The author's challenge was to pursue three of Montana's top big game species with a muzzleloader, which he did without the benefit of special seasons. While none would be considered trophies in a scoring sense, who would argue the merits of the accomplishment?

Shortly thereafter, I spotted nearly 30 tan and white bodies bedded on the leeward side of a hillside about two miles away. Dozing with his nose nearly touching the dusty sod, one buck's black horns appeared to be at least 15 inches, and he had heavy prongs to match.

A dry wash and rippling contours in the landscape would get us to within a quarter-mile of the herd. Beyond that, worming into shooting range would be a matter of sagebrush and luck. Piling out of the pickup, I helped Micah into his jacket. Under a gritty, gray sky, we set out to close the gap.

A little over a mile later, I could see the antelope were now feeding slowly in our direction. A natural embankment would provide cover and put us in position for a shot. Holding my son's hand, I trotted for the bank, scrambled up its side and peered into a gulley.

There they were, three dozen animals that could accelerate from zero to 50 in seconds, and they weren't but 40 yards away. The buck was at the far side of the herd, and when I eased the gun up to shoot, a doe bolted. Foolishly, I touched off a shot at the buck as he wheeled to run--and missed him clean.

The next morning, with sore feet and cactus welts on his knees, Micah wasn't up for much walking. So we drove to a different tract of public land and almost immediately encountered antelope as they darted across the road in front of us. They paused out in the sage to watch us.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS There are no heart-stopping antlers in the accompanying article, but each animal was taken on public land and is a representative specimen of what one might hope to find on an unguided, general-season hunt. Here are some reasonable expectations for a competent hunter on public land. Elk. In the absence of antler-point restrictions, spikes comprise most of the bull harvest; 2 1/2-year-old bulls are the norm elsewhere. Be happy with any bull sporting four or more tines on each antler. Expect to spend the first year sweating more than shooting. Mule Deer. Any place that holds good numbers of mule deer offers a decent chance at finding a 4x4. Heavy-horned old bucks with antlers that exceed the width of their ears are few and far between, but they sometimes crop up in unlikely places. Antelope. Generally speaking, the farther south you hunt, the bigger the horns. Average bucks in Montana sport 13-inch horns, but in southern Wyoming they're an inch or two longer. You should be able to find a 14-incher nearly anywhere.

Struck with inspiration, I asked Micah if he wanted to help me get an antelope. Hopping out of the pickup, we moved to the brink of a low hill. Seven pairs of wide, black eyes watched us from a distance.

"Now, son," I coached, "I'm going to sneak out into that sagebrush. When you can't see me anymore, stand up and walk back to the truck."

The plan worked perfectly. As Micah walked toward the truck, the antelope circled right toward me. When they stopped at 80 yards, I rose from cover and put a slug into the base of a buck's neck as he appraised my assistant.

When I'd set out to hunt exclusively with a muzzleloader for the season, I was expecting elk and antelope to afford the greatest challenge. Now in the Pryor Mountains with five days to hunt, I planned to hold out for a better than average mule deer.

By nightfall of the first day I'd seen dozens of deer, including several four-point bucks. With soup heating on the stove and a wall tent all to myself, I kicked back, soaking up the solitude and the wind-blown symphony of the evergreens outside. The tinny jingle of the cell phone in my duffle shattered the serenity. It was my wife, calling to say her uncle had died unexpectedly and could I be out in time for her to attend the funeral?

Of course I could--which left one day to find a big buck. Hitting the hills at dawn, I turned into one of the Pryor's deep canyons where a large, lone track wandered through a patch of snow. For hours I unraveled the trail, pushing ever deeper into the gorge whose sheer walls offered no expedient exit should I wish to quit the prints.

Late in the afternoon, having been bested by the buck, I managed to find a steep break in the canyon wall that allowed me to scramble out. The trail had taken me in a loop, leaving me just a mile from the pickup. I stopped once more to glass and quickly found several does feeding at the head of a draw.

A buck was with them--no monster, but considering my time constraints he looked superb. A 20-minute stalk brought me to the end of the cover but still 150 yards away. With a broadside target and a bipod, I was sure of the shot, but I overcompensated and missed over the top.

With just moments of shooting light left, I again caught up to the group. Now I estimated the range at 200 yards--not an impossible shot, but definitely stretching the effective range of the .50 caliber in-line. Again I elevated the sights over the gray shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

As with the elk, the deer vanished in a cloud, but the sound of the bullet's impact on flesh shouted the same story to my ear. I reached the buck as the western sky bled behind the Beartooth Mountains, closing the day and dropping the curtain on an unforgettable season of smoke.