bguitierez
WKR
My ancestors – the people I affectionately refer to as the Old Ones – used a very peculiar way to hunt pronghorns. By todays standard, all western hunters would have a hard time believing how they got it done. Especially considering the tools we use to kill antelope today. As we all know the prairies and low lands of our part of the country have been home to those fast-little animals for a long time. Back in the day, small bands of families had antelope charmers. That’s right folks. India Indians have snake charmers, and Great Basin Indians had antelope charmers… there’s still no relation between the two.
The story goes that a charmer would sing specific songs to the pronghorns with the goal of luring them into a circle comprised of the rest of the camp. These songs were so good the animals would file into the that circle of people. Being a non-tv Indian, I know some of these songs. They are beautiful, but I can’t say I’ve ever tried this method of take (I’m only half native ha-ha). Once the pronghorns were surrounded by the camp, the harvest began. Now did that really happen? Who knows, but culture is important and it’s a cool story.
I’ve always been amazed at how exotic they look and how out of place they seem. Since a kid they have always looked like an animal I would see in one of those books all of us would love to gaze at in class. More recently I’ve been humbled by how fast a motivated antelope can be. This is the first year I’ve been able to successfully get one on the ground, but it wasn’t for the lack of trying. Last year I was able to stalk up to 145 yards of the buck my old lady named Napoleon, get him in my sights, and ultimately let him walk because he was only a couple yards from the borders of tribal land. Letting that buck walk last year haunted me. He would have been more than a nice first pronghorn buck.
This year I returned to our small acreage in search of Napoleon. Toting a rather large chip on my shoulder from an unsuccessful archery deer hunt in California, and an epic fail on a bow hunt for elk in Oregon, I was looking for a win with the good old .243. Writing that sentence, I think that old rifle was heavier than those elusive antelope. That’s obviously a joke, the buck was much heavier than an unloaded rifle.
Hunting the “Rez”, I will admit I enjoy hunting privileges most of us don’t get to have. The season is, basically as long as I want it to be, and the weapon is of my choosing. That said, I treat tribal hunts like I would approach a hunt in any state, by the letter of the law and with ethics. As a matter of fact, ethics were the main cause for Napoleon getting another year of life.
The pronghorns use our little patch of land as a travel route to and from food and water. They love to taunt from the open alfalfa, and their intuition seems on heavy display when I’m in the area. I’m always either busted several hundred yards away by their eye sight, or lady luck sends a nice breakfast wind in their direction. Needless to say, their movement through the undeveloped tribal land is almost always a dead sprint – or at least a cautious jog. For any hunter who’s ever been dumb enough to chase these critters on foot (as I have been doing) a cautious jog to them is an Olympic sprint to a human. Add a daypack, heavy boots, and a rifle, chasing them can be a yacker.
I spent 6 days in the heat blowing approaches, sitting for hours watching them graze out of bounds with no opportunities, and I even had one very out of breath and poorly aimed shot at a mid-aged buck.
Lesson 1, when approaching a buck in a harem…don’t forget about the harem! On the second day the buck I’d been drooling over made his way onto the western end of the tribal land. This was a preferred route by the antelope as it provided an obstacle free path with great line of sight. I was on a high point well over 400 yards away and needed to close the distance because of the juniper trees. Have you ever gotten tunnel vision? I sure did. I went undetected through the trees to within easy rifle range as Napoleon lazily walked perpendicular to me (so ninja).
Before shouldering the rifle, I noticed him looking back. My heart dropped in my gut as I suddenly realized I completely forgot about the 9 does he had in tow (not so ninja). I glanced to my right and there they were staring right at me. This encompassed lesson 2, First Lite Fusion camo is awesome, but your skin does not come in fusion camo. I looked back at Napoleon and the jig was up. Back to private land he strolled moving way to fast for a comfortable shot. Talk about a direct shot to the nuts. Both missteps were avoidable, but a case of the blood-rush dumb shits shinned bright for all pronghorns to see. I know those females probably looked at each other and said, “Can you believe this guy?”
The next day I got back to the high spot before sunrise as this herd like to spend the night in the fields, wait for the sun to come up, and then make their exit to afternoon beds. The big headlamp in the sky began cresting the mountains as it tends to do. There he was again. Sitting off to the right of an antelope herd that seemed to double overnight. I knew I was in for a wait. The next several hours passed, as they ran around in the goofy manner that pronghorns seem to prefer. The whole time Napoleon just sat as if he was on watch. I must have been picking my nose or day dreaming prior to putting up my glass for the last time that day. He wasn’t there! Lesson 3 never pick your nose when you’re supposed to be watching, because complacency will spit in your cheerios.
I scanned the field franticly, quickly realizing I didn’t need the 10x42’s, because I could see him with the naked eye sprinting in my direction to what looked like the other side of the high spot I was on. I got up to attempt a hasty ambush on the other side of the hill. This was not a ninja sneak, it was full a full-on run to the other side of the hill to get in position, as Napoleon was already only a few hundred yards away. I topped the hill and began moving down, there he was. Another, smaller buck was standing about 80 yards in front of me! It was over before I even had a chance. The small buck saw me and simultaneously reacted to the big buck running towards him. I blinked, and both bucks were doing 50 mph out of my life. I watched helplessly as another bonehead move was on display. Thankfully, only I know about that.
On the next day, I was at it again. The only problem was the herd was already gone at first light. I circled to the east end over two hills and spotted 2 different bucks. One was a juvenile and the other was a mid-aged buck. I had time to think. Watching those bucks in the concealment of the trees, I took in all the lessons from the blown opportunities of the previous days.
This time I was resolute to stay in the shadows, get painted up, and not rush the situation if an opportunity presented itself. You know what they say about the best laid plans right? As luck would have it both bucks began to make their way onto our land. It was clear they were taking the route on the western end. This time I knew there were no watchful does to foil my plot. I began my creep to cut them off. The wind was perfect and I could see they felt comfortable enough to walk slowly right in front of me. At this point they were only about 300 yards to the north of me moving south. All I needed was to get to a small clearing in the trees about 100 yards away and wait.
Well my friends, Mr. Murphy is an SOB, because as they were moving nice and slow, and I was doing my best Navy SEAL impression, a dam coyote came out of no where turning me and the bucks into high gear! They were still heading in the direction I needed them to but they were doing it way faster than I preferred. I changed my angle anticipating their movement but I was still in a dead sprint, pack, rifle, boots, and all. I managed to run about 125 yards as both bucks sprinted in front of me. They didn’t see me in the trees and went a little further. I quickly got to the kneeling tried to should my rifle with my pack still on and did my best to control my breathing (after a full sprint).
This was my only chance. I had to get it done. The mid-aged buck stopped broadside at what I guessed was 150 (boy terrain can really throw a monkey wrench in guesswork). I continued to struggle with my stock-weld and breath. As the shot broke the crosshairs were at the low heart. I was disgusted after I saw the impact of the round well below the buck. They both reacted by running to the other county. I sat quietly cussing myself out. Yet again my inability as a hunter was showing up and slapping me in the face. Out of curiosity, I ranged where the buck was standing and it was 253 yards. My rifle was sighted in at 100 yards and I held low. For good measure I walked to the scene of the crime (crime being my hunting ability) to make sure there was no blood. Clean miss.
I know many successful hunters talk about pronghorn hunting being real easy with a rifle. Granted if I had plenty of land and time to get a good rest I would have been able to nail a buck on day one. But hunting in a box with only my boots and lung capacity showed these animals are a lot harder when the odds are a little more even.
The very last day came... Well, before I get into the end, it’s important to state that my old lady continued to motivate me to check the fields and to get out there and hunt hard. She kept saying, I want a “cantaloupe” (as we like to say in my house). I’m pretty lucky to have her support in my hunts. Any man with a spouse that hates hunting knows I got a keeper. Every time I came home with only the story of another unsuccessful hunt to show, she continued the encouragement. Like I said, I’m pretty lucky. She named the buck, and it was her positive attitude that kept me in the game.
Back to the last day. I brought my good friend Troy with me. Talk about a can-do guy. Even when we are getting out asses kicked he’s always smiling. That kind of guy was just what this hunt needed. We got in before the sun came up. This time (using all the failed opportunities as lessons learned) the plan was to go in on the southern end and head east. We would approach the one area where the pronghorns could be seen approaching from all directions. But we had to move quickly about 3/4 mile in the dark through lava rock and sagebrush to be there in time for the sun to come up. Both of us began moving quickly and not so quietly. We topped the southern hill, made our way down, crossed the small valley, and began heading north to the high point where we could see everything. As we headed up I happened to look west where we had begun our short, yet ankle breaking hike. Troy was a little behind me standing by a juniper when I saw the herd.
The thin brown line of pronghorns were unmistakable in the spot we started in 3/4 mile away! The look on my face said it all. Troy froze, because he had no idea where they were at. I motioned him to get his glass up to see them, and he moved to a better position. By this time, my heart is was on overdrive and I was cussing out Lady Luck again. “Nice plan” I thought, as it was clear these animals were moving fast to the fields and out of reach. But in true Troy fashion, he looked through his binos and quietly said with a shit eating from, “Well bud, if you want one you better sprint.” Hearing - what sounded like a dare, I dropped my pack and sprinted back in to the west on the northern hill.
At this point I was running over lava rock, through sage, and junipers. I had no idea if there was a buck in the group, but here had to be. During most of my run, the pronghorns were out of sight. The only thing I knew was they were on the western approach, and antelope travel fast! My legs were fatigued and lungs where on fire (but at least I didn’t have a pack strap to interfere with my stock-weld). I kept telling myself “This is it Guitierez, you can’t stop now.” But my body kept saying, “Dude I gotta throw up!” Now I’m in pretty good shape, but running up hill on uneven terrain as fast as you can is not easy. I finally got to the spot I knew they would cross. Figuring I missed them I looked to the fields, nothing! Holy shit, did I make it in time? Did I beat the herd to their spot?
These questions kept buzzing in my brain as I tried to calm my breathing. I got in the prone facing their most likely approach (still out of breath). Just as I began to settle down a cautious doe came into sight crossing my path at 295 yards. I counted 11 does in a row, and started to get scared, because there were no bucks. Then my brain started robotically saying “buck, buck, buck, buck, holy shit, buck!” I couldn’t believe my eyes. I watched the whole herd cross in front of me. Through my old Leupold scope set on 9x I couldn’t tell which buck was the one I was after. Then it happened. The very last buck was unmistakeable. It was Napoleon. I settled in, waited for him to stop, and when he did, I fired a shot in the breath pause. Another miss! The entire herd headed to the AG fields on private land.
I quickly got up and closed another 75 yards towards them and got in the kneeling. They grouped up in the sage adjacent to the fields. The only problem was, I couldn’t find him in all that brown. What happened next was the last thing I expected. Like a school of fish, the pronghorns moved in unison straight towards me. At the time I didn’t realize the sun was rising at my back so they couldn’t see me. I settled my rifle aiming in disbelief at the lead animal, it was Napoleon. The herd stopped in front of me less than 50 yards away. Napoleon stood broadside and ate a 243 round. He ran a few feet and died as the rest of his herd left the area. I just sat there, a dead buck in sight and in shock.
The whole hunt burned in my mind. I was happy but frozen. This was my first pronghorn buck and he was a mature one. My friend Troy came to where I was at carrying both our packs. He told me the rest of the herd ran right passed him. We celebrated, took some pictures, got the buck validated, and spent the rest of the afternoon processing our buck, both of us riding the high of a successful and unbelievably awesome morning.
I don’t know if the old ones really did kill pronghorns the way the stories go. If they did, well that’s awesome too. For me, it took hard lessons through trial and error, the motivated attitude from my better half, and a nudge from a good friend. It’s good to be alive.
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