New Mexico has been my home since the day I took my first breath. Growing up, I have come to cherish the diversity this state has to offer in regards to the great outdoors. You can escape the flat, desolate desert to find the fresh pines in no time. You may also head down to the Carlsbad Caverns to see the beauty that lies beneath us or hike Wheelers Peak to an elevation of over 13,000 feet. I love my home state and the diverse terrain it has to offer, which brings a variety of hunting opportunities. You can hunt an array of wild game such as oryx, Barbary sheep, elk, deer, javelina, antelope, black bear, mountain lion, bighorn sheep and ibex.
I began hunting alongside my dad, David Walker, as a youngster. He taught me everything I know about hunting and has taught me even more about life. He was there when I graduated high school and college, and he was there when I killed my first mule deer buck as a senior in high school. I got lucky and shot a heck of a buck with my bow. From then on, I knew my life would revolve around hunting and the outdoors.
I soon found myself chasing deer almost every year. I would tag along with friends and family on each of their elk or deer hunts. I loved hunting deer and elk, but I wanted more of a challenge. Don’t get me wrong, deer and elk elude me every year, but I wanted a hunt that would make me question my abilities and myself. I wanted to experience a hunt that would shake me to my core and cause my love for hunting to reach that next level.
I first found this feeling hunting Barbary sheep, or as the rest of the U.S. refers to them, aoudad. This extraordinary animal lives in steep, nasty country. They are the most nomadic animals I have ever hunted. I have had the privilege of harvesting three Barbary sheep, and I will continue to hunt them until I simply can’t. They’re just too dang cool! Being that I have harvested a couple of them, I knew I wanted to find another challenging hunt. This is how I found out about hunting ibex in the Florida Mountains. I read a few articles, talked to friends, and watched many videos on YouTube of people hunting the ibex that call New Mexico home. I knew I had to give it a go.
March of 2020 was my second time applying for this hunt, and I was successful. I began to prepare for this brutal hunt. I decided to whip myself into better shape and went to the gun range as often as my schedule would permit. As the hunt inched closer, I made sure my friends weren’t going to back out on me, and we all planned to head to Deming a couple days before the hunt started. The day and a half we had before the hunt we spent glassing, talking, and listening to some Johnny Cash. It was rough. After finding a couple of billies we knew we wanted to climb up after, we made a plan.
Opening morning, we pulled up to our glassing spot only to find headlamps climbing up the mountain range just to the south of where we had seen our target billies the night before. As the sun came up and we found our herd of ibex, we watched as other hunters shot at them and chased them out of sight. This was disheartening, but that’s public land. We ended up circling around the mountain range to where we believed the herd of ibex had been pushed to, and sure enough, there they were at the very top. We climbed about three quarters of the way up to them, but they were not there. They had vanished like vapor. We were confused but stayed put and glassed. We came across a hunter making his way down a cliff face. He was headed toward his billy. During our climb, we noticed he harvested the biggest billy in the herd. We got to watch from afar as he put hands on his once-in-a-lifetime ibex.
Day two started out with a sense of numbness to the hunt. We were happy for the other hunters who had harvested or had opportunities, but we could’ve watched other hunters fling lead at home on our own couches. With a bit of a bitter taste in each of our mouths, we waited for the sun to rise and started glassing. Now, glassing up these ibex isn’t the hardest thing in the world, if I am being honest. The nannies and little ones are hard to see because they are almost the same color as the mountains, but the billies are white and look like ghosts floating across the dark red cliff faces.
Anyways, back to the hunt. We found a herd that had a couple of good billies in it and decided to make our move. We climbed and were within 430 yards of the herd. They began to bust and were leaving. I got set up to take a shot, my billy stood skyline, and I took a deep breath and squeezed. He flinched in just the right spot. We cheered and gave him time. We rewatched the video and concluded that I had hit him right in the vitals. We climbed up to where he stood when I shot, and there wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere in sight. We combed the mountainside but never found a trace of a wounded ibex. We realized that it had to be a miss. After this, I was done. I wanted to go back to the truck, pack up my stuff, and leave. That feeling of failure and disappointment was by far one of the worst tastes I have ever had in my mouth. Luckily, my friends lifted me up and told me to quit being a little girl (clean version) and we carried on.
Some of the guys were leaving, so we went into town to refuel, say goodbye, and watch the video of the shot on a laptop. It revealed a narrow miss. The flinch we thought was impact was the billy simply jumping due to the 6.5 PRC going within centimeters of his long black hair. I can’t say I blame him. That afternoon, we found more ibex and climbed the mountain again, but it just didn’t work out.
Day three was our do or die day. This was our last day to hunt, so we had to make it work. The morning started out the exact same as the others, sitting around on the dark, cold desert floor, waiting for a beautiful New Mexico sunrise. We found ibex and got about halfway to them before someone else shot at them.
We headed back down, gathered ourselves, and started glassing again. Soon enough, we found ibex further south than we had before. We made a game plan yet again and began our climb. When I say climb, I mean literal climbing. You get about half a mile of steep terrain, and the rest of the way you are using your hands to pull yourself up over rock ledges.
We got to our shooting knob, and as if the story was just on repeat, no ibex. We glassed the hill for about an hour and decided it was time for a snack. We tucked up in some shade and started eating. I was about halfway through my second bag of Fruit Gushers when I saw a bleach white billy across the canyon from us, and he wasn’t alone. The very first herd of ibex we put a stalk on that morning had been pushed right into our laps. I grabbed the PROOF rifle, showed the guys where the ibex were, and prepared for the shot. Tyler ranged them at 470 yards. I adjusted my dope and shot. The billy dropped where he stood, but his herd left. After we observed this happen, we all celebrated with relief. It all happened in a blink of an eye. All of the heartaches and disappointments were gone and replaced with joy and success. The billy I harvested won’t go down in the record books, but he was beautiful. Bleach white with a long beard, and he stunk like you wouldn’t believe. (They all stink.)
This was the hardest hunt I have ever done. The physicality was insane, the miss was devastating, and the memories are forever. God has blessed me in my young life to have such great memories with my dad and friends in the outdoors. I am thankful for the homegrown ibex and the state I share my home with.
I would like to thank my friends, Tyler Cox, Rodney Holcomb, Brody Gardner, Cole Johnson, and Dan Vastyan, for being there for me and helping me accomplish such a challenging goal. Love you, gents.
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