I woke up around 5 am this morning. Last night, I couldn't sleep. I was so wound up that sleep didn't matter. When I closed my eyes, I was back out on the plains where the pronghorn were everywhere, and I'd wake up to check the time, just to see when my dream would come true. 

I made it to the hunting grounds at about 6:30 this morning, my pockets stuffed full of brass, tags, and a small sheathed knife. The wind froze my face and fingers before I had a chance to get into the check-in tent. Everyone outside was shivering, and everyone in the tent stalled. Luckily, check-in didn't last long and I was introduced to my guides. Mike had a grouse feather in his cap, and Tom was his father. Tom would be driving us around in his red diesel Dodge, and Mike would be leading me around on foot when we left the vehicle. My grandparents would sit on heated back seats the whole hunt. 

There were lots of other hunters. Unlike the hunts I've done before, this was through an organization called Outdoor Buddies, which helps disabled hunters hunt using "public" land. I've never hunted public land. My old friend Doug introduced me to Outdoor Buddies and used it often, and he told me to continue hunting long after he was gone. Doug was called home 3 years ago. 

Because of how busy the hunting grounds were, it was hard to settle on anything. The pronghorn were surprisingly scarce, and the does were outnumbered by the bucks 55/10. I have a doe tag. The bucks were crazy, and pushing the does around constantly. If the bucks were alone, they were looking for other bucks to fight, and we saw some pretty awesome rutting fights! 

The hunting grounds are on 30,000 acres of active ranch land, which means we had to wrestle with large herds of curious cattle to find the skittish pronghorn. The cold made the angus/holstien bulls and steers extra playful. A few charged the truck, but jumped away at the last second, and we often had 100 head of cattle following us from one gate to the next. So much for trying to be stealthy!

One time, Mike led me up a draw, and just below a ridge was a very small doe being herded around by a large buck. She was in range, and I had her in the crosshairs with my finger on the trigger. That buck was moving her around so much that I didn't have a good shot. She'd stop for a second, but then continue running around in circles, as her apparent boyfriend did everything he could to make her stop for him. Eventually, the doe made a mad dash for a far ridge, with the buck hot on her tail. We were perfectly set. The pronghorn didn't even know we were watching them. But of course, they were gone before I could get a shot to ring out. 

We walked back and drove around some more, and were stopped by another group of hunters in a van. Apparently, they were in charge of a hunter in an off-road wheelchair. They told him to go towards the pronghorn while they tracked the herd. They lost both the pronghorn and the hunter! They told us to let them know if we found a handicapped hunter somewhere nearby, so from then on, every time the pronghorn ran, we joked it was because of the hunter who probably had his wheelchair going full throttle along the top of the ridges. (Yes, the hunter was found alive and well. We would've known if it was otherwise.)

We came up to another huge hill by a windmill waterhole. Mike and I walked up to the top of the hill and gazed over the land. It was breathtakingly beautiful (and painfully windy) up there.

We could see golden plains run up against purple mountains. Cows dotted the plains, and the grass waved like the sea. We located a herd of 6 pronghorn; one buck and 5 does, but they were a mile away with their butts towards us. We shook our heads and slowly descended the ridge. Just before we got to the truck, something blew past my boots. It was a red-tailed hawk feather, and I was told to pick it up. According to native american culture, any hawk or eagle feather is a sign of honor and good luck. 

After scouting for a few more hours on the south side of the grounds, we passed back through camp and headed to the far north. The wind calmed down considerably for awhile, and Mike and I were able to ascend several hills and mountains without holding down our heads and hats. We saw 10 pronghorn, but all but two of them were bucks. Most of them were lone bucks, and a couple of those lone bucks stalked us. The bucks were stupid because of the rut. They're so focused on getting a girlfriend that they completely forget that they're prey animals, unless the does get spooked. 

Again, for most of the time, we were all packed in the warm truck, driving at a speedy 5 miles per hour over hills and ridges. Plenty of other hunters were having luck. Of course, they were all looking for bucks, and the north ranch was full of them! We counted something like 30 bucks and 5 does. One buck was very old and distinct, and we tracked him for several miles. One horn stood tall on his head, and the other had grown over his eye, parallel to his face. 

We had to fight through several large herds of curious and feisty cattle, so we were forced to drive an astounding 1.5 miles per hour as cattle circled around us. The steers still faced off with the front of the truck, but would run away, and then circle back to do it again. While it was annoying, it was also pretty funny to watch. 

We got lost several times tracking bucks, hoping they'd lead us to does. I used Mike as a windbreak as we stood on the highest hills, freezing our asses off in the 30 mile per hour winds. We watched a huge herd of 15 mule deer bucks jump over the fences in a line. On that same ridge, a huge herd of cattle came our way with curiosity in their eyes. We saw plenty of pronghorn bucks, successful buck hunters, but very few does. As a storm drew closer, and the sun began to sink, we tried the south ranch one last time. We didn't even see a single pronghorn. By then, we had spent 12 hours on the hunt, and with dusk quickly approaching, we had to end it. 

Fortunately, we always have tomorrow! We're staying in a very nice hotel just north of Fort Collins, so I won't be freezing in the storm like those poor souls in tents tonight. Mike and Tom are hopeful they'll get us something tomorrow. But we'll just have to get out there and see. 

The plains, while barren, cold, and very windy, are beautiful. Non-hunters are missing out on the beauty of it all. It's more than just grass and cows. Below the stiff golden grass are teal and green cacti, rocks of every color, dirt of all shades and colors, and bones bleached white in the sun. The cattle are curious, wild, and interesting. The steers and bulls are interested in play-charging us, while the cows just watch the steers from a safe distance, kinda like how girls watch boys do dumb things. The pronghorn, while scarce, are beautiful, fast animals. They can ascend a hill in the drop of a hat, and they'll skid under fences instead of jumping them. Pronghorn aren't made to jump. They're made to run. Bucks will chase each other around at break-neck speeds, and the does will do some interesting maneuvers to ditch the bucks. 

Hunting isn't just about killing. (why I hunt) It's about being out in the wilderness. At this point, even though I want a doe, I wouldn't be super disappointed if I didn't get one. My freezer is already full of beef that was family raised on the pastures of Nebraska. The land is full of bones and feathers for me to collect if I want to. The views and the experience have all been worth it today. Tom and Mike are some of the kindest guys I've ever met. In fact, the whole Outdoor Buddies crew are amazing people with huge hearts. The Wyoming Boy Scouts were learning how to skin and butcher pronghorn today, and hopefully they'll be dealing with mine tomorrow.

I can only hope and pray. If I don't get a pronghorn this season, I will always have next year to go! But it's the wilderness and experience that all count. Not the death of the animal itself! Sometimes, they get away. But that's ok.