Friday evening Matt picked me up with his 6-year-old, Thad, driving what we refer to as “The Meat Wagon” – his large Dodge 2500 with oversized wheels. Thankfully all of my hunting equipment was put together and loading up equipment was relatively painless. What wasn’t painless, though, was approaching Eisenhower Tunnel. It was snowing. Hard. Giant flakes covered the truck as we crawled up to the tunnel. I thought to myself, “WTF??? It’s still September!!!!” I checked CDOT (Colorado Department of Transportation) to see what was going on. There was no update. After an hour of near-standstill, with ambulances passing us in the shoulder, I checked again. West bound I-70 was closed indefinitely. I suggested to Matt that we go over Loveland pass. Because that’s always fun in a snowstorm.
We passed the line of poor suckers waiting indefinitely for the road to open (driving the shoulder) and exited for Loveland pass. Maybe it was a mistake. We encountered white-out conditions as we crawled higher. 5-10 miles per hour was all we could manage, not being able to see two feet in front of us. I looked out my window to let Matt know whether the road was going left or right, whether he was going to go into the ditch and side of the mountain, or, whether he was too far away and about to drive off the side of the mountain. More importantly, we had to explain to the constant flow of chatter sitting between us (i.e., Thad) that now wasn’t the best time for uninterrupted stream of consciousness verbally expressed, and explain what we meant by certain areas of our body being “puckered.” Of course, that got him rolling with laughter. Oh, to be a kid and not to worry about whether the vehicle is going to fly off the edge of the road. I also happened to glance over to Matt’s side of the dashboard. The “your tank is damn near empty” light was on. The last thing I wanted to do was spend the night on the side of the road on a snowy pass because we were out of fuel. I mentioned it to Matt. Matt said. “We’ll be fine,” but gave me the “I really don’t need one more thing to worry about right now” look. Actually, I figured there were probably a few choice four-letter words thrown into the look as well.
In the middle of the road we came upon two brake lights. Pulling up next to them, two women in a Subaru, with a baby in the back seat, were freaking out. They felt like they couldn’t go forward any more. Their windshield wipers weren’t keeping up, and, they didn’t have a snow scraper. Also, they were blocking westbound traffic, and with us pulled next to them, we were blocking any sort of a passing lane and eastbound traffic. A line of cars were making their way up behind us, so I suggested to Matt that he pull in front of the ladies to continue the conversation. He obliged, and, as the line of cars passed, Matt scraped their windshield. I mentioned to them that they could just follow our taillights on the way up – we would drive slow enough to see them through to the other side. However, they decided to turn around. I’m not sure where they were going, but I imagine they didn’t get there that night.
Turtling over the top of the pass, the snow lightened. Soon enough, the snow stopped all together, and we made our way into Dillon. I was able to de-puckerize, and offered to fill up Matt’s tank. He declined, and said that I was just along for the ride. He just asked that all I pay for was my food. I was confused, but, if he doesn’t want me to pay for gas, I’m all good with that. After fueling up and a bite to eat, we continued our journey to Craig, with only an additional 2.5 hours added to our trip.
12:30. Trav-o-Tel Motel. Matt had called ahead and had them open the room, so all we had to do was go inside, set our alarms, and hit the rack. Thad’s chatter had stopped about an hour previous, as he gave into Mr. Sandman, resting his head on my shoulder as we trucked along just before Steamboat Springs. Rabbit Ears pass wasn’t bad at all, thankfully. We set the alarms for 6:30, and would check in at the ranch around 7:30.
The Deakins Ranching for Wildlife hunter check-in was crowded with hunters standing around. All had a hopeful look on their faces as we pulled up. Not good. Antelope hunters don’t really need to worry about finding antelope at first light – they are usually out grazing until 11, and then they bed down in plain sight. Their natural defense is running away at top speed, so, they typically bed down where they can see anyone approaching from a long distance, but also keep mindful of the wind and may bed just below the top of a rise. However, elk and deer hunters want to catch the animals at the first pre-dawn light as the ungulates make their way from the all-night feeding areas to the bedding areas. Typically, if you don’t find the deer or elk first thing in the AM, you are waiting until they wake up in the late afternoon as they move back to their graze. So, as we pulled in at 7:45, and the crowd saw that we were hunters just like they were, several pulled out their cell phones and began punching numbers furiously. My assumptions were right. The outfitter that the Deakin’s ranch had hired was not present to check in the hunters. I’m sure some of them had been there for a few hours already, and the sun bright in the blue sky… any semblance of a morning hunt was pretty much unsalvageable for those chasing the elusive wapiti.
I pulled out my hunter packet for Deakin’s ranch to see if there were any numbers to call. Matt looked at me incredulously. “You have a license?”
“Yep.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a license!”
“Why do you think I came along?”
“Because I asked you to go with me.”
“Don’t you remember that I sent an email after I drew the tag for the hunt?”
“Well that was a long time ago.”
“So why do you think I put my rifle and ammo in the truck when you picked me up?”
“I don’t know. Back-up rifle in case mine didn’t work?”
“So that’s why you didn’t let me pay for fuel?”
“Yeah.”
“So you thought it was all a ruse? I was trying to pull a fast one getting you to pay for all my expenses?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh–huh.”
Matt smiled sheepishly.
After talking with the hunters (yes, they had called the Division of Wildlife [DOW – which is actually now a combined agency and is referred to as Colorado Parks and Wildlife, or CPW] but no one was available to take their call, and, the outfitter’s number had been disconnected), we discussed the possibility of just going out on the ranch without turning in our paperwork (we had to sign a release, etc., for hunting on their ranch). However, that would technically be trespassing… maybe. We had traveled through fire and ice to get there (well, maybe not fire), and were looking for ways to justify hunting on their ranch without following all of the rules… I mean, they didn’t show up. What were we supposed to do? Just leave? All our efforts in vain? Or hunt and beg forgiveness if caught because of extenuating circumstances? I knew that there was a branch office of the CPW north of Craig (number was not listed on the CPW website that I could see), and I was out of coffee, so I suggested we go back into town and check in with officer-friendly to see what we should do. At the same time I was discussing this with Matt, Thad found the biggest mud puddle he find, and stepped right in. Both feet squarely in the middle. His tennis shoes were gone; completely covered. There were no words…
So, after filling up with coffee, it was a quick stop at the CPW office. The office didn’t open until 10; I copied the number from the sign, and, on our way back through town, we saw the tell-tale CPW truck sitting out in front of a residence. Matt suggested we stop. I talked him out of it. I’m sure the last thing the CPW officer wanted was a couple of hunters showing up at the door of his private residence complaining that the RFW ranch we were supposed to be hunting on wasn’t open. Thankfully Matt found my reasoning acceptable and we dropped in at Murdoch’s Ranch Supply Store. It’s a great store – they have everything you might need for running a ranch, including boots. Matt and Thad picked out a pair of boots to replace the brown clumps adorning Thad’s legs, and we headed back to the ranch.
A shell-shocked woman was able to check us in. She apologized that her son wasn’t able to open the ranch that morning; she said he was stuck on the side of a hill from outfitting the previous evening. I’m sure when she did show up that there were a lot of extremely vociferous hunters expressing their opinion about not being able to hunt opening morning. We were gracious when checking in. I figured there was nothing to be said – I was sure she heard it all repeatedly this AM. We simply asked her where she thought our best bet was for finding antelope. She suggested we head north on the dirt two-track roads and scour the areas between the ridges. So that’s what we did, slip-sliding on the wet muddy trails out into the sagebrush beyond.
After passing through a gate (after numerous stops on high points to glass), we were faced with a decision to keep on the ‘road’ we were on, or, split off on an even rougher two-track leading east. We opted for the eastern route, made our way to the top of a ridge, and left the vehicle to glass. I spotted three, two bucks and a doe, about 500 yards away. There may have been more on the other side of the ridge they were climbing. I could have gotten in prone and made the shot, but, my range finder was still missing. Matt had his, plus, it would behoove me not to piss off the driver by simply shooting an antelope without also giving him somewhat of an opportunity. So I went back to where he and Thad were glassing and told him about our first opportunity of the morning. We watched the antelope meander over a ridgeline, so made a plan to go through the gate, sneak down the opposite side of the ridge, pop over the top, and, if they were there, things would get real very quick.
But not all things go according to plan. When we popped over the ridge, rifles blazing (no, not really), there were no animals in sight. They disappeared into the sagebrush landscape, and, not knowing which way to go to find them, we turned to head back to the truck. Matt grabbed my shoulder. “Look there!” He pointed. A herd of antelope were heading the direction of the truck from the west. We figured that we could get back through the gate, to the truck, and intercept them somewhere around that area. Walking as quickly as we could on the opposite side of the ridge to mask our movement, we moved as quickly as Thad could allow with his little legs.
After stopping at the truck to dump my pack, we snuck west. Matt grabbed my shoulder. He motioned us to get down. “Antelope are right over there,” he whispered. “In just a second you will see their heads pop up over the sagebrush. Thad, plug your ears.” I took a kneeling position and steadied my 7MM Remington Ultra Magnum, ready to send a 180-grain Berger bullet at over three-thousand feet per second (big enough to take down a bull moose) into the side of a 100-lb antelope. Sure enough, a head appeared in my scope, 20 yards away. Her body stopped just behind a sagebrush. I steadied my crosshairs just behind the shoulder and squeezed the trigger.
BLAM!
The heard took off. Matt stood up and took a shot at the running antelope. BANG! I stood up and walked over to where I expected to find an antelope lying on the ground.
Nothing.
No animal. No blood. No nothing. Could I have missed? Really? I mean, I’ve had some spectacular misses in my day. Most hunters have. But really? Missing at that short of a distance? Really?
Matt helped me look, and we searched everywhere for some kind of sign. Nothing. We then regathered – he was sure he had missed the running shot as well. So we walked over to where we last saw the heard disappear over a small ridge… about 300 yards to the north. As we popped over the ridgeline, the heard was already at full run, about 800 yards away. No sense in giving chase. On the way back to the truck, I thought I would look for any sign that Matt had taken an antelope. I guessed where approximately the antelope were when he shot, and started looking around.
Antelope. Dead.
I called over, “Hey Thad, what’s that?”
“Hey Dad! Dad! An antelope! Right there! Dad, look!”
We walked over and sure enough, a dead antelope with a big hole in its side, right behind the shoulder.
The first antelope with Matt
The thought crossed my mind that perhaps this was mine. Nooo…, had to be Matt’s. This was where the antelope were when they were running, when Matt shot. He looked at me quizzically. I gave him a hug.
“Congratulations!”
“Do you think this one is mine?”
“Well, this was kind of where they were when you shot” I said. But I looked at the big gaping hole in the ribcage, thinking that I know that my bullets perform that well, but I didn't think Matt's 30.06 rifle bullets were designed to expand that much.
We picked up the antelope and carried it back to the truck. I took a picture with him and Thad, the whole while double-checking my mind about the shot, thinking that I couldn’t have missed… maybe I needed to double-check the area. So I walked back over to where the antelope was, or where I thought that it was, when I fired. Matt and Thad joined again. Nothing. Matt then ventured into the road. “Leif, come here.” There were two pancake-sized splotches of blood in the dirt, in the middle of the dirt on the two-track.
“Huh, so… maybe that is my antelope. Because when you shot, all the antelope were already across the road.” We walked back over to where the antelope were when Matt fired. No traces of blood, hair, anything. No dead antelope otherwise. I guess that one that I found was my antelope. That totally amazed me. I wouldn't think that an animal that small, with that big of a hole in it, would be able to run as far as it did before expiring.
Thad didn’t like that one bit. He thought his dad should have that antelope. He didn’t want to go home empty handed. He couldn’t see why it was my antelope instead of Matt’s. I suggested to Matt that he drive down the road a bit and I would stay to quarter up the antelope that was now mine. Thad volunteered to stay behind and help.
I said a prayer, Matt and Thad joining in, and put tobacco on her forehead and eyes. I then readied all my knives and saw sharpening stones as Matt drove off. Thad had a pocket knife and saw, and, I showed him how to cut around the base of the leg of the antelope. I then told him that he could use his little saw to try to cut off the lower legs when we were done. He assisted as much as a 6-year-old’s attention span would allow (about 5 minutes before he was playing in the dirt). I was about ¾ of the way done when Matt returned, unable to spot the antelope herd. So he assisted with the rest and we loaded up the antelope into my cooler.
Same Antelope, but with the real shooter
After a quick bite, we advanced further up the road and Matt spotted a couple of antelope about 1000+ yards away in the middle of an open field. Judging by the road and the topography, we could probably drive within 300-400 yards. So down an even worse 4x4 two-track across the sage we went, and stopped the truck. The antelope could see us – they were looking directly at us. They didn’t spook… they were simply curious. Matt and I talked about his approach. The antelope were stock still. He could approach probably to within 150 yards through the tall grass. He opened the truck door. BRAWHHWWHWHW. Guess he has to oil the hinges! The antelope took off running north. He cursed under his breath. So with the animals moving north (they had slowed down to a walk again), he could hide his movement by walking up a ridge due west and then look down on them. Death from above. I told him Thad and I would wait in the vehicle as to not spoil his stalk. We watched Matt as he ascended the hill, waiting for a shot.
Boom
I looked at Thad, he looked at me, and I said, “sounds like your dad may have gotten one!”
Boom
“Well, I’ll get my pack on and we’ll see what’s going on.”
Boom
“Maybe your dad didn’t get one. Let’s go see.”
Boom
We started walking towards the 4th of July noises coming from the other side of the ridge.
Boom
Matt walked to the top of the ridge and motioned us to stop walking towards him. When he approached, he indicated that the animals were maybe about 300 yards, so he didn’t get a good shot on them.
Thad was disappointed again. He thought we would surely go home half-empty-handed. We tried to explain that we would just go and find some more antelope – that we weren’t going to leave without another one. The power, the ability, and the wherewithal were still ours to harness: we were going to do everything possible for his dad to get an antelope.
A drive north and east yielded no results, so back to the main highway (40) we went. Our plan was to go back to the ranch, regroup, and try another area. However, as we drove into the ranch property from the highway, Matt spotted a herd of speed goats resting in the afternoon sun, in a bowl-shaped area, ridges on three sides, about 250 yards from the road. I first suggested that Matt could go up to the fence between us, make a good rest, and then squeeze off a round. I then remembered that Matt hadn’t sighted in his rifle before hunting season. Also, the year before, when I was assisting in sighting in his rifle at the range, his point of impact had jumped 10 inches at 100 yards when I hadn’t even touched the scope to adjust it. I had been after him all spring and summer to send his scope in for repair, but he somehow found time to not do that before hunting season. So I suggested that we back up the truck and put the ridge between the truck and the antelope, so as not to scare them away with any errant hinge noises!
We approached the base of the hill and slowly crept up to the top. Just before the rise I knelt and peeked over the top. The antelope were 50 yards or less away. I told Matt that Thad and I would wait as he crawled to the top, took a knee, and squeezed the trigger. Which he did.
BANG
Thad and I stood up. Matt was still on his knees, aiming. The antelope ran around in circles and stopped. They had no idea where the shot came from. One doe broke away from the herd.
BANG
The stomach opened before our eyes, and all the guts dropped to the ground, still attached. Matt had disemboweled her, barely grazing her belly, but just enough to split only the skin. He ran down the hill as the rest of the antelope took off. At 25 feet, Matt took aim again. Brains and blood sprayed across the sagebrush behind her.
“Dude! I told you that you needed a new scope! Why two shots?” I gave him a hug in congratulations.
Matt with his antelope
“I tried to do a head shot first. I was so close.”
“But look how far your rifle is off! You aimed right behind the shoulder and you scraped the skin off her belly. So you are off at least 12 inches at 50 yards! That’s huge!”
“Yeah, I gotta get it sighted in before my elk hunt.”
Matt borrowed my tobacco and we said a prayer for the animal, then he went to go get the meat wagon. Upon his return, we carried it over to the truck. The antelope disemboweler wanted to try out his new hoist mounted in the bed of his truck, designed for lifting big game animals, so we strung up the antelope by the hind legs. The skin was to be a present for a friend of Matt’s to taxidermy. Carefully we skinned the animal, quartered it, and put skin and meat in the cooler.
Matt's disemboweled antelope on the hoist. We talked about him getting one that would raise the animals higher for deer and elk.
When checking out, the guy who was supposed to check us in that morning was waiting. When I questioned him on why he wasn’t there, he didn’t give any reason. I believe the "he was stuck on the side of a hill" line was just that. His responses were simply, “I didn’t make it” and “It just didn’t happen.” Well, at least we showed up, we came, and we got the job done, despite what others did or didn’t do. I’m sure that had they rancher not shown up, we still would have found a way to be successful. Thad learned an important hunting lesson, whether white out conditions or limited access, that’s what it takes to be a good hunter: work around obstacles until you meet success.
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