Bouncing down a rocky incline, we reached the boundary of our hunting district at the Sweetwater River. We'd spotted antelope on a lofty bench above the river, and as I mulled over our options, inspiration smacked me square in the eyeballs. Here we were, in as fine a setting as one could dream. Why not relax, pitch camp, then put in an hour with the binoculars before dark. The odds seemed good that we'd find a black-horned buck here as easily and with less competition from other hunters than down south, where numerous roads fanned from the highway.
"How about some hot dogs, Dad," queried Dominic, the boy with an ever-empty stomach. After a hearty meal of beef by-product scorched on a stick, we hiked up a hill above the river to glass. Like scouting for antelope on the plains, searching for the mountain variety involves considerable effort with optics. However, scanning the high country involves some notable differences. In areas of tall sage sprinkled with evergreens, the trademark tan-on-white bodies of pronghorn aren't nearly as visible as on the flatlands. Antelope may also hole-up in small pockets of habitat surrounded by steep slopes or heavy forest, requiring a hunter to soften more shoe-leather searching for animals here as opposed to the plains where a dozen square miles might be effectively glassed from a single vantage point. Oftentimes, the biggest bucks are loners sequestered in isolated meadows, so attention must be given to small parcels of habitat as well as the large.
Scrambling to a rocky outcropping we perched and began scanning the surrounding countryside. Three mule deer does with small, twitching black tails browsed vigorously on a slope above our post. Just below the deer, the head and neck of a bedded antelope buck came into view. Young and alone, he'd need a couple more years before hustling up a harem of his own when the antelope rut wound up in a few short weeks.
Nearly a mile away, a feeding herd of twenty animals ambled into view as they trickled from a tiny, hidden basin. A buck brought up the back of the band, but his narrow, nearly prongless horns held little appeal. Just before dark, though, we spied a trio of bucks snacking and sparring on a brushy bench not far from our camp. Two wore the stubby headgear of yearlings, but the other looked nearly as fine as any we'd seen in the district. Switching from binoculars to spotting scope, I saw that his horns angled up and slightly outward, then arced over in classic antelope form just above a hefty pair of prongs. Who knows where daylight would find him, but we'd be looking come morning.
An hour after dawn, we spied the three bucks that were now joined by a fourth, a half-mile away and browsing slowly through short sage. We quickly struck out in pursuit. Unlike stalking pronghorn on the plains, where flat topography may render a sneak impossible, easing within range of high country antelope is often much easier. Ravines, ridges, rocks, trees and taller vegetation generally give the patient stalker some means of approaching the quarry. Our situation was no exception.
