.
The terrain was fairly level (slight downhill angle) until the landscape scaled down towards the river valley – an elevation drop of a few hundred feet, sloping down at a 20-degree angle. Approaching this drop, a herd of antelope became visible. I immediately took a knee and motioned Matt to do the same. Low-crawling to his position, I illustrated the layout of what I saw. We low-crawled to the edge of the drop-off and assessed the situation. There were 5 antelope – 2 bucks and 3 does. Perfect. We both had doe tags, and, the adrenaline started pumping. This is the moment that all hunters feel the most alive – yes, we all like getting together and doing the male-bonding, sharing stories, BS-ing, etc., but this exact moment, the blood pumping, heart-pounding anticipation, knowing the quarry was within reach, that the shots are imminent, this is the height of our adventure.
Yes, I do understand that it was just a few hours after sun up on opening day. It’s not as if we had been hunting for days on end and it was the last hour of the last day and the magic animal displayed itself before us. There are some hunters who think, “If it’s not hard, it’s not hunting.” Okay… whatever. If I can get an animal opening morning, perfect! If I happen to spot an animal close to the road as I’m driving on hunt-able land, I’m not going to think to my self, “no, that’s too easy. I’ll wait for something harder.” There has to be someone to pick the low-hanging fruit. I mean, I’ll be that guy who is out in the field long after everyone else has gone home, if there is any shred of hope that I just might find an animal to make a stalk on. I’ll hunt as hard as it takes to make the magic happen
We both sight in on our antelope. But my sling becomes wrapped around my bipod (unbeknownst to me). I have to make an adjustment and scoot forward to clear my rifle over the edge of the slope. Matt has already taken a knee and is graciously waiting for me to get set up. But as I’m scooting forward, somehow my sling catches on something else and the front pin holding the loop on the sling on the sling-swivels snaps. I don’t notice. I take a range. 270-yards. I dial in my Huskemaw scope, attached to my 7mm RUM Sendero, and put the cross-hairs on the neck of a likely doe. Matt signals me that he’s ready, and I squeeze the trigger, sending my 180-grain Berger bullet flying. A second shot follows, and there are two antelope lying down in the field below.
Matt and I smile at each other and fist-bump in celebration. I try to lift my rifle to my shoulder and the sling slips out of the front swivel. Not again! Well, last time, it was the rear swivel that pulled out of the stock. Matt and I search around for something to secure my sling to the stock. Of course, Matt walks over to the barbed-wire fence near us, takes out his multi-tool, and snips off a length of barbed wire. “Here, this will work.” It did work, actually, after we removed the “barb” and twisted the wire between the swivel and the sling.
We quartered my antelope first, after traditional prayers and tobacco, thanking the animal for its sacrifice, giving thanks for the hunt, companionship, the meat, etc. This small ceremony follows every time an animal falls from my smoking barrel. There was no meat wasted, as the neck was obliterated, and I packed all the quarters in my backpack. We next went over the Matt’s antelope and did the same, except his backpack wouldn’t fit all the quarters. He had to carry his remaining hind quarter. Also, as we were quartering, we heard some shots over to the west of us, where the rest of the herd went after we took our share. Although we couldn’t see the antelope from where we were, it was still a little close for comfort. We finished as quickly as possible.
The hill that we walked down towards the river seemed steeper on the way back up. But at least we knew that there was only one incline section and from there it was a gentle slope back to the truck. The wire holding my sling together dug into my shoulder, no matter on which side I had the rifle. I would have to remember to try to fix that before our next jaunt. The best of intentions, but, I knew that it probably wouldn’t happen until we got home from our trip. I was right.
Antelope loaded in the cooler, we drove out of the hunting area on a golden thread of a road, and called the rancher to let him know our success. We then called Kaoru to share our success, and had a deep and meaningful conversation. He told us congratulations and asked if we needed anything from Cabela’s (he had driven to Grand Junction from Denver). Matt told him he needed a 30-footer. Kaoru asked if that was the length of enema tube that Matt needed. Matt responded that it was the length of the pump he needed for certain body parts.
We were now on our way to Wyoming, because I had 4 antelope tags in my pocket, dying to be filled. Our destination was along the miracle mile, where we intended to hunt and fish. We stopped at our turnoff from I-80, near Sinclair, and tried to get a fishing license from the gas station. They said that we needed to go to the bar in town. So we went to the bar and eventually the woman behind the bar asked us what we’d like. She hadn’t heard of a drink called “Fishing License” but if we told her what was in it, she could make it. Yeah… We eventually found out that we could backtrack 40 miles to another town and get a license. Thanking her, we headed for the antelope hunting area, deciding that after I fill my licenses, the fishing permits would be an option.
It was beautiful country traveling along the series of lakes and river that make up the “miracle mile” (which is more like 8 miles). Arriving at the hunting are, I asked Matt if he’d like to go set up camp now, or, go shoot something. Duh. It was a decision that would haunt us later. Driving to an area by large power poles / power plant, we started some spot and stalk hunting. It wasn’t long before we came across a herd of antelope. I readied my rifle and took a measurement. 450-yards. 20 mph wind. No problem. However, I laid my cross hairs on the shoulder of the antelope, and a power line cut straight across the view. It’s likely that the bullet would go right over the power line, due to ballistic dynamics of the object in flight. However, I didn’t want to risk it, and tried to reposition myself. That was it. The antelope had enough of those guys playing in the dirt and took off over the bluff. Matt and I reached the top of the bluff, and they were gone. You’ll never outrun an antelope.
We looked around at other areas, but, decided that we should go somewhere else. So we headed east and drove to another area where the landscape was largely flat, except being cut by gullies and slight weaves in terra firma. Driving in on a dirt road, it made some cuts on cow trails, and led to a relatively high point. Extremely relative – I had to stand up on my seat and look out over the roof to get any kind of view. I looked to the sky – it seemed that we were on the track of a storm. Matt was busy getting ready when I spotted a herd of antelope cutting up a gulley, about 1000 yards away. “Antelope - that direction!” He asked “where?” as he grabbed his binoculars.
I pointed in the general direction. He couldn’t see them. I said, “That’s okay, I know where they are, let’s go.” Matt told me to go ahead; he would continue to get ready. I didn’t even have a jacket on, or my pack. I had my rifle, and it was about an hour from total darkness. I did, though, have my GPS and I marked the location of the truck, so in case Matt and I were stumbling around in the dark, we could find our way back in the nondescript featureless flatland.
Matt caught up to me about 200 yards later, and I pointed in the direction I’d last seen the prairie goats. They were on the move, but they weren’t spooked. I’m sure they were just looking for somewhere to get out of the rain as much as possible. However, when we arrived at the gulley I’d seen them sneaking through, they were nowhere to be found. Matt spotted an antelope buck standing up about 300 yards away, and suggested we walk towards the buck and see if we came across the herd. Sure enough, it wasn’t more than 30 yards when the herd we were after was spotted lying down on the opposite side of a small crest of hill. Matt and I took a knee. I zeroed in on the back of the head of an antelope looking away from me, and squeezed the trigger. One down, three to go. The rest of the herd bunched up and started running away. I swung on another doe and squeezed the trigger. Mid-leap, the antelope crumbled to the ground. Two down. Cycling the bolt, I swung on a 3rd antelope, but decided in that split second that two was plenty to try and process before dark, and by the looks of it, we would be processing without the aid of sunlight, and maybe in the rain. I made the rifle safe and we headed back towards the truck. We found a two-track that headed in the direction of the antelope, which made the carry-out easier.
We decided that we’d quarter the antelope in the hunting area, at the crossroads where all I’d have to do is take a left and head out of the section of BLM land. So down went the tailgate, down dropped the sun, and down came the torrential rain. I found my poncho, and Matt and I got to work. After about an hour of quartering on my tailgate (everything takes longer in the dark) we had both animals cut up and we were on our way to the camping area.
Of course, we didn’t have a nice warm, dry tent. Something about going hunting instead of setting up camp… We found a nice place by the river and started setting up the tent in the rain, in the dark, by the light of the truck headlights. Wet, muddy, bloody, and haggard, our cots were set up in the tent, and it was time for dinner. Cold Popeye’s fried chicken for dinner, and then it was dream time. Matt was thoughtful enough to buy some Nyquil to quell his cough.
When we awoke, the sun was warm on the tent roof and walls. Ahh – nice. We emerged to see a bright sun-shiney day. Time to fire up the camp stove and make some bacon and eggs. That would have been fantastic, if I’d remembered the stove. This realization of the forgotten stove only made me want it more. But, granola bars and cold chicken would have to suffice.
With breakfast over, our gear cleaned and stowed away from last nights butchering, we went in search of two more antelope. Again we tried the area by the power plant, to no avail, so we decided to drive towards the area where we found that herd last night. However, on our way, we happened across a couple of antelope minding their own business. I checked the map and it happened to be BLM land. Sweet! Matt pulled over to the side of the road and I set up on the first antelope. 150 yards. Boom. Another down, and all I had to do was make a shot on the other antelope. But, for some reason (that whole adrenaline pumping thing) I couldn’t get steady on the second antelope. So we dragged my 3rd antelope back to the truck and decided to quarter it when we arrived at the main hunting area.
Driving into the BLM land, I spot a herd of antelope about 1200 yards away (not an easy task for the untrained eye, as the antelope blend with the surroundings really well). I pointed them out to Matt and found a place to pull off the dirt road. If we stayed low, we could use a natural cleft in the land to get a little closer.
As it turned out, it wasn’t that close. I questioned whether we should just go back and process the antelope that we had. Matt questioned my manhood and my shooting ability. Well, you know, when someone puts it like that, you need to respond appropriately. I put down my pack and set up my rifle. Matt had the range finder and gave me a reading of 600 yards. It looked farther away to me, and I questioned the range. Matt gave me a bunch of grief about how I shouldn’t question the spotter, how was he supposed to his job that I entrusted to him if all I did was question his ability, that it wasn’t very nice to pass judgment on his ranging skills and use of the equipment, etc. To get him to shut up, I dialed in my scope to 600 yards, checked the wind (none), settled on an antelope doe facing towards me, put the cross-hairs high on the chest /neck, and squeezed the trigger.
The herd took off – all except one. The one stood there for a second, then toppled over. I marked the spot from where I shot on the GPS, and Matt and I started the long walk towards the antelope. The antelope expired behind a sagebrush bush, and, after a few hundred yards, Matt and I debated on which hillside, and which sagebrush, the expired animal was behind (it’s amazing how the scenery starts to all look the same). To make Matt happy, we walked towards the one he thought it was first. It wasn’t there. We then walked to where I thought it was, and there she lay. Sweet! I marked the spot on my Garmin GPS. Looking at the entrance wound, I saw that the bullet had hit low in the chest. Later I checked the distance on the GPS, and found the actual distance to be 703 yards, which explains the lower impact. I was sure to point that out to Matt. Because the land is flat, the signal bounce on the laser range finder broadens as it goes ‘out’ and can pick up objects in a closer proximity than the actual object you desire to range.
We quartered her up and loaded it in my backpack (Matt carried two quarters as well). I also recovered what was left of the bullet. It travelled most of the way through the body, creating a wake of destruction in its path. No meat was harmed.
Back at the truck, we quartered the first antelope of that day, made some sandwiches, and discussed what to do. More rain was likely on the way, so it was back to camp, pack up, and head home. The tent was still a little moist on the north side, and the tarp we put under the tent was wet, but, I could hang up all of it in my garage and dry it out so it wouldn’t mold. With everything packed up, we travelled back to civilization.
Matt was nice enough to volunteer to process a couple of my antelope, so that made three antelope a piece to slice and dice, and vacuum seal. I decided to grind everything but the tenderloins and back loins. We used Matt’s new giant industrial-sized grinder, and it made short work of the 6 antelope.
