Foul Weather Pronghorn

The Delight of Stalking in Close.

- John Haviland

The prairie flowed across blue sagebrush flats that lifted to a ridge broken along the edge with rock slabs and pines that were twisted by the wind. Pronghorn were bedded and grazing in the middle of a bowl below the ridge. We studied the antelope and the lay of the ground that could hide our approach. Open land prevented closing the distance on two sides, and the wind was wrong on a third. The only way to stalk the pronghorn was to hike a wide circle into a creek bottom and climb up the back side of the ridge. Becky, my wife, Gail, and I started out, and after most of two hours we reached the backside of the ridge.

I left my lever-action rifle leaning against a rock as we began the last of the stalk. We went into a crawl, inching our way to the crest of the ridge. The wind was so strong it bent the grass over flat. About 40 pronghorn were scattered across the bowl and had no idea we were near. Gail nestled in behind her 6mm Remington rifle padded with her pack over a flat rock. Becky flipped down the legs of a bipod to steady her 7mm-08 Remington. They nodded when they had a buck in their sights. I said “fire,” and they did. Gail’s buck lurched ahead and fell. Becky’s buck made a short run before it dropped.

I was going to take a reading with a range finder and tell them the distance before they shot, but the range looked less than 300 yards, which is a dead-on shot for the 6mm and 7mm-08. As they walked down to their pronghorn, I took a reading of 282 yards to their bucks.