Belly crawling through cactus and sage is an acquired skill, one I’ve gotten pretty good at in my home state of Montana hunting antelope for 45 years. On this day, I was crawling through the high desert of Wyoming, closing the distance on a massive antelope, the kind Wyoming is famous for.
In 23 years, I’d only drawn two premium antelope tags in Wyoming. As luck would have it, I drew my first tag in the 1995 random draw and came home with the biggest buck of my life. However, he missed the book by 1/8". Thirteen years later, during the 2008 financial crisis, I drew again and again missed the book by a few eighths. Was I disappointed? Sure, a little, but they were the best bucks of my life, so how disappointed could a guy be?
With 9 points going into the 2018 draw, it was time to “go book or go home.” I’d consulted with Tony Grimmett at Pronghorn Guide Service for several years, so I asked for his advice. He thought I might improve my luck if I applied for a unit not on everyone’s radar and suggested several for my consideration. After further discussion with the regional biologist, warden, and the guys at Huntin’ Fool, I decided to burn my points. Once the draw results were posted, it was official. Tony’s plan had worked. I was going back to Wyoming to hunt monster antelope.
I’d always hunted without a guide, but knowing I might not live long enough to draw this tag again, I knew I needed to make it count. I booked with Tony’s son, Eli, for late October and also planned a self-guided hunt during the rut. If I found my dream buck, I’d have little to lose. If not, I’d gain a familiarity with the unit that could only help me later in the season. I’ll never regret that decision.
September arrived quickly, and it was wonderful being back in the high desert. The rut was going strong, so strong, in fact, that it was almost impossible to find a good buck, glass him up, and judge him before he disappeared in a cloud of dust to who knows where. That week, I had the time of my life, sharing it with desert elk, wild horses, and hundreds, if not thousands, of antelope. I located several shooter bucks but decided to keep my finger off the trigger in hopes that Eli’s educated eye and knowledge of the unit could locate the buck I’d been after for 23 years.
A few days before my scheduled October hunt, I called Eli to see if he was on his way to scout my unit and was lucky enough to reach him in one of the rare locations with cell service. “How soon can you get down here from Montana? I think I’ve found your buck!” Eli said. That was all I needed to hear.
I hit the road and called Eli the next morning from Casper. This time, I was unable to reach him. Using the knowledge of the unit that I’d gained a month ago, I left a message suggesting we meet at an old homesteader’s cabin along the unit’s southern boundary. As I hit the northern boundary, I looked in vain for some of the big bucks I’d seen earlier. The biologist had warned me that the antelope begin migrating south in late October, and sure enough, he was right. I was a little concerned until I hit the southern boundary where I immediately started seeing hundreds of antelope, so many, in fact, that their white rumps looked like fields of daisies in the desert. I finally arrived at the old cabin, and a few hours later, Eli pulled up. He apologized for being late, saying it had taken him all morning to relocate my buck and that several other outfitters were hunting the same area. It was now or never. I jumped in his truck and the hunt was on.
We traveled north through a vast sage basin, constantly on the lookout. Finally, Eli pointed to a rim about a mile off and said, “That’s where I saw him last.” He stopped the truck and got out with his spotting scope. It didn’t take long for him to find the buck again. He was so far away that to me he was just one small dot in a sea of sage. I can honestly say that I probably would never have found him on my own.
As we started our stalk, Eli said he thought there might be 3,000 antelope in the area. We needed to catch up to my buck before he disappeared into the herd. The buck seemed to know I wasn’t a long-distance marksman because he stayed 650-1,000 yards out of range all afternoon. We had one stalk spoiled by wild horses and another by two smaller bucks that joined the big one, taking him even further out of range. Finally, as he crested a ridge in silhouette, Eli took his eyes away from his spotter and looked at me, “That buck has a lot of horn on his head.”
Circling the ridge, I thought for sure we’d catch our buck off guard. Instead, one of his smaller companions caught our movement. All three spooked and took off into the late afternoon sun. “They’re heading back to where the big one was when we started,” Eli said. Not discouraged, we returned to the truck and drove back to where we’d been at midday. We got out, looked west, and there he was – my buck – alone,?bedded down,?and barely?visible. There?was just enough terrain that I?thought I could crawl through the cactus and sage, get within range, and make the shot. After a brief consultation, Eli agreed to stay behind and keep his eye on the buck. On hands and knees, I closed the distance to 250 yards. I was close enough. I pushed some cactus aside, slowly braced my rifle on my shooting sticks, and brought my crosshairs to rest on the buck-of-a-lifetime. Only then did I begin to realize just how big he really was.
As I clicked off the safety, he seemed to sense my presence. In one motion, he was up and ready to run. I heard my shot before I felt it and saw him go down. A split second later, I heard Eli yell out one excited word, “Yes!”
I made my way to where the antelope had fallen. It was beginning to sink in that the dream of a book buck might finally be within my grasp. His mass carried all the way from the bases to the ivory tips with big prongs and almost perfect symmetry. No ground shrinkage here. Sixty days later, my Wyoming antelope would officially score 87 6/8" SCI and 87 4/8" B&C. However, there in the desert, I still wasn’t quite certain, even with his horns in my hands. I turned to Eli and said, “You were right, there’s a lot of horn here, but do you think he’ll make the book?”
All Eli could do was laugh, “Are you kidding?”
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