Leaving town, headed west towards the vast mountainous expanse that looms within a bellowing fog of smoke felt surreal. I knew what was coming later that evening, and I was ready. The sky glows orange with the ever-present particles of smoke from multiple forest fires. Anticipation grew within me as my tires hit the dirt road, envisioning myself awakening to a foot of snow outside my tent. As I rounded the last bend of the rugged two track road, a doe crossed in front of me. I parked at the trailhead, got out to stretch, and decided to wander down the road with bow in hand to see if the doe happened to still be nearby. I caught movement about 100 yards up the hill, the doe was slowly feeding away from me, a good opportunity to test my stalking skills if nothing else.
Wearing jeans, a tee shirt, and my sneakers, I slowly crept up the hill, maintaining a position to have a tree between the doe and I. 60 yards, 40 yards, 30 yards, a small aspen directly in front of me broke up my silhouette. The doe stood above me, feeding, and occasionally stopping to survey her surroundings. She had NO idea I was even there! As she took a step forward, I drew back, settled my pin, and paused. “Do I really want to do this? Is it the easy way out? It sure is going to be tough to hike in with my 53lb pack in this smoke. Hell with it.” I leveled my bubble and began increasing tension until the familiar THWACK of arrow hitting flesh echoed through the evening atmosphere. The doe bounced over the rise, then all went quiet. I looked down 75 yards behind me at the road, then 200 yards up the road to see my truck parked at the trailhead. I caught myself just standing there, for some reason, feeling conflicted and almost guilty.
Walking back to the truck, I opened the hatch, peered in at my pack, loaded up with over $1000 full of backpacking gear, only to grab my knife and close the hatch. A short walk had me standing over my doe, a large, old female who would provide me with at least 60 pounds of lean, fresh meat. It was no surprise that my 480 grain arrow blew completely through the doe and was buried in the hillside. She made it less than 50 yards before lying down to have her final breath escape her. A quiet, reverent moment was shared between the doe and I as I held her head while gazing into the darkness I had created in her eyes. Gratitude prevailed over any other emotion at that point in time, and I felt very happy to know that my skill had provided a clean kill. After quartering and bagging the meat, I was back in the truck and headed home by 8:45pm.
While bouncing down the rocky 4x4 road, I thought to myself: “well what the heck do I do now?”. I still had two full days off work and fully intended on hunting if at all possible. The plan was set, I would drop the meat off at home, then high-tail it to my antelope unit. A quick swap of a few gear items and I was on the way. 11:05pm signaled the start of my journey. As my truck accelerated to highway speed, the rain was already pelting my windshield. Driving east, away from the storm, I quickly was in the clear. Two hours later I arrived at my camp spot at 1:15am, by now the storm had caught up and sleet was being blown by an increasingly ferocious wind. I set up my truck camp and immediately fell asleep.
My truck camp is one that would inspire jealousy from anyone who has slept in their vehicle before. My 2009 4Runner has become a two-seater to provide ample room for cargo, and in the instance of hunting, my twin-sized 4” thick memory foam mattress. My 15 degree bag stayed with me for this trip, along with a fleece blanket my mother made for me, and most importantly, my REAL pillow from my bed at home. The forecast called for temperatures in the low 30s with wind gusts upwards of 50mph and snow. During the day while driving around, the “bed” gets bungee corded into a tight roll, making space for all of my other gear and cooler. At night, the gear goes outside and the bed comes back out. A LED lantern provides light for reading without running the truck batteries down.
Throughout the night, I would occasionally regain consciousness due to the wind rocking the truck and the sound of snow pelting the windows. With daylight came my realization that it was going to be an extremely unpleasant day to hunt outdoors with a bow. Archery hunting demands a certain level of dexterity that is greatly compromised by the type of clothing necessary to survive in cold temperatures. Nonetheless, I drove around, tirelessly looking for a buck to chase. As the hours rolled by without a single antelope sighting, I found myself smiling without reason. I was having such a great time simply being out there, exploring the Great Plains of the west with a tag in my pocket, no amount of snow or cold could put a damper on my mood. The day came and went, without a single antelope to be found. I debated going home early, but just as soon as that thought came, it was replaced by finding a place to park the truck for the night, partially due to the fact that snow was now dumping from the sky with increasing fury. After eating an entire freeze dried dinner… and breakfast to myself, I looked at some of the photos and video I had taken throughout the day before going to sleep. Oftentimes, it is the slowest days of hunting that seem to awaken our subconscious mind to just how amazing these wild places are and how lucky we are to be gifted with time to spend there.
Pure joy felt during my first day of hunting
Morning came with the windows of the truck covered in snow. The ground was painted white with a coat of snow that brought back distant memories of my first times hunting with a rifle in hand with my father. A nostalgic feeling of comfort and desire for adventure overcame me as I stepped out of the truck. The prairie was silent and vastly peaceful. The relentless wind had given way to a light, overcast sky. Today was the day I was going to find antelope to chase.
My first encounter came shortly after hitting the main dirt road, a buck standing on the side of the road, I thought “here we go again.”. Looking at my onX, he was right on the border of a public/private boundary with no fence in sight. I decided not to risk it and carried on in my search. One piece of gear that proved invaluable on this trip was a window mount for my 18x binoculars. I could steadily glass long distances without even getting out of the truck, an absolute benefit when the temperatures were in the 20s. I pulled off the side of the road, overlooking a massive expanse of rolling hills and prairie grass. After scanning with my 10x binos, I switched to the big boys. A bedded buck, in a very stalkable spot!
I surveyed the terrain features surrounding the buck, he was bedded at the base of a very notably round hill with an equally round snow cap on the peak. To the south, was a saddle leading to two more peaks with snow on them. There was an ancient creek bed, winding and meandering up to a rise that appeared to be 120 yards or so from the bedded buck. I dropped a pin at my hilltop vantage to help triangulate position if necessary once I embarked on my stalk. After flipping the truck around, driving to a low spot and pulling off onto the sandy shoulder, I grabbed my bow, and headed out into the now sparsely snow blotched prairie.
The cattle trail leading towards the buck
Following the creek bed east towards the buck, I couldn’t help but notice just how calm and quiet my surroundings were. The grass was still and peaceful, standing motionless as the sun occasionally shone through the clouds bright enough to make the morning snow glisten on the ground. As I made my approach, stepping slowly, I noticed the snow crunching beneath my feet. Gaining ground on the bedded buck, I began to choose the location of each foot fall more precisely, aiming for spots where the snow had melted or blown away. A large rise stood before me, as the round peak stood in the distance, I was here. Slowly advancing with binoculars held to my face, I stepped, glassed, stepped, glassed, until a flash of white appeared through the grass over the rise. The buck was up and feeding about 200 yards away headed to my left. I decided to drop back down and circle around to try and cut him off. A cattle trail carved into the earth provided a silent corridor in the perfect direction, with one flaw, it went uphill. Antelope hunting is often a game of inches, so whenever you are forced to gain altitude, it provides your quarry with an opportunity to pick you off. As I gained elevation, I began to pick apart the hillside to my right while advancing. The buck was now feeding back to the right! I once again, dropped down, and circled back to my original location, same routine, only this time the buck was gone! I walked up towards my round hill, assuming he had gone around the back side. Walking slowly and silently, my eyes constantly scoured the surrounding terrain until I caught the silhouette of two black horns through the grass just over the rise. The buck was feeding away from me into a big open bowl. I dropped to all fours and began to advance, whenever he would feed, I moved. I had gotten into 165 yards of the buck when he bedded down facing away from me.
Stalking a bedded antelope is much like attempting to sneak up on your buddy in the middle of a parking lot, only he has binoculars and is looking for you. Now on my stomach, my movement is painstakingly slow, however, since I can see the buck I am able to move when his head is facing straight away from me. Getting to the downhill slope of the rise, I range the buck, knowing that after I crest there will be no cover except the shin high vegetation to hide my approach. 147, not gonna cut it. As I make my next move, the buck stands, I think to myself “well that was fun.”. He turns and looks to my east, a few cows are walking in the direction of the buck. He then began feeding again, unfortunately away from me. Even at the casual pace of him feeding, and my aggressive movement of crawling forward when his head is down, I can tell this is not going to work. 174, 186, 203, the buck was simply walking faster than I was able to crawl with such limited cover. I decide to try something out of sheer desperation, and got up to a seated position with my bow standing vertically in front of me. I can vividly recall the chill of my forearms being soaking wet from crawling in the snow, looking down at my release, which was in my front pocket, I brush the mud off of the thumb barrel, which happened to be sticking out, likely digging into the earth as I crawled. The buck of course, instantly spots me. My hope was that the curious nature of antelope would prove to be his demise, and for a moment, my thought was entertained. Often if you bob your head side to side from behind your bow, they will come in to investigate. This worked to close 40 yards, as the buck came in to 167 from his previous 209 yard range. He hung around, walked in a few circles, then began slowly walking away. I rose to a crouched position, being sure to keep my bow in front of me with the top cam held over my head, perhaps to confuse him into thinking it was some sort of horn or antler. Four hours later, I found myself staring at the buck trotting away. A very patient stalk resulting in wet arms, and freezing hands, that yielded nothing except a giant smile on my face.
My final trip of the year to attempt filling my antelope tag was not a success in the sense of a notched tag, but in all honesty, I had more fun than any other hunt this season. I felt no pressure to put one on the ground, no pressure to push hard, no pressure to stay out. I simply felt at peace. The reason behind that is still somewhat unknown to me, but frankly it is memories of trips like this that will always keep me coming back. Interactions with the game we pursue, a fresh perspective on country we have spent countless hours in, and the challenge of overcoming new weather conditions brings a new sense of appreciation and a reinvigorated feeling of being alive. And hey, I have a deer to process! I hope you can take the knowledge and gear selection tidbits from part one of this article, and add in the appreciative perspective of this article and go forth into your own hunts remembering that hunting is supposed to be fun! I often put so much pressure on myself to fill tags each season that I forget to simply enjoy bowhunting, and that my friends, is the absolute most important factor to consider. Happy hunting, this is only the beginning of archery season.