This was Andrew's and my second year going out west to Wyoming for antelope/pronghorn/speed goat hunting. Just weeks prior Dad had fallen from a tree while bear hunting and broke several vertebra. That didn't stop him. It was Andrew, Dad, Gary, Al, Gerrad and me on the trip this year. Destination: Craig and Jolene's ranch near Newcastle, Wyoming.

We'd gotten out there without much of a hitch. Al, Andrew and myself brought bows just in case we'd get the chance at one with them before rifle season. During one of the nights, Andrew and I had been sitting in a blind hunting with our bows. We had a buck hanging around us, but he had sensed that something wasn't right. After trying to get him to move closer and fighting with the blind because the window covers were flapping in the never-ending Wyoming wind, Andrew decided to draw back and take a shot. From inside the blind, the shot sounded louder than expected. The antelope bounded away without a hitch, it would seem. After checking things over, we had realized that Andrew's drop away rest for his bow had broken as he took the shot! Something must've gotten stuck or jammed, because it didn't drop away like it was supposed to and snapped right off. Well, at least it was easy to identify why he missed cleanly.

After we had packed up and were walking back, flashlights in-hand, the guys met us in the truck, but their demeanor was slightly more urgent than expected. They yelled and told us to quickly get in the back of the truck. Al had shot one with his bow, but he made a long shot and it hit farther back than intended. They made a y-turn and headed back down the trail to where they came from. By now, it's pretty much pitch black besides the million stars you can count out on the Wyoming prairie. They told us that the buck had been laying down 25 yards from the trail, and we'll be driving past him soon. They wanted one of us to try to make a kill shot when they get close enough so we could tag, dress, and hang up the goat tonight instead of possibly letting the coyotes take the bounty. The one picked to shoot it was me. So this is when my heart beat about doubled. I make the tricky finishing-shot on the antelope: our job is easy and pretty much done. I don't: we wait it out and hope we can find it or what's left of it in the morning.

When they said I should draw back it seemed the terrain had gotten rougher. The truck was bouncing, but I had somehow managed to draw and hold it back. At one point I almost got bucked off balance, but I think the credit goes to Gerrad who was there grabbing me by the pants and holding me in place. We got there and the truck stopped. Andrew shined his flashlight on my bow sight's pins thinking it'd help illuminate them - which it did: too much. It was too bright and I couldn't see anything beyond. I told him to point it instead at the antelope. I can see the pins just fine. When I got focused back out @ 25 yards, there he laid. He wasn't even looking at us, but I had a pretty decent look at his neck. I held it as steady as was allowed and let fire. It seemed like a good shot to me, but the blood on the ground we were able to find a few minutes later would really prove it. We tracked the buck and found him less than 50 yards from where I shot.

On opening morning of rifle season, Dad was able to get a nice buck. He got it right at dawn and even with several fractured vertebra, made a nice shot. It was something like 150-250 yards and the buck wasn't standing still! Here the proud hunter is with what we call "Brokeback Buck."

I was successful later that afternoon, although I wasn't feeling too confident with my gun. I must've had some sort of scope/sight-in issue. After walking through an extra-large culvert and army-crawling up a mound, I finished this one off with Al's rifle.

Andrew was the last with an unused rifle tag. In the afternoon, we had him set up in the bull pasture with quite a few antelope around him. As we were driving past and keeping an eye on everything, we were wondering why he hadn't shot yet. As we were driving north, we noticed the herd was mainly moving north and away from him. After doing a y-turn, we sat still with the truck thinking the truck would maybe turn them back toward him. It didn't, they kept on sauntering north, the opposite direction of Andrew. Well his big brother wasn't going to have any of that. Wearing his Wal-Mart brand moccasins, I knew it was up to me. I ran down through the ditch, hurdled the fence without a moment's hesitation, and took off across the open prairie. I found a cow path and cranked the speed up to 10. I was only narrowly avoiding the cacti that dot the landscape by keeping a careful eye and agile foot hard at work. To get an idea of the prickly pear cacti that live in this section of Wyoming, check out the bottom of the previous picture.

The next time I looked up from the path and slowed down, I couldn't see antelope. This was either a very good or very bad thing. They'd either about-faced and headed toward Andrew or gone off in some other random direction. I made my way back to the truck - a bit slower. We jumped in the truck and drove South a ways and then we heard the sound that our ears were waiting for: Bang! I can't remember everything about how he got it, but we filled up the last tag that afternoon after a successful antelope drive!!

by Ethan