Post by Javelina on Jan 17, 2004 10:27:24 GMT -5
2003 Pronghorn Hunt.... ;D
This year’s pronghorn hunt was a study in paradox. Even though I am addicted to hunting speed goats, I had resigned myself to missing my hunt in 2003, because of two conflicts, time and money. The previous years hunt had caused me to miss my granddaughter’s birthday, which of course did not set well with grandma. I, or more correctly she determined that I would indeed; attend the second celebration of Allison’s birth. Since most pronghorn, hunting takes place at that time of the year, the decision was made; my hunting urges would have to be filled by another species.
Soon, I realized that nothing else would get my adrenalin pumping, so I never got around to booking a hunt. August is in full swing and I realize that I don’t have any hunting booked for the year. Oh, there had been some talk of a spring bear hunt to Saskatchewan for 2004 but nothing written in stone.
Then the gods of the hunt took pity on me. My phone rings one evening in late August, one of my best friends asks, would I go on a hunt to west Texas. Of course, I immediately sprang to full point, SPEED GOATS. But wait, I can’t. I have to be in Waco for the birthday party, I can’t be in Alpine. Guess what the State of Texas took pity on me too; the season doesn’t start until four days after the party. I’m in, prongys abound, look out prongys...Mike’s on the way.
This hunt was to be unguided, a self hunt my favorite kind. Suddenly cash is no object, I quickly order a Double Bull T5 blind, tuned my bow, oh yeah I forgot to mention I crossed over to the Dark side last year. But that’s another story, on with this one. The outfitter Hunter Ross of Desert Safaris agreed that we could hunt unguided and even arranged for us to scout the ranch a couple of days before the season started. Guided hunts are great, especially if you get a good guide, and Hunter is a great guide and outfitter, but I’ve been hunting for over 48 years, and prefer to hunt on my own whenever I can.
A couple of thousand dollars later, Mike, Hoyt RazorTec, and Henry are loaded and headed to Alpine at full speed. Full speed may be a little exaggerated, as thunderstorms crossed our path frequently during the drive slowing progress greatly. We’re going to the desert; it doesn’t rain much in the desert…right?
Wrong...what desert? It’s greener in Alpine than in Waco. Man, this is going to be different, pronghorn hunting with a bow in a lush green countryside. Well, to late now let’s hunt.
The first morning, we wake to a sunny day, and after a shot of coffee, meet Hunter for a tour of the ranch, and a little scouting. The extra food sources provided by an abundance of rain at the proper times throughout the year had produced some of the best horns I’ve seen on Texas pronghorns in a long time. One thing is quickly evident; there will be no need to sit on waterholes, as water stands in every depression. This is going to be strictly spot and stalk hunting.
For those of you who have never had the privilege of hunting “goats” they see with 8 power binocular eyes and can run 60 miles an hour, not the easiest to approach on foot. Scott and I cut cards for the first kill, and he wins, now it is time to fish or cut bait. The bows come out and we load quivers with our best arrows.
Saturday morning dawns cool and clear, but with a strong wind after my coffee and Scotts Dr. Pepper, we load up and begin the quest. Going to the highest point on the ranch, we glass several herds, soon finding one Scott likes. Driving the pickup to within stalking distance, Scott begins the first of many frustrating attempts to get within bow range of these devils. To add further insult two small bucks with about 13 inch horns allow him to get within about twenty-five feet before turning to leisurely wonder off.
We have several 14 inch plus bucks located, but they are extremely wary and it seems 70 yards is their tolerance limit. Over the next three days, Scott puts some brilliant attempts together; however, his frustration level is rising with each disappointment. Finally, on Tuesday it is decided, no pronghorn by lunch and the rifle will come out. As we are driving back to the cabin to retrieve Scott’s 270 I see a lone buck standing at the base of the mountain. I look at Scott and ask the question, one more try…? He looks back at me with a “what the’ hell” look, so I turn in that direction and stop the truck. It is evident that Scott doesn’t hold a lot of confidence at this point, but is willing to give it one more try.
As before the gods of the hunt smiled on us, Scott was able to get within bow range and his arrow felled the pronghorn in its tracks. It wasn’t the 14 inch plus animal he was hoping to get but a good one even so. Moreover, made all the better because of the effort spent and the great shot with his bow. By the time, we got the pictures and the caping done it was too late for me to begin my hunt.
Wednesday; now, it is my turn to put up or shut up. I got my mind made up there is one 15 inch buck we have seen in the distance several times but never could get close. Glassing we locate the bugger, and I take off on foot after him. Several miles later, Scott and I figger this ain’t gonna work either. But we have gotten closer with the pickup so I pile in the back and away we go… He will walk away every time we get within 75 or 80 yards, which appears to be his comfort zone. Ok I’ll drop out of the pickup and Scott will keep on driving away, then I can sneak up on the devil. Nope that don’t work either, I get closer but not close enough. I won’t go into how many stalks I put on him that day but I was one tired puppy that night. I think he thought it was a great game to play on this old fat man…
As luck would have it Thursday dawned to rain and more rain, maybe he won’t be so ornery today. Two more attempts and no luck, Scott and I are both soaked to the bone and the forecast is for rain through Sunday. I’m ready to go get a store bought meal and some hot coffee, to Alpine we go, after a couple of hours in a warm restaurant and several cups of hot coffee not to mention the 16 ounce steak I’m ready to hit it again.
Back at the ranch, it has now stopped raining and started pouring. Scott asked me what I wanted to do. Man, I want this goat with my bow… but I want this goat period. It will be my best yet.
We head back to where we last spotted him, and there he was outlined on a hill laughing at me… I looked at Scott, and he said want to go get Henry?? I look at him and nod my head in frustration. I had started the week with the hope that Henry would not see the light of day. Nevertheless, here it was, pouring rain and the weatherman predicting worse. I guess it is time for Henry to hunt. So we head back to the cabin where we had him tied up. Now ol’Henry ain’t been out to hunt in a good while, not since I ventured to the Dark side. I had a hard time controlling him when I let him out, jumping all over me and foaming at the mouth, but I got him quieted down some and loaded in the truck.
All the way back to the buck Scott kept asking me was I sure, I wanted to do this. We still had some time and it might quit raining, but I had my mind made up and I don’t think I could have got Henry back in his cage at this point. When we got back to the base of that hill and the Devil Buck was waiting for me, still a grinning at the fat old man who couldn’t catch him. Well I had a surprise for him; I got Henry out of the truck and laid him across my shooting bag. I hugged Henry, just right and he kind ‘a shook a little in anticipation. I asked Scott if the video was running and was he ready to follow the action, once I let Henry loose. He said go for it, and I let Henry loose. Man, that ol’devil never knew what hit him. That 115 grain Nosler Partition entered slightly back of the fourth rib and exited behind the off shoulder. Scott said… Where did he go? I just grinned and petted Henry. After we covered, the 185 yards there lay the Devil Buck with a look of surprise forever frozen on his face.
Guess it ain’t so far back from the Dark side as some would think….
This year’s pronghorn hunt was a study in paradox. Even though I am addicted to hunting speed goats, I had resigned myself to missing my hunt in 2003, because of two conflicts, time and money. The previous years hunt had caused me to miss my granddaughter’s birthday, which of course did not set well with grandma. I, or more correctly she determined that I would indeed; attend the second celebration of Allison’s birth. Since most pronghorn, hunting takes place at that time of the year, the decision was made; my hunting urges would have to be filled by another species.
Soon, I realized that nothing else would get my adrenalin pumping, so I never got around to booking a hunt. August is in full swing and I realize that I don’t have any hunting booked for the year. Oh, there had been some talk of a spring bear hunt to Saskatchewan for 2004 but nothing written in stone.
Then the gods of the hunt took pity on me. My phone rings one evening in late August, one of my best friends asks, would I go on a hunt to west Texas. Of course, I immediately sprang to full point, SPEED GOATS. But wait, I can’t. I have to be in Waco for the birthday party, I can’t be in Alpine. Guess what the State of Texas took pity on me too; the season doesn’t start until four days after the party. I’m in, prongys abound, look out prongys...Mike’s on the way.
This hunt was to be unguided, a self hunt my favorite kind. Suddenly cash is no object, I quickly order a Double Bull T5 blind, tuned my bow, oh yeah I forgot to mention I crossed over to the Dark side last year. But that’s another story, on with this one. The outfitter Hunter Ross of Desert Safaris agreed that we could hunt unguided and even arranged for us to scout the ranch a couple of days before the season started. Guided hunts are great, especially if you get a good guide, and Hunter is a great guide and outfitter, but I’ve been hunting for over 48 years, and prefer to hunt on my own whenever I can.
A couple of thousand dollars later, Mike, Hoyt RazorTec, and Henry are loaded and headed to Alpine at full speed. Full speed may be a little exaggerated, as thunderstorms crossed our path frequently during the drive slowing progress greatly. We’re going to the desert; it doesn’t rain much in the desert…right?
Wrong...what desert? It’s greener in Alpine than in Waco. Man, this is going to be different, pronghorn hunting with a bow in a lush green countryside. Well, to late now let’s hunt.
The first morning, we wake to a sunny day, and after a shot of coffee, meet Hunter for a tour of the ranch, and a little scouting. The extra food sources provided by an abundance of rain at the proper times throughout the year had produced some of the best horns I’ve seen on Texas pronghorns in a long time. One thing is quickly evident; there will be no need to sit on waterholes, as water stands in every depression. This is going to be strictly spot and stalk hunting.
For those of you who have never had the privilege of hunting “goats” they see with 8 power binocular eyes and can run 60 miles an hour, not the easiest to approach on foot. Scott and I cut cards for the first kill, and he wins, now it is time to fish or cut bait. The bows come out and we load quivers with our best arrows.
Saturday morning dawns cool and clear, but with a strong wind after my coffee and Scotts Dr. Pepper, we load up and begin the quest. Going to the highest point on the ranch, we glass several herds, soon finding one Scott likes. Driving the pickup to within stalking distance, Scott begins the first of many frustrating attempts to get within bow range of these devils. To add further insult two small bucks with about 13 inch horns allow him to get within about twenty-five feet before turning to leisurely wonder off.
We have several 14 inch plus bucks located, but they are extremely wary and it seems 70 yards is their tolerance limit. Over the next three days, Scott puts some brilliant attempts together; however, his frustration level is rising with each disappointment. Finally, on Tuesday it is decided, no pronghorn by lunch and the rifle will come out. As we are driving back to the cabin to retrieve Scott’s 270 I see a lone buck standing at the base of the mountain. I look at Scott and ask the question, one more try…? He looks back at me with a “what the’ hell” look, so I turn in that direction and stop the truck. It is evident that Scott doesn’t hold a lot of confidence at this point, but is willing to give it one more try.
As before the gods of the hunt smiled on us, Scott was able to get within bow range and his arrow felled the pronghorn in its tracks. It wasn’t the 14 inch plus animal he was hoping to get but a good one even so. Moreover, made all the better because of the effort spent and the great shot with his bow. By the time, we got the pictures and the caping done it was too late for me to begin my hunt.
Wednesday; now, it is my turn to put up or shut up. I got my mind made up there is one 15 inch buck we have seen in the distance several times but never could get close. Glassing we locate the bugger, and I take off on foot after him. Several miles later, Scott and I figger this ain’t gonna work either. But we have gotten closer with the pickup so I pile in the back and away we go… He will walk away every time we get within 75 or 80 yards, which appears to be his comfort zone. Ok I’ll drop out of the pickup and Scott will keep on driving away, then I can sneak up on the devil. Nope that don’t work either, I get closer but not close enough. I won’t go into how many stalks I put on him that day but I was one tired puppy that night. I think he thought it was a great game to play on this old fat man…
As luck would have it Thursday dawned to rain and more rain, maybe he won’t be so ornery today. Two more attempts and no luck, Scott and I are both soaked to the bone and the forecast is for rain through Sunday. I’m ready to go get a store bought meal and some hot coffee, to Alpine we go, after a couple of hours in a warm restaurant and several cups of hot coffee not to mention the 16 ounce steak I’m ready to hit it again.
Back at the ranch, it has now stopped raining and started pouring. Scott asked me what I wanted to do. Man, I want this goat with my bow… but I want this goat period. It will be my best yet.
We head back to where we last spotted him, and there he was outlined on a hill laughing at me… I looked at Scott, and he said want to go get Henry?? I look at him and nod my head in frustration. I had started the week with the hope that Henry would not see the light of day. Nevertheless, here it was, pouring rain and the weatherman predicting worse. I guess it is time for Henry to hunt. So we head back to the cabin where we had him tied up. Now ol’Henry ain’t been out to hunt in a good while, not since I ventured to the Dark side. I had a hard time controlling him when I let him out, jumping all over me and foaming at the mouth, but I got him quieted down some and loaded in the truck.
All the way back to the buck Scott kept asking me was I sure, I wanted to do this. We still had some time and it might quit raining, but I had my mind made up and I don’t think I could have got Henry back in his cage at this point. When we got back to the base of that hill and the Devil Buck was waiting for me, still a grinning at the fat old man who couldn’t catch him. Well I had a surprise for him; I got Henry out of the truck and laid him across my shooting bag. I hugged Henry, just right and he kind ‘a shook a little in anticipation. I asked Scott if the video was running and was he ready to follow the action, once I let Henry loose. He said go for it, and I let Henry loose. Man, that ol’devil never knew what hit him. That 115 grain Nosler Partition entered slightly back of the fourth rib and exited behind the off shoulder. Scott said… Where did he go? I just grinned and petted Henry. After we covered, the 185 yards there lay the Devil Buck with a look of surprise forever frozen on his face.
Guess it ain’t so far back from the Dark side as some would think….
. Well so be it