As your attorney, I advise you to take the deal.” In any normal circumstance, those are words I prefer not to hear. But then, this was no normal circumstance. My attorney was none other than famous bowhunter Nathan Andersohn. The deal he referred to was a hunt for antelope near Florence, Colorado. Still, there were details to consider. This hunt would be in September, a time when I am generally in the high mountains chasing elk and mule deer. With Nathan missing out on a sheep hunt and the Canadian border still blocking me from my moose hunt due to Covid restrictions, we were a little late to the game in putting this thing together and getting the typical August dates. “The rut should be on during that time, so we might have a chance at a good buck,” he continued. I am generally not one to let anything get in the way of my time in the high country, but 2020 ended with a canceled trip to Canada and my favorite elk spots went up in flames during the worst wildfire in Colorado’s history. So, I decided not to let any opportunity pass me by.

“Alright, Andersohn, I’m in,” I finally said.

I had been fortunate enough to arrow a pronghorn buck once before, but it was during an elk hunt in a unit that also offered over-the-counter archery tags for antelope. The elk were not cooperating, but I had noticed a band of antelope moving through a funneled depression two mornings in a row, so I spent an afternoon making a blind from natural materials in the area. The next morning, just an hour after daylight, I admired my first antelope. As proud as I was of that moment, I really hadn’t experienced or devoted myself to a true antelope hunt. So, in September of 2021, I was given the chance for four days to do just that.

After days of blown stalks and aching joints from chasing mule deer above timberline, the idea of sitting in a blind seemed much more attractive than it had back in June. The two-hour drive from my home through the mountains during the fading daylight with several bands of antelope wandering the large ranches made it that much more appealing. As I pulled up to the Super 8 just after dark, I could see my attorney standing on the corner in his usual pre-hunt attire: western cut plaid shirt, a pair of worn Levi’s, cowboy boots, and holding a celebratory beverage. “Mr. Andersohn,” I said in my best impression of Agent Smith from the movie The Matrix (a movie my bowhunting partner probably never took the time to watch and was therefore unable to fully appreciate the accuracy of my delivery). “I hope for your sake there are more of those in a cooler nearby?” I asked.

“Lucky for me there are,” he grinned.

After settling into our room and organizing our gear, we called our host, Tom Menhennett, to let him know we had arrived. Tom and our guide met up with us in short order to run over the particulars and make sure we had the proper license and all the necessary items. We would be the only two hunters on the ranch, utilizing two primary water sources and a few different blind setups. Everything sounded wonderful until Tom mentioned the necessity to always check our blinds for rattlesnakes before setting up, and to make sure we were properly prepared for the 100-degree days they were expecting for most of the week. Suddenly, the idea of kicking back in a blind for a few days didn’t seem so relaxing.

We were up early and climbed into our guide’s dually ranch pickup. “You boys bring enough stuff?” our guide quipped as he tried tossing our overstuffed bags in the bed. Neither Nathan or I are exceptionally good at basically doing nothing for 14 hours, so we brought spotting scopes, books, magazines, writing tablets, hunting chairs, decoys, coolers, and a handful of other “necessary” items to keep us engaged.

“Sorry about that,” I replied. “You know what they say about idle hands,” I smiled. He didn’t smile back.

After a few gates and some rough dirt roads, I was dropped off at a blind overlooking a large seep. This time, our guide was kind enough to let me grab my own bag. As I checked my blind for any unwanted occupants, Nathan tells me, “Now remember, make sure the horns are as least as long as your manhood before you shoot,” he smirked.

Chad and Nathan’s setup at the same waterhole. They found that a buck decoy facing away from the direction of approaching pronghorns was the most effective position.

“I will have you know,” I replied, “that some of us bowhunters don’t concern ourselves with record books and ego, Mr. Andersohn. Some of us are content with making a quick, clean kill with bows and arrows we craft ourselves, and that alone is all the satisfaction we need.”

“Is that so?” he asked.

“Absolutely!” I fired back.

“Besides,” I continued, “what kind of guest would I be if I expected a world record, especially on my first real antelope hunt?” Silence.

“I should have seen that coming,” Nathan replied.

“Yes, Mr. Andersohn…you should have. Good luck, my friend!” I grinned.

Nathan was set up on the opposite side of the large seep, about 80 yards away or so. With another water hole a good mile away I thought it a bit odd that we were so close together. I texted him, “So, do they think we are dating or something?”

He replied, “A little close, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I replied, “and please remember to sit across from me at dinner and not beside me.”

“RIGHT!” he answered.

“I’m glad you will get to see firsthand how a real bowhunter shoots, at least,” I added.

“Yep, and I will be close by to help with the long track job,” he replied. Touché, Mr. Andersohn, touché.

I put down an old army wool blanket to cover the ground and quickly kicked off my shoes and socks. I laid out my cooler, water bottles, camera, spotting scope, and reading materials, then settled in. It wasn’t long before I could see activity in all directions. A large hawk circled the seep several times before landing less than 20 yards in front of my blind. He hung around and drank for a few minutes while I snapped a few pictures. Shortly after his departure, a large, reddish coyote slunk by to my right. He was as big as any coyote I had ever seen, and his reddish coat reminded me of the old tales of the great red wolf that once roamed this country. Crouched barefooted in the shadows, I held my bow and suddenly felt as wild as the vast country outside my blind.

It didn’t take long before I could make out Antilocapra americana, the fastest land mammal in the western hemisphere, in my binoculars. A small band of bucks worked through the sagebrush a few hundred yards from my blind. The open country allowed me to watch and study this unusual animal for the better part of the day. Although I get to see antelope near my home from time to time, it is usually while I am in a hurry to get somewhere to wet a fly line, or worse yet, to actually do some work. But, trapped within the confines of an eight-foot box, I was able to fully appreciate the only antelope-like species in the world that happens to live in the same country that I do.

For the next two hours I watched the temperatures rise and several bucks broke off and walked within 50 yards of my hunting partner’s blind. One of the four bucks looked large enough to make Pope & Young, so I watched closely to see if Nathan chose to take the shot as they approached his decoy. For several minutes they fed on the clumps of green grass created by the seep, stared at the decoy with suspicion, and finally made their way past the blind and into the sagebrush. I sent Nathan a text, “Did I make you nervous? It’s understandable, I’m sure you will get him next time.”

A few minutes later I received, “I didn’t want to have to end the hunt early and leave you alone to track your antelope with those wood arrows and cheap old two-blades you use.”

I replied with, “Well, when I get to be your age and have to drop down to adolescent poundage, I will probably be reduced to carbon arrows and overpriced broadheads, too.”

Hours passed and so did the pronghorns. The bucks started to push each other around and even chase one another across the prairie. Between the pushing sessions, they would simply lay down in the sagebrush and look for whatever bit of shade they could find. Finally, three bucks got up and made their way toward my position. The one in the back was definitely a buck that would keep Nathan from challenging my manhood, so all my focus was on him. The first buck came in well ahead of the other two. At 22 yards, he drank from the large tank with little trepidation. The next buck came up on the opposite side of the tank at 30 yards and quartered to me. The larger buck moved up and I feared he would do the same and never offer me a shot. But he decided to circle around and drink from the same spot the first buck had. However, he was much more cautious and very suspicious of the blind. He would inch toward the tank with his head lowered, only to rear up and look at the blind. The buck repeated his head bob a couple of more times before he finally settled in and drank. I quickly drew and released and watched as my spruce shaft flew perfectly to the very spot my eye was focused on. The only problem was that the buck was no longer there. When I released, the high-strung animal whipped to his right and my arrow floated harmlessly past him just a couple inches to his left. In mere seconds, my manhood buck and his compadres were well out of range and back in the sagebrush.

I was devastated, not that I had made a clean miss, but my bowhunting partner had witnessed the whole episode. Seconds later I received, “I guess those big, heavy wood arrows just couldn’t get there fast enough.” I honestly should have known better than to try a shot on an alert animal that can run 60 mph, but I felt I could still play the “rookie” card in this instance. Regardless, touché, Mr. Andersohn, touché.

The day ended with no more shots fired, but plenty of pronghorns nearby and a few good bucks. Considering ourselves civilized and educated men, Nathan decided to forego cutting off my shirt tail and elected instead to allow me to buy his dinner. Luckily, we were too late to make it to the steakhouse in time, so my recompence was a large pizza. And, as requested, he did sit across the table.

The next morning brought more action as antelope passed by the blinds from every direction. I had two small bucks within range, but my senior advisor assured me I should hold out for a better buck. By the time we made it to midday, a group of antelope had moved in behind my blind and over toward Nathan’s location. Being on my blindside (pun intended), I hadn’t realized they had come in until I heard the distress grunt of a pronghorn and the pounding of hooves across the prairie. I peeked outside my blind to see a stumbling pronghorn and my bowhunting partner slipping along the sagebrush. Nathan quickly sent a second arrow and the buck fell 60 yards behind my blind.

Nathan Andersohn and his ACS longbow found success once again.

We both met near the buck at virtually the same time. As I stood over it, I realized it was most likely the same buck that came by his blind the day before. “Isn’t this the buck that you had in range yesterday?” I asked.

“I think so,” he said.

“But I thought you were holding out for a bigger one,” I smirked.

“Yeah, but that was yesterday,” he smiled. Lawyers…

I helped Nathan load up his trophy once our guide arrived. He was kind enough to leave me his decoy to use at my blind since it had worked so effectively. I planned to sit out the afternoon while he tended to his skinning and butchering duties as the temperatures reached nearly 100 degrees. As luck would have it, my afternoon consisted of me fighting off heat exhaustion while dozens of prairie dogs chattered at point blank range. I fought off the urge to fling an arrow or two to bring me some peace and waited patiently for the sun to begin setting and the sound of the old dually pickup to come rolling over the horizon.

That evening, over bourbon and steaks, we discussed my strategy for the rest of the hunt. With the temperatures expected to hit over 100 degrees for the next two days, Nathan decided he better head back toward Denver with his coolers of meat.

“What’s your plan?” he asked.

“I’d like to use your decoy at the other water hole,” I said. “I’m ready for a new perspective.”

As planned, I had my guide drop me off before daylight at the other water hole. I set up the decoy standing in the mud at the edge of the water, facing the blind. Nathan had positioned the decoy a few different ways over the previous days, and this seemed to be the most effective position for the bucks to come in close before getting suspicious. I checked the blind for uninvited guests, adjusted my shooting windows, and settled in for the day’s hunt. I had already made up my mind that the first decent buck that gave me a shot was going to be in trouble. I wasn’t looking forward to another triple digit day.

It was a beautiful morning with the sun rising over the prairie. The wind was blowing from the water to the blind, carrying with it the smell of sage. Everything seemed in order and after scanning the horizon in all directions, I sat back in my chair and tried catching up on some reading.

I didn’t make it but a few pages when I caught a glimpse of white out of the corner of my eye. Virtually out of nowhere, three bucks appeared at the water’s edge, just a few steps away from the decoy. I slowly put my magazine down and grabbed “Wapiti’s Prayer” already armed with a spruce shaft and Ace broadhead. At a snail’s pace, I slowly swiveled my chair to position my left shoulder in line with my target. The bucks were moving around, crisscrossing in front of me. Finally, one buck stepped to the side and lowered himself to the water. I drew my longbow as he stood broadside. As I was about to release, he shifted his weight and turned slightly toward me. I was already focused on the slightly off-color spot just behind his shoulder and dropped the string. I could see my orange feathers buried nearly halfway to the nock as he whirled, took about six good strides, and then crashed behind a large sage bush.

The author found that a solid wood shaft and 1930s designed broadhead is as effective as ever. The buck barely made it 40 yards. Notice the decoy by the author’s left shoulder.

I slowly walked up to the buck and was astonished at the amount of bright crimson scattered through the sagebrush. Upon inspection, I realized that at the angle the buck was standing, my arrow had entered just behind the shoulder, through one lung, and exited through the opposite hip, slicing the femoral artery in the process. It was as swift a kill as one could ask for. I quickly snapped a photo and texted my partner who was already halfway home, “Not bad for a wood arrow and some old broadhead,” I said. “And get this, it only took one arrow.” I noticed during my gloating session that my phone said 7:54 a.m. I would avoid the scorching heat. It doesn’t get much better.

After I endured a bit of razzing from my partner about the fact that “his was bigger than mine” he congratulated me on a fine shot and finally admitted to the fact that I am the better bowhunter (okay, I may have imagined the last part, but he did seem genuinely happy for me). After my pronghorn was taken care of and on ice, I spent the rest of the afternoon at the motel watching college football and relishing in the modern invention of air conditioning.

I left the motel for home shortly after daybreak the next day. The early morning light that bounced off the mountains and across the prairie gave me the perfect ambience for reflection over the hunt. I had learned that 14 hours in a blind is not as painful as I had once thought. I recognized that the pronghorn is a mysterious creature that I hope to spend much more time pursuing in the years to come. And mainly, I realized that with a longbow in hand, even lawyers can make good hunting partners…for the most part.

Chad lives with his wife and dog in a small cabin that borders the White River National Forest in Colorado. He spends most of his time splitting firewood, exploring the mountains behind his home, and trying to convince his friend Nathan Andersohn, the first longbow hunter to acquire the Super Slam, that he is actually the better bowhunter.

Equipment Notes: The author shot a 62 lb longbow he built himself and named it “Wapiti’s Prayer.” He shot a Surewood spruce shaft tipped with a 160 grain Ace broadhead.