OUCH!!! I growled under my breath as I pried my hand from a prairie cactus.  After running a half-mile and belly crawling several hundred yards, a fistful of cactus spines was the last thing I expected to ruin our stalk.   As I frantically tried to pull out or break off the stinging spines my hunting partner whispered with his cowboy grin, "welcome to antelope country".

Several years ago I began bowhunting mule deer in the Badlands of western North Dakota with good friend Bob Bartz.  As the years and hunts passed we grew from good friends to best of friends.  Bob didn't simply take me bowhunting in the Badlands, he taught me how to bowhunt the Badlands.  He let me attempt stalks on animals he had spotted, assisted me in planning good stalks and guided me in close for numerous opportunities literally placing my success before his own.  Due to Bob's unselfish tutelage on several hunts, both successful and not, I learned many subtleties that can increase the odds for success as well as the delicate balance between being aggressive and patient.  It was this "Badlands education" that peaked my confidence when Bob invited my Dad and me westward to bowhunt antelope.

Harvesting an animal that can run at speeds in excess of 55 mph and has vision comparable to eight-power binoculars can be difficult to say the least.  Attempting this through spot-and-stalk methods with archery tackle would be considered impossible by most sane bowhunters, yet this is exactly what we set out to do.  Bob, having harvested several antelope bucks using these tactics, shared some hints on preparation and timing that would give us the edge.  We decided to hunt mid-September; the rut would be in full swing making the bucks more susceptible to decoys and calling.  Bob explained how we would first spot a herd protected by a nice pronghorn buck, sneak into "the decoy zone", pop up the decoy, make a couple challenge calls and the buck would trot into range for an easy shot.  "Slam Dunk!" was the first thought that came to mind as Bob talked through the procedure.  But as with most "slam dunks" in the hunting world, my easy harvest of a trophy antelope buck was suddenly complicated by Bob's next comments.  "Finding the right goat to chase may take awhile and we'll probably have to belly crawl five-hundred yards across flat cactus-covered prairie to get within 100 yards of the herd.  Then we'll have to get the decoy up without spooking the does and if the buck is in the right mood we might get him within 60 yards for a quick shot."  If there is one thing I like about Bob, it's that he doesn't sugar coat anything.  At least I knew what I was up against and how to begin preparing; I needed to shoot!  I spent countless summer evenings shooting arrows from every situation imaginable.  I shot in the wind and rain, I shot standing and sitting, I shot in 90-degree heat with hunting clothes and a facemask on.  I even shot after belly crawling across our yard with neighbors curiously watching.  I was so dedicated in my preparation that by summer's end I was shooting 80 yards with precise accuracy and felt ready for anything the Badlands had to offer.

As luck would have it the very first day proved just how serious Bob was in his description of antelope hunting.  We immediately spotted several bedded antelope guarded by a nice buck across a huge cattle pasture several miles away.  As we gazed through our binoculars at the white specs on the horizon, we plotted a course to their location.  We spent the next couple of hours using the rolling prairie to disguise our trek to the unsuspecting herd.  As we topped a small rise in the pasture we briefly exposed ourselves to the resident herd of cattle.  Initially we thought nothing of it however, as we prepared for the final approach to the bedded antelope the cattle did the unthinkable; they stampeded off pushing the antelope with them.  As the antelope crested the next rise the race was on.  We sprinted up the slight grade trying to keep tabs on the harem leader and continue our pursuit.  Nearing the top of the rise we slowed to a crawl and peeked over to see antelope darting in every direction.  In the confusion the herd had come across two satellite bucks that were hidden from our view.  Now the mature buck we had been after was feverishly chasing the smaller bucks away from his harem.  As he would chase one away, the other would sneak in and harass the does.  Suddenly the bigger buck would race back and chase off the second intruder, again leaving his herd unprotected.  It was incredible to see these magnificent animals speeding after one another like fighter jets in combat.  I almost forgot we were hunting as I sat peering through my binoculars grinning from ear to ear.  Suddenly Bob's voice brought me back to reality, "This is perfect; if we can slip in close to the does while the buck is gone he won't be able to resist the decoy."  So we began belly crawling directly toward the does when suddenly one of the satellite bucks appeared only 100 yards away to our left.  Bob snapped the decoy into position, made a challenge chuckle and rocked the decoy back and forth abruptly.  The buck promptly started walking stiff legged in our direction.  As he approached Bob said, "I'll tell you when to draw" so I continued hugging the earth trying to keep my profile low.  Bob kept whispering the distance from his laser-rangefinder, 50 yards?40 yards? 30, but still no signal to draw.  As I peeked under the decoy I could see the buck starring at us from no more than 25 yards.  I slowly tried to get to my knees and draw the bow but at point-blank range my movement was too much and the buck whirled and sped away without incident.  As we watched the buck rejoin the herd Bob and I hastily worked out our signals and continued closer to the does.  As we reached "the zone" and placed the decoy, the mature herd buck was returning to his ladies.  He was walking along a barbed-wire fence that would bring him right past our set-up.  As he approached, Bob called the distance, 71 yards.  I rose to my knees, drew the bow, steadied the pin on his chest and released.  I could see the brilliant orange blur loft into the air and swiftly drop just below the buck's chest; I had missed.  I immediately thought to myself, "Well, there goes your opportunity on this hunt."  As we made the long hike back to the truck I replayed the entire scene and felt grateful just to have seen such an ordeal.  I could only hope for another chance.

In the following days my wishes were granted, I was given several chances only I couldn't seem to get the job done.  On Tuesday a weather front started moving through increasing the wind dramatically.  Bob and I had made several stalks with no success until we found a herd in a big bowl somewhat protected from the wind.  We snuck out onto a small knob and started our routine; the buck didn't respond.  As Bob kept calling and rocking the decoy, the buck got more aggressive.  Finally he charged at the decoy as if annoyed by its presence.  He sprinted in to 40 yards and when I raised up to draw he whirled and trotted off stopping at 55 yards to look back.  Fighting the gusting wind I tried to hold the pin steady on his chest while squeezing the release, but to no avail.  When I released the arrow whipped violently side-to-side and missed the buck by five feet.  Wednesday offered a great opportunity when we spotted three small bucks bedded in a cut hay field near some round bales.  With a steady rain I decided to attempt a stalk while keeping the bales in between the bucks and myself.  We circled around the bucks trying to position ourselves where the bales would obscure their vision but nowhere provided good cover.  Bob and I hid behind some small bushes in a fencerow several hundred yards away and ranged to the bale and then to the closest antelope.  After ranging both landmarks several times the difference was consistently 53 yards, well within my range.  I took off my pack and left all my gear except my bow with Bob.  I proceeded towards the bucks on my stomach inching my way closer.  I would push my bow ahead then pull myself forward with my arms.  The cold rain covered my approach through the four-inch hay stubble as I reached the round bale.  Looking back to check with Bob I received a thumbs up.  I prepared myself for the shot, drew back and cautiously leaned out around the bale.  As my 50-yard sight pin came across an antelope I carefully aimed, took a deep breath and gently squeezed the trigger.  To my amazement the arrow slammed into the mud two feet short of the sleeping goat.  As they exploded from their beds I noticed another bigger buck closer to my hiding position; I had shot at the wrong goat. 

As the week wore on I experienced almost every type of failure an antelope hunter can endure.  I had fought the wind, I had shot at wrong animals, I had been caught moving, and I had missed easy shots.  I couldn't ask for anything more on a hunting trip and wasn't sure my ego could handle any more "opportunities".  As we rode along Bob spotted a small buck with a lone doe on the horizon.  While this isn't the best situation for decoying, we decided to try anyway.  As we prepared to start our stalk, the buck dropped over the rise disappearing from view.  In an instant Bob took off running toward the knoll as I struggled to keep up.  As we neared where we last saw the pair of antelope we dropped and began crawling toward the crest.  Upon reaching the top we were surprised to see countless antelope with several good bucks in another "dogfight".  Our little buddy on the ridge had managed to steal a doe from the herd and in the process led us to Mr. Big.  Bob quickly pointed out where we needed to be in order to get the mature buck to come after the decoy.   As we inched cautiously to our hideout I heard a crunch and felt an intense burning in my bow hand.  I looked down to see my hand thick with cactus spines.  I immediately started pulling the quill-like spines as Bob smugly welcomed me to antelope country.  As we laid face down in the grass tending to my hand a small buck cruised in to investigate.  Quickly losing interest the buck moved off which urged us to make our move before our window of opportunity closed.  I smashed my hand against my thigh breaking off the remainder of the spines and gave Bob a nod to proceed.  We worked our way into "the zone" and slid the decoy up without a problem.  As soon as Bob issued the challenge the mature buck whirled to see the decoy and came burning right to us.  I got to my knees and drew the bow waiting to hear the distance.  As the buck stopped he turned broadside bristled with aggression.  Bob whispered, "He's at 45 yards".  I don't even think I processed the information because I sent the arrow screaming over the bruiser's back as he turned and trotted away.  I collapsed facedown to the prairie in defeat as Bob turned and asked, "What is wrong with you?"  Searching for another lousy excuse I looked up to see one of the does circling the decoy.  She worked closer and closer making an alarm bark all the while.  As she neared, the buck tried to corral her away.  Ignoring his prodding the doe came closer and closer until the harem king could take no more.  He turned facing the decoy and stomped toward the unwelcome intruder.  As he approached I readied another arrow not believing my eyes.  He finally came into range as I again raised up and came to full draw.  He turned quartering away facing his does as Bob called the distance.  I picked a spot and squeezed the trigger.  The arrow covered the 61 yards in slow motion until it disappeared behind the buck's muscular shoulder.  He trotted to the crest of the knoll and stood guard while his harem escaped to safety.  As he waited he began to stumble finally dropping to his knees where he shortly passed.  My PSE Team Primos bow had delivered the Spitfire tipped ACC arrow to its mark; the pronghorn buck hadn't gone 40 yards! 

After a week of disappointments and heart-breaking blunders, I can't explain my level of excitement after releasing that final arrow.  I had reached my goal after falling short so many times giving me a feeling of great personal accomplishment.  Yet without the help of each of the other members of our group, I would not have even had this opportunity of a lifetime.  My Dad made a point of letting me attempt most of the stalks and Bob's son Rob willingly gave up chances for me stating "I can hunt antelope anytime, you give it a try."  And most of all Bob whose effort and expertise put us in position day after day.  I think they all knew how badly I wanted to succeed and they all contributed in their own way putting my success before their own.  When I look at photos of that antelope and reflect on that adventure my heart is filled with admiration for the people I shared it with and their contributions to my "Antelope education."