By Jillian Schmutz

Sleepily I rubbed my eyes again and tried to stifle yet another yawn as I watched steadily out the window, my eyes moving across the horizon. This was the last day we could hunt pronghorn antelope during Utah’s season and I really was hoping to see even a small buck! The last day we had been able to go out, we had seen a lot of other wildlife including a rattlesnake, wild mustangs, a badger and a golden eagle, but no antelope… Fifteen minutes later my dad turned down a side road towards a standing windmill. I continued looking and out of the dawn an antelope materialized. I jumped up in excitement and exclaimed to my dad the discovery. I turned to him and saw he was slowing down very slightly so he could look through the binoculars, but hadn’t yet stopped. Something was different about the antelope’s horns, but we couldn’t quite figure out what it was exactly.

We drove past the antelope that was steadily walking towards the windmill and the promise of water when my dad slowed to a stop. I jumped out quickly, but quietly and with the slight jingling of bullets in my pocket, I cocked my rifle. I knelt slowly to the ground, never taking my eyes off the prize and raised the .270, peeking through the scope. I watched as the antelope raised his head to take a drink from the trough and then walked around to the other side.

I breathed in, out, in, out and my finger pulled the trigger. The shot was no good, the antelope took off running for about ten feet, back the way he had come from and he stopped, looking around as I re-cocked my rifle. Once again I raised the gun and sighted through the scope to the antelope. “Make sure you aim a little higher this time!” my dad’s excited whispers rumbled through the morning air until they met my ears. I again breathed in and out, squeezed the trigger and the antelope took off running once again! He stopped about thirty feet from where he started and just stood there. He wasn’t looking around or moving, just standing. I ejected the used shell from the chamber and put another bullet into it. Again I raised the scope to my eye, aimed carefully and fired. Yet again, I was off! The antelope didn’t move, though, just stood there.

“Maybe take it a little lower this time” as my dad’s advice once again filled my ears. I re-cocked, aimed and my finger squeezed the trigger after I had breathed out. The antelope fell right where he stood! We rushed over, feeling exuberant over my first kill! We discovered that one of my shots had nailed it in the jaw, so that was why he didn’t run very far and the shot that brought it down was behind the front shoulders. My dad walked me through all the steps of gutting the buck so I could gain a little practice and then we quartered the antelope and put it in our ice chest. We bagged the head with my dad gushing over how big my antelope was and the unique curve of the horns! I was super excited about the successful day and my dad, as you can tell, was very pleased as well. It was a fantastic first kill, one that I will always remember!

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