The short version: The hunt went better than expected. Had a great time and brought back a lot of great meat. Can't wait to get back to the Rockin G!
The long version:
The wind carried small wisps of red dust from the thick woolly fur as I stroked the head and mane of the animal’s massive body. The crimson stains and spent shell casings on the dry red dirt told the rest of the story as I ran my hands along the thick weathered horns. I felt the typical sorrow and regret that often concludes the death of a hunted animal, only this time it was magnified by the size of the beast. Yet I took solace knowing what this animal will provide for me and the fact that he was not a particularly easy animal to overcome.
The Texas sun was warm on our faces and the cool cervezas were welcomed by our parched lips. We stood in awe of the magnificent animal complementing his features as well as his evasiveness throughout the day. He knew the terrain, how to hide, and his safe distance, but he ultimately made a mistake. The .45-70 Government bullet had found its mark, much as it did on his ancestors one hundred and forty years before, very possibly on this same piece of land.
The rifle belonged to my outfitter, Erik, and the first thing we did earlier that morning was to check its accuracy at the small range near his ranch house. After confirming that the gun did indeed send lead where I wanted it to, we loaded up for the day and headed to the portion of his ranch where the buffalo roam.
It took about a half an hour to locate the herd after checking all corners and crevasses of the varied terrain. They were huddled together in a corner and after studying them through the binoculars we planned our downhill stalk. Erik had a particular bull in mind that he wanted me to take and we had to be on the same page when it came time for me to pull the trigger. My target was not a giant full grown buffalo, but a younger, much more manageable and palatable meat sized bull. I loaded the lever action rifle and eased the hammer down and Erik loaded two rounds into his 9.3 double rifle he was carrying to back me up with. We confirmed our game plan and the four of us snaked out way through the cedars and mesquite towards the herd. When we were within range, Erik setup the sticks for my rifle and raised his binoculars to direct me towards the correct animal, which I quickly found in the scope. I pulled the hammer back on the rifle while I waited for a clear shot. With the crosshairs settled I took a deep breath and slowly the herd meandered off without giving up an opportunity at my target bull.
“Well, that’s strike one,” joked Bruce, Erik’s ranch hand. And so it went for the entire day. We quickly decided that Bruce and my partner, Bobbye, would stay behind each time Erik and I would go in for a stalk. The ground was incredibly dry and it sounded as if we were walking across a field of corn flakes everywhere we went. Not to mention there was little foliage on trees and scrub brush making it difficult to conceal ourselves from view of the wary animals. The large amount of wildlife on the property also played to the bison’s advantage. The herd was alerted by aoudad. We were busted by blackbuck. We got exposed by oryx. I had multiple opportunities at trophy exotic species, but I was after larger game. It seemed that each time we stepped away from a sendero to stalk through the brush we were greeted by rather large and fearless Eurasian Boars. When I asked Erik if they can be as aggressive as the feral pigs I was used to he replied “No… They’re much worse.” I hastily gave a wide berth to the squared up bristling pig and made a point to keep my distance from them each time we saw one.
While stalking the herd of bison, I found it amazing how easily these giant animals could disappear amongst the bare branches and how quickly they could cover ground when they decided they wanted to get away. I was settled into the sticks multiple times with no clear shot either because I could not identify the correct animal or point of aim through the brush or because the shot would have claimed an additional animal. I did not have enough cash or cooler space to take home two buffalo and for me a clean ethical shot is paramount to the climax of a successful hunt. Such a beast deserves the respect of a quick merciful kill.
We spent the duration of the day chasing, intercepting, heading off, flanking, and just generally strategizing against the herd of bison in an attempt at a shot. The animals outran, outmaneuvered, and outsmarted us. They were kind enough to give us a full tour of the property, as Erik and I logged several miles on foot waiting for our opportunity to claim victory. Bruce lost count at strike twelve for blown stalks and I had yet to put my finger on the trigger. We knew the animals were keen to us but at some point they would make a mistake. It was up to us to be in the right place, ready and waiting when they slipped up.
Late in the afternoon we were taking a break after a series of unsuccessful stalks over hills and through thick brush on the far west end of the property. The dry air and steady breeze had everything coated in a layer of fine red dust and the sweat on our faces told little of the near freezing temperatures that accompanied the mornings sunrise. As we guzzled water from the cooler, Erik and I decided we would circle around to see if the herd was in a small valley in the southwest corner where the surrounding brush may offer an opportunity to get within range undiscovered. As we circled around, we were greeted by the two full grown herd bulls thundering across our path form right to left as they crossed a field headed to the southeast. The rest of the herd was out of sight but as we turned to the direction the bulls were headed, it was evident they were bringing up the rear, as we could see the cloud of dust the others had kicked up as they disappeared down into some breaks. We waited for them to come up the other side then watched as they followed a sendero and disappeared into the mesquite. Once again we decided to circle around to head them off with hopes of getting a shot off before they got wise to our moves. We followed a sendero around and found a good place to begin our stalk, granted we had to navigate around more Eurasian boars but we could see the herd of bison on the hill above us. However, they quickly got nervous and moved back over the hill. By the time we reached their last known position they were out of sight. With a bit of searching we found their tracks and knew which way they were moving: back towards the northeast corner where our day began.
We crossed an open field and turned down a sendero to find our next position to hopefully intercept the herd. “There they are.” Bobbye caught us off guard. The buggy skidded to a stop. “to the right, in those trees,” she confirmed. Through the brush we could barely make out movements of brown fur moving in the direction we just came from. Erik and I jumped out, rifles in hand and walked back over our tracks to get in position. We studied them through our binoculars confirming and reconfirming our target bull. They were moving but were not uneasy. They were coming out of the brush, single file, and would be crossing the sendero in front of us and out into the open field we had just come from. We slowly backed up against the treeline and Erik setup the stick for me to rest my rifle. We knew that this would be our last opportunity of the day but we both said nothing of it. When our target bull emerged from the cedars and mesquite, he was blocked by a cow. I kept the scope on him and as soon as she outpaced him I pulled the hammer back, waiting for my chance. “As soon as he stops, take him,” Erik confirmed the exact words I was telling myself in my head. But the bull didn’t stop. Erik bleated, whistled, and even politely asked but the bull kept meandering to our right and I slowly swiveled the rifle to follow, repositioning my body and the sticks in suit. “If you’re comfortable with it, you can shoot while he’s moving,” he told me. With the shadows growing long, I knew that there wouldn’t be time to track a wounded animal; my first shot must be true. The bull was just a couple paces from being obscured by the same treeline that we were standing against. Beyond that, he would be in the open field and we wouldn’t have another chance to get into position without the herd spooking and galloping off. I had only a second to make my decision; shoot a heavy tough animal on the move, or try again tomorrow. I took a deep breath, followed the shoulder with the crosshairs, and squeezed.
The rifle thundered and through the scope I saw the large body shudder. I immediately cocked the lever, ejecting the spent casing and loading a fresh round, ready for a follow up shot. The herd began to trot off and my bull began to move with them but quickly spun around showing us a large exit wound on his left side spewing bright red blood. “Good shot! He’s going down,” Erik hollered as the bison stumbled and fell. “Let’s move up! Get ready to put another round in him!” he instructed as we ran up to within 35 yards of the downed animal. When we stopped, I raised the rifle and shot offhand twice, putting two rounds into the heart and lungs as fast as the level action would allow. The animal’s fate was sealed and had been from the first shot but he was still kicking in a feeble attempt to stand. Erik handed me his double-barreled rifle and instructed me to put a round into the spine just below the front of the hump in order to end the animal’s suffering. As soon as I did, the animal flattened.
We approached the bison cautiously from the front, rifles raised and ready and keeping an eye on the rest of the herd which had stopped about 30 yards away to witness the ordeal. Bruce came around with the buggy after the last shot and used it as a blockade between us and the other animals. I leaned forward to touch the bison’s eye with my muzzle. He flinched lightly so we stepped back to watch him take his last breath and release his grasp on life with a weak sigh. The entry wound on his right side bubbled with a pinkish froth. Erik took my rifle so I could kneel down and finally put my hands on this beast.
With the bison skinned out, quartered, and hanging in the cooler, we had the next day free to pursue other endeavors on the ranch. After weighing our options, we decided it would behoove us to take up Erik on his offer of a low-fence trophy porcupine hunt. We spent the morning glassing from several opportunistic locations with only glimpses of a few fleeing coyotes. As we were moving positions, Bruce spotted a porcupine that deserved a closer look. It was in a tree across a field a couple hundred yards away. When we reached a spot where we could glass the porcupine through the binos, Erik quickly determined that it was a shooter. We made a carefully planned stalk on the animal and were soon within range. Erik quietly setup the sticks and Bobbye nestled her rifle into the rest and focused the scope. At the crack of the rifle the porcupine fell from its perch stone dead. Erik could hardly contain his excitement as he picked up the trophy and began planning a culinary delight. The rest of us were apprehensive, but Erik was adamant that he could turn us on to a new delicacy. We obliged and were soon at the skinning shed getting the animal broken down and prepped for lunch. With the meat soaking in Erik’s secret Sweet & Spicy Porcupine marinade, Bruce and I headed down to one of the stocked ponds to wet a line. I quickly realized Bruce had the bass trained as he deftly outfished me about four to one, including a couple nice ones.
Back at the ranch house found our lunch waiting and Erik ready to dig in. The porcupine was surprisingly good and I doubt that I will be passing any up in the future. After lunch we hit the range for some lessons and practice then loaded up the gear for a bit of coyote hunting. Our first set was barren, but our second set brought in two coyotes that were gone before we could get a shot off. The next morning we finished breaking down the bison and loaded the meat into my coolers.
When he says its going to be a lot of meat, he isn’t joking! I took every cooler that I could fit in the bed of my truck and needed them all. It took me a couple evenings with some help to get all the cuts separated, sealed, and into the freezer. Afterwards, I had right at 100lbs of boneless meat to drop off at the processor for hamburger, summer sausage and pan sausage. The first meal we had from this animal was, ceremoniously, the heart which was cooked rare and made into tacos feeding ten of our friends and family. It was amazing, as was every other meal we have had from this animal so far. I am extremely grateful to have taken this animal and for the entire experience, which far surpassed my expectations.
The long version:
The wind carried small wisps of red dust from the thick woolly fur as I stroked the head and mane of the animal’s massive body. The crimson stains and spent shell casings on the dry red dirt told the rest of the story as I ran my hands along the thick weathered horns. I felt the typical sorrow and regret that often concludes the death of a hunted animal, only this time it was magnified by the size of the beast. Yet I took solace knowing what this animal will provide for me and the fact that he was not a particularly easy animal to overcome.
The Texas sun was warm on our faces and the cool cervezas were welcomed by our parched lips. We stood in awe of the magnificent animal complementing his features as well as his evasiveness throughout the day. He knew the terrain, how to hide, and his safe distance, but he ultimately made a mistake. The .45-70 Government bullet had found its mark, much as it did on his ancestors one hundred and forty years before, very possibly on this same piece of land.
The rifle belonged to my outfitter, Erik, and the first thing we did earlier that morning was to check its accuracy at the small range near his ranch house. After confirming that the gun did indeed send lead where I wanted it to, we loaded up for the day and headed to the portion of his ranch where the buffalo roam.
It took about a half an hour to locate the herd after checking all corners and crevasses of the varied terrain. They were huddled together in a corner and after studying them through the binoculars we planned our downhill stalk. Erik had a particular bull in mind that he wanted me to take and we had to be on the same page when it came time for me to pull the trigger. My target was not a giant full grown buffalo, but a younger, much more manageable and palatable meat sized bull. I loaded the lever action rifle and eased the hammer down and Erik loaded two rounds into his 9.3 double rifle he was carrying to back me up with. We confirmed our game plan and the four of us snaked out way through the cedars and mesquite towards the herd. When we were within range, Erik setup the sticks for my rifle and raised his binoculars to direct me towards the correct animal, which I quickly found in the scope. I pulled the hammer back on the rifle while I waited for a clear shot. With the crosshairs settled I took a deep breath and slowly the herd meandered off without giving up an opportunity at my target bull.
“Well, that’s strike one,” joked Bruce, Erik’s ranch hand. And so it went for the entire day. We quickly decided that Bruce and my partner, Bobbye, would stay behind each time Erik and I would go in for a stalk. The ground was incredibly dry and it sounded as if we were walking across a field of corn flakes everywhere we went. Not to mention there was little foliage on trees and scrub brush making it difficult to conceal ourselves from view of the wary animals. The large amount of wildlife on the property also played to the bison’s advantage. The herd was alerted by aoudad. We were busted by blackbuck. We got exposed by oryx. I had multiple opportunities at trophy exotic species, but I was after larger game. It seemed that each time we stepped away from a sendero to stalk through the brush we were greeted by rather large and fearless Eurasian Boars. When I asked Erik if they can be as aggressive as the feral pigs I was used to he replied “No… They’re much worse.” I hastily gave a wide berth to the squared up bristling pig and made a point to keep my distance from them each time we saw one.
While stalking the herd of bison, I found it amazing how easily these giant animals could disappear amongst the bare branches and how quickly they could cover ground when they decided they wanted to get away. I was settled into the sticks multiple times with no clear shot either because I could not identify the correct animal or point of aim through the brush or because the shot would have claimed an additional animal. I did not have enough cash or cooler space to take home two buffalo and for me a clean ethical shot is paramount to the climax of a successful hunt. Such a beast deserves the respect of a quick merciful kill.
We spent the duration of the day chasing, intercepting, heading off, flanking, and just generally strategizing against the herd of bison in an attempt at a shot. The animals outran, outmaneuvered, and outsmarted us. They were kind enough to give us a full tour of the property, as Erik and I logged several miles on foot waiting for our opportunity to claim victory. Bruce lost count at strike twelve for blown stalks and I had yet to put my finger on the trigger. We knew the animals were keen to us but at some point they would make a mistake. It was up to us to be in the right place, ready and waiting when they slipped up.
Late in the afternoon we were taking a break after a series of unsuccessful stalks over hills and through thick brush on the far west end of the property. The dry air and steady breeze had everything coated in a layer of fine red dust and the sweat on our faces told little of the near freezing temperatures that accompanied the mornings sunrise. As we guzzled water from the cooler, Erik and I decided we would circle around to see if the herd was in a small valley in the southwest corner where the surrounding brush may offer an opportunity to get within range undiscovered. As we circled around, we were greeted by the two full grown herd bulls thundering across our path form right to left as they crossed a field headed to the southeast. The rest of the herd was out of sight but as we turned to the direction the bulls were headed, it was evident they were bringing up the rear, as we could see the cloud of dust the others had kicked up as they disappeared down into some breaks. We waited for them to come up the other side then watched as they followed a sendero and disappeared into the mesquite. Once again we decided to circle around to head them off with hopes of getting a shot off before they got wise to our moves. We followed a sendero around and found a good place to begin our stalk, granted we had to navigate around more Eurasian boars but we could see the herd of bison on the hill above us. However, they quickly got nervous and moved back over the hill. By the time we reached their last known position they were out of sight. With a bit of searching we found their tracks and knew which way they were moving: back towards the northeast corner where our day began.
We crossed an open field and turned down a sendero to find our next position to hopefully intercept the herd. “There they are.” Bobbye caught us off guard. The buggy skidded to a stop. “to the right, in those trees,” she confirmed. Through the brush we could barely make out movements of brown fur moving in the direction we just came from. Erik and I jumped out, rifles in hand and walked back over our tracks to get in position. We studied them through our binoculars confirming and reconfirming our target bull. They were moving but were not uneasy. They were coming out of the brush, single file, and would be crossing the sendero in front of us and out into the open field we had just come from. We slowly backed up against the treeline and Erik setup the stick for me to rest my rifle. We knew that this would be our last opportunity of the day but we both said nothing of it. When our target bull emerged from the cedars and mesquite, he was blocked by a cow. I kept the scope on him and as soon as she outpaced him I pulled the hammer back, waiting for my chance. “As soon as he stops, take him,” Erik confirmed the exact words I was telling myself in my head. But the bull didn’t stop. Erik bleated, whistled, and even politely asked but the bull kept meandering to our right and I slowly swiveled the rifle to follow, repositioning my body and the sticks in suit. “If you’re comfortable with it, you can shoot while he’s moving,” he told me. With the shadows growing long, I knew that there wouldn’t be time to track a wounded animal; my first shot must be true. The bull was just a couple paces from being obscured by the same treeline that we were standing against. Beyond that, he would be in the open field and we wouldn’t have another chance to get into position without the herd spooking and galloping off. I had only a second to make my decision; shoot a heavy tough animal on the move, or try again tomorrow. I took a deep breath, followed the shoulder with the crosshairs, and squeezed.
The rifle thundered and through the scope I saw the large body shudder. I immediately cocked the lever, ejecting the spent casing and loading a fresh round, ready for a follow up shot. The herd began to trot off and my bull began to move with them but quickly spun around showing us a large exit wound on his left side spewing bright red blood. “Good shot! He’s going down,” Erik hollered as the bison stumbled and fell. “Let’s move up! Get ready to put another round in him!” he instructed as we ran up to within 35 yards of the downed animal. When we stopped, I raised the rifle and shot offhand twice, putting two rounds into the heart and lungs as fast as the level action would allow. The animal’s fate was sealed and had been from the first shot but he was still kicking in a feeble attempt to stand. Erik handed me his double-barreled rifle and instructed me to put a round into the spine just below the front of the hump in order to end the animal’s suffering. As soon as I did, the animal flattened.
We approached the bison cautiously from the front, rifles raised and ready and keeping an eye on the rest of the herd which had stopped about 30 yards away to witness the ordeal. Bruce came around with the buggy after the last shot and used it as a blockade between us and the other animals. I leaned forward to touch the bison’s eye with my muzzle. He flinched lightly so we stepped back to watch him take his last breath and release his grasp on life with a weak sigh. The entry wound on his right side bubbled with a pinkish froth. Erik took my rifle so I could kneel down and finally put my hands on this beast.
With the bison skinned out, quartered, and hanging in the cooler, we had the next day free to pursue other endeavors on the ranch. After weighing our options, we decided it would behoove us to take up Erik on his offer of a low-fence trophy porcupine hunt. We spent the morning glassing from several opportunistic locations with only glimpses of a few fleeing coyotes. As we were moving positions, Bruce spotted a porcupine that deserved a closer look. It was in a tree across a field a couple hundred yards away. When we reached a spot where we could glass the porcupine through the binos, Erik quickly determined that it was a shooter. We made a carefully planned stalk on the animal and were soon within range. Erik quietly setup the sticks and Bobbye nestled her rifle into the rest and focused the scope. At the crack of the rifle the porcupine fell from its perch stone dead. Erik could hardly contain his excitement as he picked up the trophy and began planning a culinary delight. The rest of us were apprehensive, but Erik was adamant that he could turn us on to a new delicacy. We obliged and were soon at the skinning shed getting the animal broken down and prepped for lunch. With the meat soaking in Erik’s secret Sweet & Spicy Porcupine marinade, Bruce and I headed down to one of the stocked ponds to wet a line. I quickly realized Bruce had the bass trained as he deftly outfished me about four to one, including a couple nice ones.
Back at the ranch house found our lunch waiting and Erik ready to dig in. The porcupine was surprisingly good and I doubt that I will be passing any up in the future. After lunch we hit the range for some lessons and practice then loaded up the gear for a bit of coyote hunting. Our first set was barren, but our second set brought in two coyotes that were gone before we could get a shot off. The next morning we finished breaking down the bison and loaded the meat into my coolers.
When he says its going to be a lot of meat, he isn’t joking! I took every cooler that I could fit in the bed of my truck and needed them all. It took me a couple evenings with some help to get all the cuts separated, sealed, and into the freezer. Afterwards, I had right at 100lbs of boneless meat to drop off at the processor for hamburger, summer sausage and pan sausage. The first meal we had from this animal was, ceremoniously, the heart which was cooked rare and made into tacos feeding ten of our friends and family. It was amazing, as was every other meal we have had from this animal so far. I am extremely grateful to have taken this animal and for the entire experience, which far surpassed my expectations.
