Isn’t it amazing the trash material that gets into your mailbox these days? Vacation offers, gift coupons, sweepstakes, car warranty scams, donation requests, raffle tickets, and the list goes on and on. Millions of dollars spent on postage all to help us keep file thirteen refurbished. Suppose any is worth our time to open?
In early spring of 2001 I was looking through the Saturday morning mail when I found a displeasing card, one of those signature-required notices. I asked my clerk Torina to go next door to the post office to retrieve what I suspected to be a jury summons. (I know it is our civic duty, but believe me, for a pharmacist in a small town, relief is not always easy to find…and rather expensive.) Torina returned quickly with a reply that it was not a summons but something from NRA, an abbreviation she was familiar with.
I opened the letter with only a tad of enthusiasm (Life Member though I am) knowing this organization is quite noted for mail-outs, most of which get little or no attention from me. I read that I was a winner in the Great American Hunting Sweepstakes at the Whittington Center, a contest that awards hunts and hundreds of other prizes. With my prize not specifically identified and me truthfully not remembering the entry, I continued on expecting somewhere to find indication that I should mail in one more donation in order to get in a final draw. However, the more I read, the more I became convinced of its legality. The affidavits and IRS winning statement proved something was real, but I could not find out the details until Monday.
Calling the designated number on Monday gave me the pleasant voice of Dianna who excitingly replied, "Congratulations!" Still not feeling the excitement she seemed to have, I simply answered with a "Thank you…but what have I won?" The news was indeed worth a smile for I was the winner of the antelope hunt: complete expense paid trip for a non-hunter companion and myself. While this would appeal to any hunter, it was special to me because although I had hunted many areas of North America for many species, I had never had a Pronghorn antelope as my quest.
Knowing Joyce would not be to interested in a hot August trip to Raton, New Mexico, I gave custom bootmaker Mike Allred of Whitesboro, Texas, a call. Besides being my buddy, Mike is an avid handgun hunter himself, having several antelope hunts under his belt. I knew Mike liked the area around Clayton and Raton from all his prairie dog hunts there. In fact, he had recently taken an American Bison in the area with a FA 454 while hunting with Kyle Bell of Folsom Outfitters (P.O. Box 394, Folsom, New Mexico 88419, 505-278-2444). Oddly to me, Mike had never been to the Whittington Center, so he was delighted with the invitation. Besides, he claimed he always wanted to go there and bust him one of those 500-meter steel rams with his silhouette handgun (just like an old wore-out, has-been state IHMSA champion).
Over the next few months Mike Ballew, executive director at the center, and I had several conversations about the hunt. While at the center on my yearly Shootist Holiday, I got to spend time with the gentleman and found we had many mutual friends, some going back several years. It seemed odd that we had not met somewhere in the past. Always our chats strayed to the fact that I was going to hunt with handgun ONLY. Although never any pressure not to, there were a few bribes of carrying a rifle just in case, and the possibility that a video crew would be there to film the contest winner, me. I found no interest in any of these offers since as far as I was concerned, the hunt was free, and I had been 56 years without a Pronghorn. My chance for my first antelope would come with my revolver. If successful fine; if not I would still have a great hunt without the cigar.
My choice of firearm for the hunt was to be my ten-inch octagon Freedom Arms 454. I wanted to use Nosler’s excellent 260-grain Partition bullet, which I knew performed with superb character in both my 10" and 6" 454’s. My approach in optics for long-range revolver hunting is much different than most as I prefer the red dot systems over scopes. I will spare discussion of why in this article, but trust me, my theory works…at least for me. My workhorse system is Bushnell’s HoloSights set in my own customized SSK-T’SOB mount. I prefer the first generation model on my six-inch and the more compact second-generation model on the longer stovepipe piece. I had years earlier worked up a fine load for the Nosler hollow-points, using a hefty dose of Winchester 296 powder which jumped the projectiles out over my Oehler 35P at will over 1900 fps. Hundreds of these bullets had been through my Casulls, but I had not done any extensive work in long range shooting (175 to 250 yards) with them. I had done enough to know their capability and trajectory, but this hunt would call for more practice time than normal at the further targets. My targets would be a steel pig at 175 yards, regulation size silhouette rams at 220 and 240 yards, and a high-grade steel coal scrapper tooth of about 12 X 18 inches at 200 yards.
As time for the hunt neared, I became somewhat frustrated with the fact that although accurate, I constantly found my hits on the rams to be very sun related. (Shooting north, I would have hits several inches to left of aim in the evening, and to the right in the morning). This phenomenon was only with the dot/circle reticule of the second-generation sight. The single dot configuration on the six-inch seemed unaffected, although a bit harder to hold at the longer distances. I should also add that most of my practice was done across my daypack as I expected the given scenario to unfold. I would put an article like sweatshirt and a small roll of carpet in my pack to give the gun a firm place to rest as I stretched out prone.
With a week left before leaving to Raton, I found the windage dilemma unsolved, and suddenly I was short of 260 Nosler’s. I needed to continue my practice and certainly wanted to bust some steel on the silhouette ranges when I arrived at the Center. I have been honored for years to call the Nosler family and representative Chub Eastland my friends, so I did not hesitate to make a quick call for help. Chub took the call and in our conversation I learned that he and Mike Ballew were very old friends (small world). Chub of course did not want me short of Nosler components. As I remember it, the call was on a Thursday afternoon, and I had a supply of bullets by the weekend. Now that is some serious service.
Mike and I wanted a day on the range before the hunt, so with a 12-13 hour drive ahead, we were on our way by early the following Thursday morning. We took our time on this expense paid trip and even stopped and dined in Clayton, New Mexico, at the historical Ecklund Hotel. Not only is this place an extraordinary place to eat, but the antiques and atmosphere are moving, not to mention all the photos of the hanging of Black Jack Ketchum in 1901. On arrival at the Center, we settled into our assigned room of the comfortable competitor's housing. Friday morning we were pounding steel on a couple of silhouette ranges. After a few rounds at 200-meter rams, Mike commented that judging by the accuracy of hits at that distance, there really was not a decision to make on which revolver to carry. The six-inch got the nod. (Thanks to Chris Lalik of Bushnell, I have since replaced the second generation, standard reticule model with a newer single-dot version. Not to suggest one is better than other, but for my eyes and that distance, the single-dot is the better choice. )
Later in the day we were fed, oriented, and introduced to other guest and guides. It seemed to be the general consensus that it would be only right for two Texans to have a Texas guide. We were in agreement. Steve Giordano had not been at the Center long, but between his past experience and Mike’s, there was plenty of knowledge about judging antelope. I was certainly of little help on the subject since the only animal of the antelope family I had studied and harvested was that of the Mountain Goat I had taken with my 454 on Kodiak Island in 1992. (Quite a strange correlation in the arid New Mexico terrain.)
To start the hunt, we were sent to a 5,000-acre pasture just south of the high-power rifle range. Soon after daylight, we were staring at a couple of what seemed to be nice bucks to me, but my two "natives" suggested the herd four miles to the west held the ticket, and we could be there in no time by traveling in an available draw. Of course when we get closer, we would need to walk all stooped-over, then crawl on our belly for a while, trying to keep our body below the horizon of maybe twelve inches. Piece of cake…for three snails. Granted, my smart duo was right about there being a great buck in the herd, but with the one unconcerned head male honcho having some thirty prissy little female sentries, the stalk played out great for him and lousy for us. You might say we were left in a cloud of dust.
Animals are known to do strange things and these were no different. Disgusted as we were with all our efforts being a failure and with a long walk back to vehicle, we simply took the best route, which was right out in the open with no regards to the herd as they galloped around in the distance. But wait, you got to be kidding! They had stopped and were beginning to come TO US. At about 250 yards, Steve suggested I assume shooting position. I went prone and laid my gun across the pack and with elbow pads on, a perfect tripod-shooting stance was in position. Just like the last practice shot the day before where I center-punched a 200 meter chicken, I was ready to rock and roll. As Steve called 210 yards, the buck was favoring a slight right move so I placed the 1 mil red dot confidently on the right shoulder and gently squeezed the trigger. Everything right EXCEPT one thing. The wind. I forgot about the recent addition of a crosswind. When I saw the dust I said, "WIND". Mike admitted that he started to mention it, but just assumed the Ol’daddy had figured it into the play. The ol’daddy forgot, however, but there was a lesson learned that would pay off soon.
After lunch we started our journey in search of our spooked party or whatever lay before us. After passing on several small bucks, we saw our respective herd in the distance. Along the way, however, we came across another buck that the voting majority claimed was a good specimen of the species, all I wanted. I again nestled the revolver on the pack and readied for a shot as Mike called the distances with the rangefinder. A lesson had been learned earlier, and with the wind now at greater strength, I pondered my ability. The goat was in a slight quarter to my left and at a distance of 234 to 236 yards. With gun sighted to a six-inch radius at 200 yards, I chose to place the dot high just above the flank, but not off animal. As wind gusted right to left, I steadied and let the trigger break. The sound of the smack was awesome as a white belly flashed to the ground. High fives for the Texas team. How much wind was there? Well, not to say I could not have pulled some to the left, but with the elevation being perfect, it had hit high on the neck and exited the black patch on the far side near the ear. Luck, certainly not; it was skill and great calculations…. Well, maybe a little luck.
My antelope proved to have the best prongs of some dozen taken and edged into record book class by an inch and some change. He was not great on height but had good mass to offset the loss in length. The one-shot neck hit certainly made for a neat and clean carcass amongst all those hanging with rifle holes in them.
