When the results of the '08 Spring draw came out, I was amazed that I had drawn the coveted 19A rifle Antelope tag. I am not completely certain what jubilation a woman feels after she has given birth, but at that moment, I had a pretty good idea. The next 5 months would be filled with excitement and a whole lot of frustration. The area where most of the Antelope reside in 19A, is primarily private land, and mostly not huntable without paying a fee. I have a huge aversion to paying landowner fees. But thats another story entirely. After a few scouting trips, the frustration grew because of the huntable land issue. I had found several (dozens and dozens) nice bucks, but all on private land. I then was informed about a rancher who allowed hunters on his land. That came with a caveat however. You MUST hunt on your own. No guides, no buddies, no anyone. Which I thought is really not a big deal at the time. Well, over time that would change. One of the big parts of hunting and fishing for me, is spending good times with friends in the field or on the lake. Remove that, and for me, it's just not the same. But I continued scouting that ranch, as well as all the other huntable land in the unit. I did find bucks on huntable land, but not near the quality that was on the ranch. So I was stuck in this chasm of indecision for weeks. However, I would be delivered from that dilemma soon enough. After the completion of the archery season, the public bucks pretty much remained, and for the most part, so did the ranch bucks. Just prior to the muzzle loader opener, I was on the ranch and found a buck I hadn't seen in about 8 weeks. And, I was glad to see him, as well as a few other real nice bucks. But the muzzle guys were about to do me a huge a favor. They whacked everyone of the good bucks. It seemed anyway. There were still bucks there, and a few decent ones. But not any that would make the sacrifice of hunting alone worthwhile. So the ranch became a last resort and my focus was solely on public land. 2 scouting trips later, I had it narrowed down to three areas that I would hunt, with no one particular buck picked out. Seems the ones I get attached to, die at an alarming rate, and the seperation anxiety is too much for me at my age. So the day before opener arrives and my buddy Jim and I head up for a last day of scouting and a formulation of a game plan. 1st stop, we locate a herd right where they were supposed to be. On our way to the next stop, I spotted what I thought was herd on a hill side about 2.5 miles away, but couldn't be certain, so we got up on the burm of a tank with my spotter and discovered it was a big herd, but uncertain if there were any bucks. We drove in a ways and set up to take a closer look. I counted 16 does. But no bucks. I continued to watch them for some time, and just as I was about to call it quits, he stepped out from behind a tree. He was definitely a good buck. He had good mass and decent length. As we continued to watch him, and got to see him at different angles, it became clearly apparent, that he would be the first choice. We watched them for about 2 hours, until they dropped behind a rise and were no longer in sight. I continued to watch the edges to see if they would come out or if they had bedded down. Jim sat quietly while I did this, frustrated over the fact I had neglected to put any adult beverages in the ice chest. Sorry Jim!! Darkness came upon us and it was time to head out, much to Jim's delight. I was very optimistic about how this could play out. Maybe a little too optimistic. As we were heading down the road, we talked about the outlook of things, and Jim says, with decades of successful hunting experience under his belt, “these things can go south in a big hurry”. Although I was perfectly aware of it, I just didn't want to think about it. But the thought of our plan being disrupted by other hunters was weighing heavy. We had only seen a few, and we didn't know if this buck had been watched by every other hunter with a tag, and the joint was gonna look like a South Dakota pheasant shoot the next morning. So we get back into town, eat, drink, blah blah blah . 4 am arrives, and we get loaded and begin the drive to our spot where the plan was for me to head out as soon as light permitted me to see where I was going, and Jim would glass from a nearby hill. Due to an unexpected necessary stop on the way, I made us a little late. This time was partially made up by me hurrying in getting my stuff together for the journey in. I leave the truck and start walking up to the hills. About an hour into the hike, Jim informs me he has a doe in sight. Then, he glassed up the others. They were about ¼ mile east of where we saw them the previous night. Couple this with the fact that I had misjudged the mountain tops as a guide, and was walking in the wrong direction, NW instead of NE, I had a trek ahead of me. As I continue to work my towards the herd, I am trying to keep as much stuff as possible between me and them, so it was a zig zag hike all the way. Finally, I reach the hill that seperates me from them. I sat and rested for a few minutes and let my heart rate and respiration get back to normal. That achieved, I begin the slow and careful ascent. Using every tree and bush available for cover, I slowly get near the top. With each step, waiting for them to be visible. As I arrive at my next tree, I look through my binos, across to the side of the next slope, and there they are. 16 does and the buck. Just laying there, enjoying the cool air and working on their tans. I step back behind the tree and formulate the plan to get into a good shooting position without getting busted. The rest of the way was going to be on hands and knees. I began my infant like stalk and soon become painfully aware that I had forgot my gloves back at the truck. I have a gouge in the heal of my left hand from a previous injury that has not completely healed, and every pebble feels like a spear being shoved into it. I have about 20 yards to go. When I get to the edge and peer down at them, and it is not a huge difference in elevation, I don't have a shooting lane for the buck, and the does could easily bust me. So I back up and try another approach. This will require a sniper type crawl. I ditch the binos, waste pack, and begin crawling to the edge. Move the rifle one arms length, crawl to the rifle etc etc. Finally get to where I think I can get the shot off. Nope, need to go further. At this point, all I have is 2 small bushes about 16” high seperating me and the vision of 17 white butts heading into the next county at war speed. Due to the debacle with my rifle on last day before we left, I was using one of Jim's. Which is a Rem700, KS I think, 7mag, synthetic stock, with a Leupold vxIII 4x14 B&C reticle. This thing is a fine weapon and a breeze to carry. I have shot the gun before so I wasn't to concerned in that regard, and I know it hits what you aim at. I move another foot or so, and finally I have the needed area to make a good shot. The buck, like the does, are still resting in the same spots, he about 20 yards south of them. I placed the cross hairs on him, the sound of the Remington roared through the hills, and the buck came to rest about 6 feet from his previous position. After the sound of the shot left the canyons, I hear a WOOHOO!!!!! Jim must have some good lungs because he was a loooong ways away. Left the truck at 5:30 and he was down around 8:30. What an absolute blast. I couldn't be happier with the buck. The entire process, with the ups and downs, was one I will never forget.
Here are the pics.
Here are the pics.
