During my first season of prairie dog hunting, one constant presence out on the rolling hills of north central Montana, were the curious pronghorn antelope. Seen in herds from a few dozen to groups of perhaps a hundred or more, often the lone buck would appear as I crested a hill. At times, they were obviously interested in what I might be doing, sometimes approaching to within two hundred yards or less. Other times, as soon as I rounded a hill, even when over a mile distant from me, they took off running like I had suddenly appeared at their feet. I was looking forward to hunting them in the fall, but I did not know how to approach the, at times, unapproachable. Soon, I was to find out. A local who quickly befriended me offered to take me out opening day in his new red company truck.
Chapter 1: Where Did They Go?
The area north of the Charles M. Russell Wildlife Refuge was home to thousands of antelope, as I had regularly seen during prairie dog safaris. There was never a time,driving back and forth the 55 miles to town, when several herds were not readily visible from the two-lane highway. So opening day, when Lee showed up, I was certain the morning hunt would be short and successful. He had been hunting the area for over a decade, and he knew it as well as I had come to know it during my dog town shoots.After picking me up, we headed down the highway and turned off on the main dirt road in an easterly direction. The land was gently rolling hills, sometime with grass, but always with very aromatic sage. At times, there would be ridges and draws that were good for scouting, but remember, antelope have vision like an 8-power binocular; they can see you well before you see them.
We drove and drove and drove, but all we ever saw were small herds running away from us, and they started to run when we were still two or three miles away! “They already know hunting season is open. On the first day, the huge increase of pickups in the normally barren rolling hills, signifies to them that hunters are on the prowl,” Lee proclaimed. We stayed to the dirt roads and then started wandering off onto the two-track tire paths made down unbladed trails.
I did not want to get off road, because in addition to the ever present sage, the area was loaded with nasty low-level cactus. I learned of the cactus issue when doggin’, assuming a quick kneeling or prone position without first looking around quickly...
resulted in a knee or thigh full of nasty spines. The immediate reaction is to stand up, drop my pants, and start pulling the barbed spines out. Even if I get out all that can be seen, little barbs at the end still remain inside the tender hide, giving a heck of a rash for days, and sometimes even a mild infection with inflammation. Besides what it can do to my body, the larger spines can also puncture a car or light truck tire and result in a slow leak. That is why, at all costs, stay at least on the two-track paths.
After almost four hours of not even getting close to any antelope, Lee steered the truck off the beaten path and started driving to the edge of a ridge. I worred about the tires on his new half-ton work truck. Our new plan was to go out to, but short of, the edge of ridges and plateaus, and glass for ‘lopers in the distance. Once spotted, we'd make a plan to circle around and use the rolling hills as cover. There were no trees at all on the flats and hardly a bush big enough to use as cover. Finally, very late in the afternoon, as we slowly eased up to the edge of a plateau, we saw a small herd of a dozen or so antelope milling around at just over 200 yards distant, and slightly below us. I flipped down my bipod, and carefully looked for cactus before I laid down prone and settled in for a shot. Lee glassed carefully and picked out the best buck that was slowly feeding on the left side of the group. I was using my favorite rifle in .338 Win Mag, not at all necessary for antelope, but with 175 grain Barnes X-Bullets, it is my “do everything” hunting rifle. A slightly quartering shot, aiming for the off-side shoulder and my first antelope went down without a quiver. After almost ten hours of pursuit, success felt good.
Having seen herds and herds of antelope while driving to town, going to visit friends, and constantly when on my prairie dog safaris, I expected antelope hunting to be a sure thing, a slam-dunk hunt; but that was far from the case. When I called Lee the next day to thank him for taking me out on my first hunt, he answered with a laugh. It seems when he got up in the morning, had breakfast, and then went to the driveway to go to work in his company truck, all four tires...
were dead flat! Driving off the paths and over cactus had taken a heavy toll on his tires. He was able to get some air in them though, and make it to the nearest tire store for a new set of four tires. While his boss was a very good sport about it, I felt really bad. But Lee told me not to give it a second thought.The passenger-type tires on his truck were no match for the cactus spines. I later came to find out that the heavier ply tires on 3/4 or 1 ton pickups are pretty much impervious to deep penetration from them. So this is a warning to those considering taking their pickups or SUVs out antelope hunting. Unless you have D or E load range tires, it would be wise to stay only on the beaten paths when in pursuit of your first antelope.
later came to find out that the heavier ply tires on 3/4 or 1 ton pickups are pretty much impervious to deep penetration from them
Chapter 2: Running Lead
A week later, my brother came out to hunt with me, but still without a lot of experience,we again went out with a local friend, Burt. Gary was shooting a Remington Model 7 in 6mm Remington, using 100 grain Nosler Partitions over a hand load he had worked up. Early in the morning, we headed out down a dirt road, well off the beaten path. Oftentimes, hunting is a matter of luck, being in the right place at the right time. We had not gone more than three or four miles and were just cresting a low hill.There, off to the left, was a small herd of seven antelope, barely 200 yards distant. I was driving, Burt was in the passenger seat, and Gary was sitting in the back of my crew cab Ford. I quickly came to a stop, and told Gary to get out and take a shot off the hood. He jumped out, went forward and set up to shoot. The antelope decided they didn’t want to watch us anymore and took off running to the right, parallel to us. Gary tooks a shot at the doe in the front, but his bullet struck way behind. At the shot, the herd kicked into overdrive, and quickly disappeared around a hillside.
“Was I close?” Gary asks.
“You were way behind her. How much did you lead? I questioned.
“Maybe a foot.”
the doe would have traveled around 12-feet once you fired, by the time the bullet got to her
“Let’s do the math. At 40 mph an antelope will cover 60 feet per...
second. Using 0.2 seconds for time of flight to 200 yards, the doe would have traveled around 12-feet once you fired, by the time the bullet got to her. Your bullet struck at least a two or three yards behind.”
It was one of those moments in hunting that we all have. Early in the day, I get a great, easy chance, and I blow it. Then later in the day, as things go from good to bad, I re-live the event of the morning again and again, wishing I could go back. But that is what hunting is all about, and it's how we get better at it over time, by learning from our mistakes. Piling back in the truck, we continued down the road, crossed a two-lane highway, and headed south on a new road, towards the Missouri Breaks.
After many failed attempts to even get close to any antelope herd, we were heading up a steep hill, and decided to pull off and walk to the top. Creeping slowly until we got a view of the valley, there below us, a fair ways out, was a herd of a dozen and a half or so, feeding antelope. My brother quickly went to prone and set up his bipod. They must have seen the movement as they kicked off and started running to the right at a fairly high rate of speed. The distance was perhaps 350 yards, so knowing no good will come from this, I turned and started to walk back to the truck.
“POW!” a shot rang out. I quickly turned in time to see a doe flipping end over end!She lay perfectly still as the rest of the herd thundered off in a cloud of dust. Burt was whooping and hollering, slapping Gary on the back.
“Great shot! Where the heck were you holding?” I ask.
“Crosshairs on the top of her back, and lead her around two body lengths, but I also followed through like I was leading a clay bird with my shotgun.” Gary had always been an excellent shooter with a shotgun, rarely ever missing a bird- clay or live. We paced it out at right around 360 long steps to his first antelope. Not wanting to carry it all the way back and have blood get all over him, he said he would carry it back to the truck, and then field dress her. Knowing there was a bit of hunter pride involved, Burt and I helped get the doe up on his shoulders and followed him back to the truck.
Not yet having been field dressed, we quickly noticed that with each step my brother took, the bouncing doe was urinating on his shoulder, and then a stream was running down his back. Burt was a generally very quiet guy and had a very dry...
sense of humor. Out of nowhere, he speaks up, “If you are planning on goin’ dancing tonight with the ladies, you had best change your shirt first.”
Mystified as to why I have not shot yet
Chapter 3: Gently Guided
Every year after that, my brother made the drive out to Montana to hunt with me. The next year, for antelope season, after he got his doe, we set out one morning to find me a nice buck. Fortunately, I had secured permission to hunt on a 30,000 acre ranch about half-way between home and town. It bordered the two-lane highway and had many points of access. Entering through the gate nearest my home, we were immediately on top of a plateau that extended away from the road for a mile or more. Having had great success before skirting such features, and glassing down into the valley below, we
decided that would be our plan for the morning. No sooner did we close the gate, when we saw a really nice buck at the far center of the plateau, walking slowly away, and then dropping off into the valley below. We quickly drove due south to the far left for maybe a half mile, where I got out with my 7mm Rem Mag. The plan was for me to sneak down into the valley in front of the buck, while Gary would take my truck, and go back to where we saw the buck drop down. He would try to skirt the edge of the plateau in the truck, while keeping in plain view of the buck. Hopefully, this would drive him towards me, as I sat hiding in the sage at the bottom.
I was at the top eastern edge of the bowl made by the valley. Gary, in my truck, was northwest of me at the top of the plateau- headed west, and the buck was between both of us, starting to meander to the southwest, away from the clearly visible truck up on the rim. While the buck’s attention was focused on the truck, which was only moving at idle speed and stopping frequently, I was able to slip down into the valley. There I found a six-foot wide depression that is about three feet deep amongst the sage. How it came to be, I’ll never know, but it made for a perfect ambush point. Gary was at least three-quarters of a mile away from me, and the buck was between us, but headed away from me. The plan was for my brother to slowly poke along in the truck, get slightly ahead of him, then cut in and drive the antelope back towards me. Going very slowly and pausing frequently so as to not startle the buck...
was working like a charm.
I launch a 120 grain Nosler Ballistic Tip at 3,500 fps from my 7mm Mag
The whole process took around 45-minutes, but eventually Gary got past the buck,causing the antelope to turn back and start walking straight towards me. When the truck reached the end of the plateau due west of me, Gary started to drive down into the valley, pushing the buck farther in my direction. 600 yards out, then 500, 400, 300, and finally the buck was only 200 yards from me, due west and headed right for me. Gary was still slowly descending and pausing now and then. I later found out that he was glassing the entire time, never taking his eyes off the buck. My brother knew the buck had to be getting close to me, and wondered why I didn’t shoot. I couldn’t because sage is all around between me and the buck, never giving me a clear shot. Suddenly,when only about 150 yards away, the buck turned north and began moving in a perfect quarter circle, always maintaining that distance, until he was now due north of me.Gary had not stopped looking at the antelope thorough his binoculars for almost an hour. There was a clear shooting path due north of me, if only the buck would continue on his slow walk. Then, amazingly, he paused and stopping in the open lane. Mystified as to why I have not shot yet, he lowered the binoculars to try and locate me, thinking I might have repositioned.
“POW!”
I launched a 120 grain Nosler Ballistic Tip at 3,500 fps from my 7mm Mag, striking the buck just behind the front leg. He dropped like a rock and did not move. Gary threw the binoculars back up, only to see the buck he had been glassing for 45-minutes, lying motionless. After all the planning and perfect execution of the slow drive and glassing, he had missed seeing my shot!
Chapter 4: Card Table Buck
Very early one morning the next season, Gary and I headed out to walk a creek bed for whitetail. A nice thing about the Montana antelope and deer seasons is that they overlap by one week. This gives the chance to take either species during that time; which is nice, as when hunting, one could very well bump into either. I was still carrying my trusted .338 with a Leupold 2.5-8 scope turned all the way down, as a jump shot might present itself should we kick up a deer. We walked the creek for over a mile, but did not even see a doe. So with...
antelope tags in our pockets, we headed back to the truck and decided to drive south to ‘loper country.
We were back in the rolling hills driving dirt roads headed south. As we came up over a hill, about 100 yards in front of us was a herd of two dozen antelope milling around. They saw us and took off running to the east, through a freshly plowed field, directly into the rising morning sun. Gary did not have any antelope tags left, but I did for a doe. I grabbed my .338 and raced around the back of the truck, then went to the front, and set up to shoot off the hood.
Gary barks through the side window at me, “What are you doing? They’ll never stop!”
But I had seen this many times before when not hunting, and knew what was about to happen. Still running full-bore directly into the sun, one by one they crossed the field, and started to drop off the flats into a draw below. Both elbows were resting on my hood; I was steady as a rock. Then it happened. The very last one, a doe, paused at the very edge and looked back; she was just too curious. The bright sun is directly behind her. She looked like a black steel silhouette back-lit by a bright white light. I fired.
When the rifle came back down from recoil, it appeared that I was looking at an upside-down card table with all four legs in the air. She seemed awfully far away. I glanced down at my scope and saw that it was still set at only 2.5 power; that would make her seem very small, compared to if the scope had been cranked up to 8. There was lots of happy talk as we walked out to claim the trophy. We counted 291 longs paces, and found her lying upside-down in the furrow created by the plow.
"You can’t hunt antelope with a 2.5 power scope… I guess you can!” I thought to myself and smiled.
Chapter 5: Curious Herd
Years later, very late in the season, I was out hunting antelope on the large acre ranch I had kindly been given permission to hunt on. Having already been hunted hard for many weeks, the antelope I was coming across were taking off like rockets as soon as my truck came into view. As I barely crested a rise or hill, herds two or three miles distant would take off running like they were in Africa with a cheetah sprinting after them. I got very discouraged because I’d been saving my buck tag for a real nice pronghorn that year. With the antelope this skittish, how could I possibly ever get close...
enough for a shot?
I stood up and walked down to tag my hard earned trophy
Defaulting to the tried-and-proven method of slowly working my way up to the top of hills on foot, or the edges of plateaus, I began to at least see antelope at less than a half mile. Efforts to get any closer continually ended in only seeing a herd of white rumps, scooting away in a cloud of dust. Repeated attempts resulted in repeated failures. I was really beginning to think my buck tag would go unfilled this year. Finally, late in the afternoon, as I belly crawled up to the edge of a bowl, I saw a lone buck at around 150 yards, quartering away slightly. Sheltered on every side, I could not see more than 300 yards in any direction outside that bowl. Not at all what I had hoped for, he was just modest of length and prongs, but no others were in sight. My freezer needing antelope meat won out over my hopes of getting a big buck this year. Lying prone, I locked my elbows in and took the shot, dropping him where he stood.
With all the pressure off, I stood up and walked down to tag my hard earned trophy. Leaning my rifle against a sage bush barely a yard away, I get out my knife and began to field dress. So I was straddling my buck; he was open; I have cut everything free and began pulling everything loose, when I heard what sounded like a snort!Seconds later, I definitely heard a much louder snort! With my knife in one hand, and my rifle just feet away, I stood up and turned around.
Looking directly at me was a large herd of antelope, well over 50 of them, barely 30 yards away. Every pair of eyes locked onto me, sizing me up. Quickly, I dropped to my knees. Why? When they all clearly could see me, and I could have hit them with a rock;I guess it was just the primal thing to do when suddenly confronted by game so very close. As I continued kneeling, I scanned the herd and not only saw three or four bucks larger than mine, but a real monster buck that I could only ever dream of hanging on my wall!
For not even a fraction of a millisecond, I wanted to grab my rifle and drop the big boy; but of course I did not. Perhaps thirty or forty seconds passed, and they all seemed frozen in time. Not a one has moved, and it was beginning to look like I was looking at a herd of inanimate lawn ornaments. Finally, I simultaneously stomped my foot and shouted, “Scoot!” They startled and...
bolted, running off and out of the bowl.
“Come back next year,” I proclaimed as the last of them disappeared out of sight.
“Slow down or you are going to cut yourself!”
Chapter 6: Watch the Knife
By now, you can tell I had a lot of really great hunting experiences with antelope during my six years living in Montana. With always drawing a buck tag, and usually getting over-the-counter doe tags, I was able to enjoy a lot of time in the field just before deer season opened up, pursuing prairie goats over the rolling hills. Towards the end, I had a very memorable hunt with my brother, which did not quite turn out as hoped.
With a couple of does on the agenda, off we headed in my truck to harvest some meat for making jerky. Over the years, I had come a long way from taking my first ever deer just 6 years ago, to having harvested antelope, deer, and elk. For my first deer, all alone, I laid out on the ground a two-page spread from an outdoors magazine on “How to Field Dress a Deer,” and proudly took only 45-minutes to do that very first one. Now, since my friends and brother had been coming out each year to hunt, my abilities had grown considerably. Tim, my best friend from Chicago, once remarked, “You can dress game in five minutes, and not even get messy past your wrists!”
That morning, in no time at all, I had a nice eating doe on the ground, and proceeded to do what I had learned so well. As if trying to set a record, my razor sharp knife was moving in a blur. My brother was assisting by holding the front legs.
“Slow down or you are going to cut yourself!” he warned me. But it almost seemed to stir me to go even faster.
“You are going to cut yourself if you’re not more careful with that knife!” he barked again.
My left hand was on the left side, holding the ribcage open as I began to cut the diaphragm away from the inside of the ribs.
“That knife is going to…”
I ran the knife deep across my left index finger and thumb, cutting through the skin and into the muscle underneath. The gaping wounds bled profusely into the dressed animal. I howled and shook my hand, then looked again hoping I was mistaken in what I had just seen. I immediately knew I would need stitches, and plenty of them. We quickly put the doe in the back of my truck, and I...
found the roll of paper towels I always kept on the back seat. Pouring water over my wounds, the gaping cuts were clearly revealed, until the copious blood flowed out and flooded the gashes, and then dripped to the ground. I started the edge of the paper towel on top of the cuts, and then just started wrapping and wrapping it as tight as I could around my hand until there were at least 20 wraps.
“It’s almost an hour to the hospital… you are going to have to drive.”
“It’s almost an hour to the hospital… you are going to have to drive.” My brother took the keys, while I got in the passenger side and applied pressure to my hand. How foolish I was. My brother told me not once, not twice, but three times to slow down and be more careful, or I would end up cutting myself. He was very good about the whole thing and never once uttered an “I told you so!”
Arriving at the small 6-bed hospital, it almost seemed abandoned. I still had on my coveralls from the hunt and walked in with my heavily wrapped left hand elevated. The elderly gentleman doctor was sitting behind the desk in admissions while a nurse was in the medical supplies room behind him.
Still holding my bundled left hand up in the air like the Statue of Liberty, I walked up to the seated doctor and loudly proclaimed, “I’m gonna need stitches!”
“Well, I’m the doctor, and I’ll be the judge of that!” he barked back equally loud.
We walked into the treatment room, and I sat down, with my brother walking in right behind the doctor. I told him what I had done, and how it happened; he chuckled just a bit. Holding my left hand out to him, he began to unwrap the white paper towel bundle in which I had encased my wounds. At first ,the towel came off white, and then a red dot appears. More and more unwrapping revealed an ever growing blood spot. Finally, near the end, the spot became a huge circle, with the final wraps heavily soaked in bright red blood. I could tell he was wondering if it was from the antelope or me. As he pulled off the last wrap, with all of the blood, it looked more like I tried to grab a running chainsaw blade. The two wounds were gaping open, but the blood flow had stopped. He had me hold a stainless bowl under my left hand and irrigated the cuts with sterile water.
“You are going to need stitches,” he medically proclaims. I kinda...
figured so…
We all have in us a little voice that warns us of trouble; of unsafe conditions that could lead to harm. Not only did I hear it inside my own head while I was attempting to set a field dressing record, my brother also told me three times to slow down, or I'd get hurt. I am proud to say that it has been a long time since I added any more stitches to my tender body. Nowdays, I really do listen when that voice speaks to me.