David's Version of the Facts
First posted October 15, 2009 Last edited October 28, 2009
Fri Oct 8
We got up Friday at our usual crack-of-dawn-not time of 8 am, more because we needed to pee and get the stiffness out of our joints than because we felt the siren song of hunting charming us into the cold. The Lil Heater Buddy was great: I would position it at my bedside at arm's reach each night before retiring. This way, I could turn it on while still in the sleeping bag, with just two arms out. Then, like a cased caddis, return to my lair as the air warmed. Bill's Christmas gift was a god-send.
We got ourselves together over an hour and tried the Bronco. No go. Did the Lil Heater Buddy trick again and it started. We headed out what we called the Great East-West Highway. From the best we could determine, it was in the lower half of the ranch, not near any borderfences, and would lead us out to the western pastures where we had seen some antelope herds before. There were miscellaneous Buffalo-style cattleguards and misc fences, but we could not or did not need to keep track of these in order to find our way around, since we had our topo maps and GPS units. Bill and I both kept our devices on as he drove and I played the Navigator, advising him when we got to a turnoff, etc. This system worked pretty well. We drove to a road junction on the Great East-West Highway that we had been to previously and named the Intersection and took the northern turnoff.
We had gone less than a mile when we saw a herd off to our right that was bedded down.
Binocs came out first, there were some bucks worth a further look, so then spotting scopes came out. Bill decided that there were none big enough for him. Me, I am not as picky. There was one bedded down in the middle (see above) that looked pretty good to me. We had just done a lot of drivin' (and freezin'), and no shootin', and the time had come for lead, in my mind. Bill agreed that it was up to me to take my pick, and so we started to plan our shot. The rangefinder told us that the closest was about 350 yds and the furthest was 450 yds, so we would need to plan a stalk. It also showed me that while the herd may look like it was bunched up, in fact the distance and foreshortening were fooling my eyes: they were actually spread out over 100 yds. The direct approach seemed like it was impossible, with no cover (6" sage and sparse grass) and little contouring to bring us close. Bill suggested that we circle behind them and come over the hill on top of them. He had the bright idea to put a bright orange hat on a sage at the side of the road, as a reference point. Things always look a lot different from the opposite perspective, so this was a good idea.
We drove off down the road, looking for a turnoff. We could see some gas pumping stations on the hills behind the herd, so we were pretty sure we could find some kind of access. We found one within about a quarter mile, about two hills down from the herd, so we took it and headed into the hills. We got as far as we needed to for our stalk, then stopped. Which was good, because the road stopped, too. We got out and started hiking. I went first, with Bill in segundo position to advise me, and Mike forming a skirmish line 100 ft back. We estimated that we needed to hike to the second hill and then over. However, as we went, we could see that the contouring of the backside of the hills was not quite the same as the front side, so "two hills over" was closer to three hills and a gully.
I was carrying my .270 at the ready, with my binocs in hand and shooting sticks at my belt. I was wearing my soft pack, with my survival equipment and deerbags. After Bill's experience in Siskiyou and after reading about many an adventure in Outdoor Life and Field & Stream where the hunter went "just a little way from the truck", took a shot, and while following the game, got lost, snowed in, or benighted by an unexpectedly early sunset, I do not leave the Bronco without my pack.
We decided to stop circling the backside of the hills and started to go over the top. The day was warming up, enough so that when we got to a ridge, the snow was melted and the ground was mud. Not ordinary mud, but the kind you only get in Wyoming, where it sticks to everything and is as slimy as the benthic layer of the ocean. There was a pumping station, which consisted of a metal box about 4 feet high and 3 feet wide, with a metal pipe fence around it that was about 6 ft by 8 ft. Using this as a goal and intending to use it as a blind, we moved up toward it. As we did so, we found that the herd had moved up the hill and was on top of a hill we had just passed. One was looking right at me when I picked him up with the binocs. We crouched a bit and moved so that we were behind the pumping station. I kneeled down and leaned my gun against the metal box and got out my shooting sticks. When I picked up my gun, there was 1 inch of mud across the entire shoulderpad. I wiped it off, making a mess, and noticed that both knees were now caked with mud. This was going to be a muddy, messy affair. Bill and I tried to get a view of the herd around the fence and metal box, and decided that it was going to have to be now, before the herd moved off. I had to move to my right, to get around the metal pipe for a clear shot. This would unfortunately show my body, but I did not think I could get a clear shot through the pipes. I was worried that my scope might show a clear path but that the bullet would be lower and hit something. So I moved right, with my shooting sticks in my left and my rifle in my right. As I moved forward, I made the judgement that I could not use the pipes for a rest and would need to use the shooting sticks. When I got the the end of the pipes and started to set up the shooting sticks, the idea passed through my mind that Bill always says, Throw your pack over a sage and use it. I changed my plans and started to take off my pack. Dressed as the Michelin Man, however, I could not get my pack off. I flailed around for a few precious seconds until Bill, wondering why I was flailing my arms at the buck instead of shooting, moved forward and pulled my pack off. I dropped it into the mud and lay down, only to watch the antelope get tired of this circus and trot off in a line. I could not see which buck was the biggie and anyway, had no shot that did not involve at least one or two antelope behind and ahead of the buck I could see. With great frustration, I had to watch my quarry disappear over the crest.
In retrospect, I blew the whole thing. I should have decided how I was going to take my shot before I move out from my cover, and should have tried to stick with that plan unless things were radically different from what I had thought and planned. The antelope were modestly close (Bill, help me here: 100 yds?) and I could have done it from a sitting position or with the shooting sticks. Also, I should have realized that once I revealed myself, I might have only a few seconds. Windmilling my arms, trying to get the pack off, was just stupid, and the delay was fatal.
Bill was not critical, and we moved forward to see if we could see them on the next hill. I was in the lead, Bill behind me. I got near the crest, saw movement, so went prone in the mud and used my binocs. I could not see them. Bill came up and explained that they have moved off quickly farther to the right and I had not seen them. I scraped mud off myself and was crestfallen. My first antelope stalk and I blew it. Score: antelope eyeballs 1, David 0. We discussed my tactics, called it a day, and started for the Bronco, about a 1/4 mile away. It was a bit hot, the ground was muddy, and my spirits were muddier.
Until we hiked about 100 feet and saw the big buck with a few fellows, just 75 yards or so away. They were watching us as we trudged toward the Bronco and instantly disappeared. Never let your guard down when you are in the field and it is Hunting Season! We cussed ourselves out a bit and watched them in the far distance, putting more space between us.
We got to the Bronco and tried to get the mud off our feet. It was sticking like glue and a mess. Dejected, we piled in and went back to the Great East-West Highway.
Next: Read Mike's Story, then follow the links back to my part
(But read Mike's Story first)