In the late 1980’s, I’d moved from the suburbs of Chicago to just north of the Missouri Breaks in north-central Montana. I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. While a few of my friends back east had hunted in Big Sky country for several years, now I lived there. Right away, I got into prairie dog hunting as according to a BLM map (which stands for – Bureau of Land Management); I lived within an hour’s drive of over 100 prairie dog towns.
In the summer, being only 50 miles south of Canada, it was still light enough outside at almost 10 pm to be able to read a newspaper. I quickly found out that after work, taking my .223 wood stocked Remington Varmint Special; I could easily burn through 500 rounds working over a dog town. I soon became a very good field marksman, which is a lot different than shooting from a bench.
Having so many towns to visit, it was exciting to follow the two-tire track trails, which most of them are, leading to Town # 56 or 77 on my BLM map. When I finally got there, I’d know because the numbered tan 6x8” BLM sign they had posted with the silhouette of a dog on it. Would it be a half mile wide by a mile long, teeming with dog mounds every ten feet??? Or might it just be a ghost town with no critters at all. That was part of the thrill as I drove around exploring by myself.
Time and again when I found an out of the way town that had long been forgotten, it was easy to go through my 500 rounds in just a few hours. Arriving back home, I’d call up my friends back east and share my incredible dog safaris with them. At first they could hardly believe me, but after a while, my tales couldn’t be ignored. Then, early one summer I invited Tim from Utah, who worked in the shooting sports industry. He and his friend were going to make the almost eleven hour drive loaded with rifles and ammo… lots of ammo!
Chapter 1: Not Loaded for Bear… Loaded for Dogs!
Tim, Mike, and a friend of theirs arrived in late May/early June, just when the mounds would be full of pups, sometimes two or more at a time. They’d each brought two or three rifles and five to six-thousand rounds between all of them. They checked in at the small local hotel in my town at the base of the mountains, and then they eagerly asked how soon we could head out?
“Right away” I replied as their faces beamed with...
excitement. Tim would be riding with me, and the other two in Mike’s truck, so I gave him a copy of the BLM dog town map in case he got sidetracked. While Tim knew that I wasn’t exaggerating about the numbers of prairie dogs, the others had their doubts at first…but those doubts didn’t last long.
I lived here and could go shooting after they’d gone. The second day was just like the day before, only an eight to nine hour version.
That first afternoon, they each shot well over 500 rounds, and talk at the dinner table went on and on about this and that great shot each of them had made. I didn’t do a lot of shooting that day because this outing was all about my friends having a good time. I lived here and could go shooting after they’d gone. The second day was just like the day before, only an eight to nine hour version. But this time, even more rounds were fired.
The third day was a repeat of the day before with each shooter connecting with hundreds of targets. Day four would be a little different in that we were headed north to hunt on a reservation.
Chapter 2: The Bowl
Back then there was just a modest fee to hunt prairie dogs on the res as that activity had not yet grown real popular. No guides were required either, so we were pretty much on our own. Having hunted the area many times before, we headed off in the two vehicles for about a 45 minute drive to the north.
The area we were hunting was mostly flat, but with some gently rolling hills. After some initial morning shooting, keeping perhaps just a quarter mile off the road and running north to south in our travels, we met up and made our plan for the afternoon. I suggested we go in farther off the road, west to a large grassy area I’d seen from the distance, but never hunted before. All were in agreement with that, so we headed west, Tim riding in my pickup, with Mike and his friend in tow.
After a short drive, we arrived at the desired location. Mike wanted to hunt to the north and east, while Tim and I decided to continue heading farther out west. Sadly though, we didn’t make it very far…because we didn’t have to!
We’d barely gone a half mile when before us we see a huge bowl… more like an open, grassy basin. It was perhaps a half mile wide, side to...
side, and back away from us, at least a third of a mile. All around the basin rose a 3 to 4 foot high rim- it was much like driving into a HUGE cereal bowl with a carpet of grass! The grass seemed to be waiving in the distance, but when viewed through binoculars, we saw it was teeming with prairies dogs like I’d never seen before.
It felt like we’d found the Lost City of Atlantis, of prairie dogs!
It felt like we’d found the Lost City of Atlantis, of prairie dogs!
“WHAT SHOULD WE DO?” asked Tim.
“START SHOOTING!” I replied.
So I slowly inched my truck up to the left, keeping about 300 yards from the far left edge of the bowl. Down went both side windows with me in the driver’s seat, Tim in the passenger’s. Ammo boxes holding a hundred rounds each get placed on the seat between us. Both guns are loaded up, and the shooting began. Back then on the reservation, shooting prairie dogs from your truck was allowed. It was obvious this town hadn’t been shot in a long time, as at first we could take 25 to 50 yard shots. Once everything within that distance was taken, we moved our shots out to between 50 and 100. No need to take longer shots, as we were in a “TARGET RICH” environment. The gunfire was continuous, with no letup occurring.
We each quickly went through our first box of ammo. Fired brass was everywhere in my truck- on the seat, on the floor, even on the dash. We each grabbed another box, opened it up and started feeding and emptying our bolt action rifles as fast as we could. We shot the basin clear in front of us in a “slice of pie” shape all the way to the rim. We needed new targets, so I started the truck. Not needing to actually drive anywhere, all I basically did was reposition slightly so we could begin shooting at the next slice of pie section to the right.
Not needing to actually drive anywhere, all I basically did was reposition slightly so we could begin shooting at the next slice of pie section to the right.
As so it went the second time around and then the third. Inside my truck, it looked like the brass from a long burst from a helicopter gunship has been funneled into my cab. Back then, varmint guns were all heavy...
barreled and wood stocked. Inside my cab, it actually started to smell like wood burning, or at least getting scorched! Then I realized our barrels were so hot, the forends were starting to cook from the heat.
“Tim… we HAVE to stop! The barrels need to cool down!”
Tim wanted to start shooting again, but I told him we had to wait longer to give our barrels a chance to cool.
Reluctantly, he agreed, so up went the windows, and the air conditioning was turned to HIGH. Both guns were set between us muzzle up with the vents directed at the scorching hot barrels. After five minutes, the barrels were still too hot to touch. Looking out, the sections we had just shot out are coming back to life. Hundreds and hundreds of new, fresh dogs had popped up and were barking amongst the casualties from the first wave. Tim wanted to start shooting again, but I told him we had to wait longer to give our barrels a chance to cool.
Barely a few minutes pass, and he couldn’t take it any longer. He loaded up his almost cooled .223. Down went the window and shooting began again in the areas we’d just shot over. Taking his lead, I loaded up my rifle, too, and down went my window. Our poor barrels!
Chapter 3: We thought you were broke down…
We’d barely moved the truck a hundred yards within the basin from the initial setup point. We didn’t have to. Finally, about two hours later, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of rounds later, when we were working over the far right side to the north, we saw Mike’s truck making its way slowly over to us. Pulling alongside, he rolled down his window.
“We thought you guys were broke down. You haven’t move in over two hours!”
“Look around, Mike,” I said as I waved my arm in a sweeping half-circle motion, “We haven’t had to move!”
“Look around, Mike,” I said as I waved my arm in a sweeping half-circle motion, “We haven’t had to move!”
Both Mike and his friend’s eyes were wide open, as were their mouths. For as they looked out and not only saw the critters we’d already busted, but the fresh ones still popping up, they couldn’t comprehend the numbers involved....
As Tim opened his door to get out and talk,
brass poured out onto the prairie.
It was the most incredible day I’d ever had on a dog hunt, and happily, it was shared with a good friend…