# First WY Goat Hunt



## kodoz (Nov 4, 2016)

I'd been preparing for a first-time big game hunt since May. In the last draw that I had a chance at, I drew a doe antelope and doe whitetail. Since then, I probably put 300 rounds through my .308 to make up for 30 years of not shooting and never hunting. The week before leaving for my antelope tag, I went to the range for the last time to sight in with my Barnes TTSX 165 grain hunting round. Initially, I had some doubts about my rifle's first shot performance--previous to this, I'd only shot on hot summer days, but that day was cloudy and in the 50s. Shots with a cold barrel seemed to be a few inches wild, and I spent some time tweaking the scope and letting the gun cool between shots. By the time I left, warm or cold barrel I put all my shots in a 4-inch circle at 200 yards, and left the range confident that I could put a bullet where I needed to when the time came. I set a 165-yard personal limit. When I packed later that week, I left most of my sight-in gear, thinking all I'd need to do is mentally make an adjustment for the difference in altitude.















I waited until the 2nd week of of the season and drove north following the tail end of a winter storm that dropped rain and snow throughout UT and WY. The forecast for the coming days was good, sunny and cold at night. My only misgiving was navigating muddy 2-tracks in the areas I had google-scouted in the months before, and the snowy mountains in the distance heightened that concern a bit. I liked this spot at the central-eastern portion of my area--between 2 plateaus with a green gully running toward the reservoir. Looked to me like a spot where antelope would congregate and maybe funnel to the reservoir. I also I fears of my thrashing and flailing ruining others' hunts, so I liked the idea of being a little further afield.








From the time I left the highway until I descended the north side of the Seminole Rd into my area, I'd seen antelope all about (including a sad pair of bucks tossed in the back of a truck parked in a diner). I had decided to heed the advice of sighting in on-site, and picked an area with a good backstop near the river and without anybody else in sight. Targets set up at 100 yards, I fired 3 shots and was surprised that I couldn't see them. When I walked down, I found holes 8-10 inches below where I'd expected. A few more shots with similarly wild results and I'd lost all confidence in my ability, and without my shooting bags I was left questioning whether it was me, the rifle, or the change in environment. I could see a train of drift boats floating in my direction, and decided they wouldn't feel great about me shooting alongside them, so I packed up. On top of that, the roads were slick with mud. I had visions of the first week I had my truck, where I slipped off a deserted road in the North Woods of Maine, and spent the next 3 hours digging it out with hand and stick. I decided to head to another spot to the north in hopes of drier roads. I found a site late that night. It was cold, wet, and I was at a low thinking about how to deal with my wild shots.






















The next morning was a turn: I woke up early already warmed by the sun, and found antelope grazing in every direction when I opened the fly. With all the animals around and a truck a mile in the distance, I decided to move back to the county road to deal with sighting in my rifle. I ended up making some coarse adjustments to get back on target, and invested another box of target ammo into regaining my confidence. My last 5 shots at 165 yards were on a life-sized target--2 landed high in the spine, 2 in the back of the lung, one on the top of the heart. I felt a little better. While I was shooting, I was surprised to see antelope in the distance behind my target, grazing uncaringly. And I had to chase a buck who'd been standing behind my target.

I had an early lunch, then started driving toward the north end of the reservoir. In less than a half mile I spotted a small group grazing in the dip between some low hills. Okay, drive by around the bend like you don't care...then get out. I pulled on my backpack (stuffed with an inflated air mattress so I could use it to lift my bipod into a comfortable position), grabbed the rifle, and moved quickly up the backside of the hill. As I poked my head above its broad, low summit, I saw half the herd was already watching me from over 400 yards away. A nearby buck trotted over to join them before they turned and sprinted over the next hill and out of sight.

I didn't fare any better on the next group I spotted in a meadow near the reservoir. I parked out of sight and scared a few jackrabbits as I got to the hill separating me from the herd. The result was the same though: the herd had seen me and was already quartering away by the time I poked my head over the hill. I ducked back down and paralleled their path using the cover of the hill, but the next time I saw them they were moving away. I'd read that "there's often cover you can use to get in close if you looked for it" but I sat there and tried to imaging how I could get any closer. The sage was sad, just above ankle level that wouldn't conceal me even if I was on hands and knees. If I could shoot out to over 400 yards, I could use the rolling hills, but the land between the hills was smooth and uninterrupted by draws or boulders. I didn't see much to conceal a stalk.

Back to the truck. I spotted a buck, doe, and fawn. Yes they had already seen me and were up, but I wouldn't take a doe from its fawn anyway, right? The next pair I stalked presented me, very briefly, with a broadside shot at 170 yards while she considered whether I was a threat. I had her in my sights, but wasn't steady enough to take the shot, and she casually wandered out of range.

In the distance I could see an arm of the reservoir that poked south, and a green valley at its end. That was an area I'd wanted to hunt, so I followed the 2-track that way. The hills here were steeper, and as I drove around I got a brief glimpse into the valley and a group of antelope grazing in the middle. I didn't think they'd seen me (hah!), and I quietly parked and grabbed my gear. I dropped my pack as I crouched toward the shoulder of the hill, but the valley was empty now. There was a crescent of trees along the bank though, and I decided I might be better off sitting in there to see if the goats would come back.








The mud flats were criss-crossed with hoof and paw prints, and bird tracks. I set up at the tip of the sparse trees in the shade, closest to the water, with a good view of a distant desert ridge and the length of the valley. It was so quiet, with the little birds fluttering between branches behind me occasionally startling me. It was 3. I would wait here an hour to see what happened. In my haste to leave, I realized I left my spotting scope, but used my rangefinder to spot a lone buck on the distant hillside grazing on sagebrush. At least the sage looked taller out that direction.

After 30 minutes I caught sight of a silhouette at the top of the distant hillside as the antelope moved determinately down the hill. Couldn't tell if it was a buck or a doe, but it'd move as if it had it's mind to be in the meadow, then it'd detour to nibble sage. I flipped between this antelope, and the buck, who was soon joined by a small group browsing the hillside. I spent some time surveying this group--it looked to be mostly bucks, but there were some smaller goats that were beyond the range even of my scope. When I turned back to the lone antelope that had been working down the hillside, I couldn't find it until I saw movement close, in the middle of the meadow. A buck, and he'd closed the slope into the meadow quickly. Over the next 20 minutes, he worked toward me about 300 yards away, and I started thinking a little shift in the wind would put him in my scent. He made a determined trot around my right, over the track I took in, and out of sight behind me. I went back to watching the new group, that was now browsing the sage and roaming the beach in the distance.

Then the buck came running back from behind me, chasing a doe with another buck in tow. What followed was easily the highlight of this trip. I watched the bucks chase the doe in circles, then they'd all stop and browse, the bucks would dramatically mark all around her. Every once in a while they'd all pop up and survey the area, then go back to their antelope business. They were out beyond 300 yards. I waited until they were all preoccupied, scooted to a spot with a clear view, and set the rifle up. They continued their play, with the doe enjoying the attention, until they were within 200 yards. When they saw the other group now at the shoreline, the doe got in her mind to join them, and started trotting that way. Her path would bring her close to me, and if she stopped to graze, I'd have a shot. But she never paused, and moved right be me down to the water line. That group was almost all bucks, and eventually that formed a train that left the water and trotted briskly by me down south through the valley, and I never saw them again. This left 2 bucks on the distant side of the meadow. It was late in the afternoon, and I pulled on my fleece sweater and vest, not willing to leave just yet.


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## kodoz (Nov 4, 2016)

Those bucks wandered across the valley in my direction, quietly grazing the entire time. After a while, a single doe moved down the hill and stepped down the ledge to the beach. The bucks were under 200 yards away, but the doe was 100 yards behind them. I watched her wander toward the bucks. At one time, something next to her caught her attention. Her legs loaded, she leapt up, and bounded away. But she stopped as quickly as she started, and went back to nonchalantly grazing. The bucks were now withing 150 yards, and were intent on their browse. I'd had over an hour of just watching antelope do whatever they do, a wildlife experience I'd only had a few times. When the doe was 180 yards away, I repositioned the rifle and put her in the scope. Now she was moving directly toward the bucks 130 yards from me. She paused broadside, put her head down to graze, and I was able to take the shot.















Think cliches about a shot ringing out and shattering the silence. The doe ran a wide semi-circle toward the water, and just as my mind was forming doubt about my shot, she hunched over, cartwheeled, and crumpled into a heap with her back to me. The bucks stood looking in my direction without seeing me. I waited a minute before emerging from the trees, and it seemed they hadn't fully comprehended what just happened, staying to stare at me until I'd closed half the distance between them. The doe was still moving her back leg with the thought of running, but I didn't see her trying to get up. I realized I'd never thought about actually having to delivering a finishing shot--and recalled stories of the mess from being too close. Her chest was heaving, but she was otherwise motionless. I decided to give her a minute while I retrieved my pack and filled out the tag. By the time I got back to her, she was still and unresponsive. I sat down, had a candy bar, and unpacked my kill bag.

This would be my first time field dressing an animal on my own. I'd watched enough guides on it and had a pretty good idea how I wanted to go about it, but it threw me off when I grabbed her front quarters to position her for the first cut and her leg broke. The shot had entered at the back of her left leg a little low, and passed up and out through her upper leg. I'd envisioned surgical straight cuts through her hide, but ended up with ragged slashes as I'd grab her hide and end up...with a handful of hair. The anatomy of her forelegs was obscured by coagulated blood under her skin. I felt like I'd horribly hacked her backstraps, and I poked through that hole in the pelvis into her intestine that I knew was there but had forgotten about when removing her rear leg. After struggling to get to the hanging tenderloin, I found it helpful to remove the abdominal wall muscle. From there, I had a clear view of the internal organs, and could puncture that membrane to release the pressure on the internal organs. Still, getting the hanging tenderloin was an unexpected challenge.

It was getting dark by the time I rolled her over to start working on the other side. I struggled with removing the lower legs, and decided not to fool with trying to suss out the anatomy in the fading light. With the quarters and backstrap off, I pulled off the flanks overlying her ribs. I thought about getting the meat between the ribs, but after the first one yielded a strip as thin as bacon, I decided it was best left for the magpies. Her liver was too healthy to leave, but I was surprised to find that antelope had gall bladders. I only took the lower lobe (which was about the right amount to take). I then poked her diaphragm. Her chest cavity was surprisingly empty, and I reached right in and lifted her heart with hardly a pull. I couldn't tell how damaged it was. The last piece I wanted was her tongue, and I had no idea how to go about this. I started at her jaw and made a long cut down her throat, removing the esophagus and windpipe, then made the same cut on the other side of her jaw. From there, I cut forward along her hide until her tongue--which I still couldn't really see--released. Then I cut the back of her tongue free from the palate, and put it in a bag with her heart and liver. I was concerned about the amount of hair I imagined was on the meat, and tried to keep bloodied cuts separate from everything else.

My original plan was to put the game bags in some heavy shopping bags we use for packing camp food in, then filling my pack and leaving my gear to retrieve later. But with legs poking from the bags and the stars coming out, I stowed my gear, loaded one bag, and carried out the other.

I didn't have a long packout--no more than a 1/2 mile. It was dark now, and I realized I left my headlamp back in my camp last night. Camping in bear country has shaped my mentality of what is and isn't safe backcountry behavior, and I was going against everything I knew: alone, without a light, with both hands full and carrying meat. I felt pretty vulnerable, like the days surf fishing for shark on the Gulf coast. The meat barely fit in the coolers I brought. I had a long slow drive back to my camp, and thought about how careless GPS has made me. Along the way I drove through herds of rabbits like I'd never seen before.

My vision of the night after the kill involved eating heart over a campfire. Instead, I pulled up next to my tent, retrieved my headlamp, then sat in the truck for over an hour trying to convince myself that falling asleep there would mean I'd wake up later cold, hungry, and aching in the middle of the night. Eventually I managed to rehydrate some noodles and make some tea. Not too much later, I fell asleep listening to the coyotes howling around me.








I slept well. When I woke the next morning, I sat half out of the tent sipping coffee, watching several groups of antelope around me, and listening to coyotes still yipping. There was frost, so I set the game bags out to dry in the shade. I decided I wanted to make the hour drive back to the kill site to see it during the day. I could see her carcass as I rounded the hill, and was surprised to find only a single magpie there. In the light, it looked like I'd harvested most of the meat, and even though my cuts on the backstrap were ragged, I didn't leave much meat there. I found the entry wound, a little low and forward of where I'd wanted to put it, but clear compensation for my high, back shots from earlier. She ended up 140 yards from where I was hiding. On thinking about it, I wondered if I would have been able to track her if the shot wasn't immediately lethal. I was surprised to find maybe 2 cups of blood where I hit her, no hair, and no blood trail along the path that she ran to get there. As I butchered her forelimbs later, I found large blood clots trapped in the membrane on both legs. Looking at the heart, the bullet almost completely severed the arteries without touching the muscle.






















I just finished getting her all into the freezer Sunday. The first night I was home was cold, so I stayed up late washing hair and blood off, then laid the pieces out to dry in the cool air. I've had to watch the dogs. Mine came up with a plan to silently pick a leg out of the ice chest and slink off to a quiet place while I was cleaning the meat. The chickens have eaten well too. I kept 3 shanks for pazole, cut up some roasts, and have some jerky in marinade today. I let the backstraps and a few of the larger roasts sit on a rack in the ice chest for a few days, then butterflied the larger end of the backstrap. We ate the heart the first night. I can't say whether it's gamey or not. I had her in the cooler 2.5 hours after I shot her. The meat definitely has a taste, a sweetness with a slight aftertaste that lets you know the meat is from a goat, not a cow. Initially, my daughter was hesitant about "knowing" the animal, but I told her the story of the hunt over goat-ghetti and have her full approval now. As good as that liver looks, it's been a challenge getting past the dreaded liver and onions my father fried in a cast iron skillet when we were kids. I wondered if I would have some sort of nostalgia, but ultimately couldn't bring myself to grilled liver and onions. We had a froofy liver creme caramel with arugula, bacon crumbles, and raspberries, and I have a ramekin of pate awaiting crackers. I've got my meat fix for a few days, but got to keep in mind the limited freezer room and that whitetail tag in November....


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## MuscleWhitefish (Jan 13, 2015)

Congrats 


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

Congrats!! Great post!


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## waspocrew (Nov 26, 2011)

Great post! Congrats! I'm looking to get my first WY antelope soon as well.


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## CPAjeff (Dec 20, 2014)

Great report! Congrats and thanks for sharing!


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## turkinator (May 25, 2008)

Great post! Love hearing about the whole process and some of the things you've done with the meat.


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## kodoz (Nov 4, 2016)

kodoz said:


> I had decided to heed the advice of sighting in on-site, and picked an area with a good backstop near the river and without anybody else in sight. Targets set up at 100 yards, I fired 3 shots and was surprised that I couldn't see them. When I walked down, I found holes 8-10 inches below where I'd expected. A few more shots with similarly wild results and I'd lost all confidence in my ability, and without my shooting bags I was left questioning whether it was me, the rifle, or the change in environment.


I finally got around to dealing with this. TL;DR, it looks like it was at least partly the rifle. I pulled the scope off the rail, and found those brackets were, I think peened is the right term? As in squashed to hell. The gunsmith thought that those screws must not have been tight enough, and every time I fired a round it bounced around until the screws started wrecking the clamp.


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## Critter (Mar 20, 2010)

There have been times that I have asked myself the question is it me or the rifle. Mostly it is me when I finally get a chance to shoot at a actual target. Now saying that if I was constantly missing, and I have, and I then took some shots at a target at 100 yards and the shots were off the first thing that I would suspect would be the mounts of the scope. And I have done just that. 

I know that when shooting at a animal that there are a lot of variables that can influence the shot and that you can miss. But when it comes to target shooting you can eliminate most of those variables by using a lot better rest along with being relaxed when you pull the trigger. Then if the shots are widely spaced, low, high, right, or left of your point of aim you can pretty much figure that it is in the equipment. 

Now for your story, I can't believe that I missed it last October but congrats. I'm hoping to draw both my Utah and Wyoming tags this year.


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