After months of emailing and learning my way through the Wyoming application process for the unit we were to hunt, my buddy, Grant, and I were all lined out for what looked to be a promising hunt. The months turned to weeks, the weeks to days, and before I knew it I had learned all a guy can learn from the internet. I spent the better part of last week scouring Bowsite, watching youtube videos and drooling over the meat pole thread. Our time had come. Grant left the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex at lunch and was driving through Midland to pick me up. From Midland it was a chip shot of a 14 hour drive to Bill, Wyoming. We had everything we would need for the antelope hunt and 5 days in my go-to OTC elk spot in the event we tagged out early. The 4-runner was loaded down with quite literally zero room to spare. Everything was going as planned...up to this point.
An all nighter can wear on a guy, and before I knew it, I had driven half way through the Thunder Basin National Grasslands; a full 35 miles past the ranch we were to be hunting. We were shocked at the number of antelope we were seeing. What we thought would be a fun hunt was quickly becoming an epic adventure for we flatlanders. We made it back to the ranch HQ, met the ranch owner, and got the whirlwind tour previously mentioned in ambush's thread.
As we drove across the miles and miles of open grasslands, we passed a number of tanks...or ponds as most folks north of I-20 call them. As we passed we assigned names based on location and context clues. The solar tank was the first water we passed. In that same pasture in a nearly dry tank in the middle of nothing was the Chinese sweatbox. Moving on to the next pasture was a large tank in a big bowl, The Thunderdome. After that was the old tripod, the north tank, and the windmill blind; one the rancher said was a go-to, a favorite of many past hunters. The windmill blind was only 500 yards from the cattle working pens, and I immediately committed not to sitting there. It was too close to camp and there was a new well with a coil tubing unit, flowback tanks, and a lot of pump trucks coming in and out. I KNEW this blind was a dud.
After some debate, Grant wanted to sit The Thunderdome for night 1. We nearly closed the deal on a solid representative goat with a weak left side, which warranted the nickname Lefty. As luck would have it, after watching him do nothing for 5 hours, he committed to water only to be run off by a pipeliner coming by on the main oil service road. Skunked for night one.
It should be noted that sometime not too long after this photo was taken I received a phone call from my girlfriend informing me that I had left my tag, conservation stamp, and NR archery stamp with all my OTC topos in the folder on our kitchen counter. Soul crushing. Hence why Grant and I sat together Saturday evening.
Fast forward to Saturday night's failed pursuit of Lefty... At dark Grant and I leave the blind and book it straight to Douglas to find a license vendor still open at 8 p.m. After going to 4 different convenient stores, grocery stores, and one very tempting bar only to be told by every one of them "We actually just stopped selling licenses." Defeated, we settled for a couple of heart stopping McDonald's value meals, a twelve pack of The Banquet Beer, and headed for camp. We were exhausted. I had now resigned myself to the fact that Sunday morning was going to be another huntless morning for me.
After I dropped Grant off at the blind, I drove around a bit to scout from the roads and found a number of contestants with enough talent to get an arrow. I eased back toward camp, made some coffee, helped the rancher load up some cattle panels (camp was in the working pens, after all) and eased in to town to go to the last 2 license vendors I hadn't gone to the night before knowing they were closed then, and hoping they were open Monday.
Local Hardware store: strike 6, not open Sundays. As luck, fate, and blessings would have it, the final shot I had at getting a license before mine got there at 11 a.m. Monday was the local sporting goods, lawn, and hardware store. It reminded me of Ron White's original standup where he talks about the airport in Beaumont, TX: "We flew out of the airport, hair care, and tire center there in Beaumont"...classic.
As I'm checking out, my phone begins to ring; it's Grant. I know there's only one reason he's calling me at 11:45 a.m. Goat Down!!!
Grant's goat came in but never actually came to the water. He just wanted to check out all of the does and little guys watering that morning. As low as the water was at this tank, there wasn't a shot further than 40 yards if they came to water. Grant's goat came to the top of the damn and offered a perfect broadside shot at 39 yards, which Grant was happy to take. Grant put a textbook shot in the 10 ring and his goat was down in under 100 yards.
Field note: this buck had the skunkiest smell about him. I couldn't believe how rank he was.
For the sake of brevity, I saw well over 20 antelope and at least half of them came to water, but I did not close the deal. I would have shot 3 different bucks that all came in to under 40 yards; problem was they all came edges of the water I hadn't opened windows for or they just chased does across. This blind was up close and personal. My long shot directly across was 22 yards and I had a number of goats nearly touch the blind as they walked past. I was amazed at how effective having few windows open with the sun at your back really is.
Dark came and so did Grant to pick me up. I was excited at the number of antelope I had seen, but was disappointed in not getting my "bird in the hand." Grant got a really neat buck, which was going to be hard to beat by our standards. I still had 5 days of hunting left, but we were really hoping to tag out and double up on elk this year. Needless to say, I was kicking myself for putting the "tag at home" handicap in play. I lost two 1/2 days of hunting and ever so familiar "what if" of doubt began to slowly creep in.
It should be noted that it was freezing at night all weekend. We left 90+ degree Texas heat and drove straight through to cold and windy. We were in no way acclimated to the cold just yet. Monday proved no different. I'm sure I looked, and I know I felt, like a pig in a blanket with no less than 5 layers on top and 3 on bottom. I still got cold. By 10 a.m. I was excited to feel it warming up, and got a little boost when the surge of adrenaline hit me. Peeking through the cracks in my blind, I spotted "Chief", the monster Grant had seen the night before. He was with 5 or 6 does and yearlings and one immature buck with horns that barely cleared his ears. This was it. I knew this was my chance, because why else are antelope so close to a blind if not to water? The answer: because they're antelope and nobody tells them where to go.
I promptly watch the little buck walk over the hill to the west while Chief took his harem to a pipeline right of way 1500 yards behind me to the east. Once again, soul crushing. There he was, inside 60 yards and I had no shot, no window, just a crack in the blind and the sinking feeling of a powder butt nonchalantly moseying out of range.
I watched chief and his harem meet up with another group of antelope to form a mega-harem and chase for the remainder of the day. A smaller, though still very nice buck, chased Chief out of the country and out of sight multiple times that day. But the persistent giant continued to come back and bird-dog the does. As much as I enjoyed the show and as much as I enjoyed the 180 pages of Malcom Gladwell's "David and Goliath" (he's a great read if you're a reader...if you're an antelope hunter I expect you'll learn to be), I was disappointed they didn't come back that afternoon. I suppose the cooler weather (didn't get over 75 all day) didn't force them to water regularly.
The only action I got for the remainder of the day was a doe and twin mulies, the same as Don aka Drycreek had seen the week prior.
Day break came Monday and like clockwork, I saw Chief, the smaller big buck, and all the does on the pipeline right of way, right where I put them to bed. I watched them chase back and forth, in sight, out of sight, and every which way but mine. I was getting ancey. Around 9 a.m. I got a text from Grant: "big boy, headed your way from the west, 800 yards out." Chief was to the east and I could see him well over 1500 yards away; this was a different buck. Sure enough, I see a big buck sky lined on the horizon 150 yards in front of me not 20 minutes later. He was a shooter, no questions about it. I nocked an arrow and waited. I watched him ease his way down, toward the tank, now at 80 yards. Suddenly he begins to run right at me, veering off to chase a little buck that had snuck in behind me. He came as close as 12 yards, but again, he never stopped, never came through a shooting window, never presented a shot. As quickly as he came, he was gone. Twice now I've had 2 studs inside 50 yards and twice I've had to watch them walk out of my life. For a serious bow hunter, especially one who has never shot anything worthy of hanging on a wall, it felt like a bad breakup...only worse!
I texted Grant what had happened and resigned myself back to a day of David and Goliath. With Chief and his posse well out of range and in no hurry to go anywhere, I settled in for the long haul.
Finally the group makes it to within 200 yards and decides they're no longer in a hurry. It's 11 a.m. The ladies and youngsters are worried about feeding, while Chief and buck #2 are trying to keep any from getting too far away. Finally the group begins to spread a bit and 5-6 does and yearlings make it a few hundred yards back toward the right of way. Buck #2 cuts his losses and goes after them, leaving chief with 9 does/yearlings all to himself. He's finally content. One yearling breaks off and comes to water, 10 yards away. I visualize the shot, see what kind of movement I can get away with at that close range...and watch. He feeds to 2 yards and goes back to the herd. Another doe and fawn break off and come to 25 yards. Again, they water, feed toward the blind, and go back to the herd. Finally I see Chief tailing a hot doe that looks thirsty. She comes over the tank damn and straight to water, 35 yards out. Chief stands on the opposite side of the tank and watches. He's back to going nowhere in a hurry. I think my window is beginning to close. I begin to wonder if I can open another window and squeeze an arrow through to him.
I finally decide to slow down, breathe, and wait. I did not want to test my good fortune any more than needed. He was already there. He had to water.
In the above photo, Chief is tailing buck #2 and they are both only a few yards behind the group of does.
BTW You're a smart guy - many would have done the less-than-intelligent thing and tried to shoot.
Let's have more!
He's perfectly broadside as I settle my pin before he decides to turn around and do what antelope do. Stand and stare. At what, I don't know, but he stood there showing me his butt while I'm at full draw. 1:30-2 minutes pass before he decides he's out. My heart sinks as he walks to the top of the tank damn on the farthest side away from the blind. I follow him with my pin, waiting for him to stop. At the crest of the damn, he finally does, for a second. I'm feeling the fatigue of full draw and try to steady my pin. As I put pressure on my release, his front foot begins to go. It's now or never.
I don't remember the release and I don't remember seeing him leave. What I do remember is the sound my arrow made on impact and seeing blood spray out both sides of his new holes as he ran directly away. I remember seeing him fall and seeing his harem look at the downed monster as he faded out. I took off my go-pro only to realize that in the excitement, I didn't turn it on. Par for the course on this trip for me, but I didn't care. As I walked up to him, I began to realize what had just happened. I just shot Chief, The Monster, this massive antelope that actually grew once I got up to him.
Another conversation Grant and I had on this trip was how ridiculous Cameron Hanes' selfies are. I don't blame the guy; he's a beast and built like a sh*t brickhouse...but his Instagram account is an ode to selfies. So, in ridiculous fashion, the first photo taken of this buck on the ground is such a selfie. I was pumped!
Just so you know for the future, from my experience you could have closed all your windows and opened one on the side you wanted to shoot as long as it was done slowly. I have done it many times, those Blinds have been there for a long time so they rarely pay any attention to them.
The Windmill Blind is the Blind that has been there the longest as it was there when I first started hunting there and I have rebuilt it twice now.
I won't sugar coat this story. I forgot my tag and was sidelined for a full day of hunting. I helped Grant quarter his antelope and took the time to cape it for him so he could get it shoulder mounted instead of getting in the blind at a reasonable hour Sunday night. I held at full draw for probably 2 minutes, shot my first animal with a single pin (which I have sworn against for years due to the very reason described above), and smoked a monster; the Chief. This was my first antelope hunt.
I don't believe in luck, though. I will always remember my sixth grade teacher that would tell us, "Luck doesn't exist, only blessings." She was right. I'm extremely blessed. I don't believe in chance either. If I hadn't left my tag or helped Grant, there's a very good chance that I would have tagged out on any half-way decent antelope that gave me an opportunity, of which there were many close calls. If Grant hadn't driven by The Windmill blind at that exact time after shooting that particular buck, we may not ever have known that it was right in the middle of Chief's stomping grounds.
I am by no means the "Great White Hunter," but this trip I shot something that will be hard to top for the rest of my life. Chief green scores a conservative 76 5/8.
They don't come that big very often - like shooting a 155 inch whitetail!!!
I hope you all enjoyed my story almost as much as I did.
What a great write up!!!
Mark
He green scored a VERY conservative 76 5/8. I've never scored a goat and didn't want to give myself even 1/8". I'll let you know what he goes after drying.
Wes
Yeah, you had some good luck, things fell your way in the end. But most times luck doesn't just happen, it's made. You put yourself in the position for any luck to happen at all. As they say, sometimes half the battle is showing up... or at least the tags showing up.... heheheheh....
Thanks for a great story and takin' us along. Pretty cool.
Last year the Windmill was under water. Now after that buck, it's going to be standing room only and lined up out the door for next year.
And you're right, every event, good and bad, set the stage for that one great moment.
There's a lot of country on this ranch and there wasn't a pasture we didn't see a shooter goat. It helps that we likely saw more during the rut than we would have seen, say mid-August, but I'm amped up for another go at these stinky speedgoats.
Don, I emailed the only scorer within 100 miles and it's a lady from B&C that lives in town here. She seems nice enough and I think we're going to meet up this weekend so she can green score him and show me the ropes, so to speak. Give me a whitetail and I can get 'r dun; these pronghorns are by no means my forte.
Since it was his first goat (and any first is always hard to understand how lucky you just got. Matter a fact my first goat was 74" and my buddy and I had no idea how big it really was.
I was comparing it to a whitetail and for anyone to go out and shoot a 155" whitetail as their first deer would be amazing! I bet 9 out of 10 in here don't have a 155" WT. To shoot a 75+" goat is just awesome.
A 170" Wt would be like shooting a 82" goat!
I have plenty in the 60s, a few in the 70s and 0 in the 80s. I love goat hunting!
Anyway, congrats on an absolutely terrific goat!
RIP Chief :)
