We hunters are woken up at 5.45 in the morning.
After a quick breakfast we pour out into the street, where Babsie places the hunters with their respective guides. Everybody is milling around with their gun-cases, rucksacks, and cool-boxes the size of bathtubs. The general atmosphere is excellent, and we are all looking forward to the day's hunting. Babsie raises our spirits even higher by saying that today there will be at least one antelope less on the plains of Montana. I am under his guidance, but each hunter has his own guide and car. Each vehicle is towing a trailer carrying a very strange vehicle. The last time I saw something like this was in "Mad Max 3". They look like a cross between oversized ATVs, cross-country golf buggies, and exra-large dodgems, but which also has a roof. They are made by Polaris, and Babsie assures that these fancy machines will be able to take us to where the antelope are. The convoy, with much reversing, maneuvering and shouting, slowly sets off.
Babsie leads, and the others follow behind us. We haven't been going for long, when we stop at the edge of town to fill up with gas and complete the permits. From this I learn that we are going to be hunting in an Indian reserve, and that, once more, I must always keep the permit on me. As we already know, this is not something I'm very good at, so I zip it into one of my jacket pockets
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immediately. I can't believe I'll need my jacket, but Babsie tells me to bring it with me: we are already in our shirtsleeves.
The group starts to split up, each going in a different direction to search for antelope. This way we will not disturb each other, as well as being safer. A bullet will travel a long way over flat ground.
Babsie says we won't need our orange clothes for this hunt, and I must confess, I shan't miss them. An area of almost 50 by 50 sq. miles is available to us; there must be enough room for us all.
We travel for 20 ml.
The road is fenced on either side. We are in cattle country, and fences protect both the cattle and the cars. This is where any antelope that turn up are considered unwanted guests, and we shall have to hunt trying to avoid the cows, unless I decide to shoot one as a last resort.
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We haven't gone far along the road before we see our first herd of antelope. Babsie says that the horns of the bucks - that's what the males are called here - are too small, but we still stop for a quick look through our binoculars. I've never seen a pronghorn before and I'd like to study them for a while. They are lightfooted, fast animals. When we get out of the car they run off at an unbelievable speed, jumping vigorously, with no apparent effort. According to my guide, this is typical behavior. They are used to the sight of a moving car, but if it stops they run away at once.
It's not difficult to spot them. The white stripe on their sides stands out from the backgound, and we can easily see a new herd, even without binoculars. The pronghorn can move very fast, even if it is not trying to escape a predator. It looks as if it has built-in springs, so quickly does it disappear over the horizon.
We suddenly turn off the road, and here we are, at the hunting ground. We stop; it is time to unload the Polaris. Babsie reverses off the trailer and I get in at once. My gun is placed in a rack above our heads, strapped in and easily accessable, after I have taken a few test shots, and made some largely unnecessary adjustments to the sight.
This "Mad Max" Polaris is a wonderful machine. It's fast and maneuverable, just like a pronghorn.
Its suspension copes confidently with the uneven ground. During the first 10 minutes there were some moments when, as we went over a sandhill, I was convinced it would overturn; but it always remained stable, and we always got away with it.
We haven't had to drive for far - I'm enjoying the journey - before we spot our first couple of bucks. They are probably just over a mile from us, but they have already seen us and automatically sprint away. It's not worth trying to chase after them. The prairie is so vast that we would never find them, even on the Polaris.
The plain is completely flat, though at one point it changes into steep hills. We leave the well-worn track and Babsie drives the machine up the side of the nearest hill. The vehicle moans once or twice, but still crawls up the hillside, which is almost as steep as a wall. At the top Babsie jumps off...
He points to the ground, and I quickly fall on my stomach, and crawl up beside him. Beneath us, at the bottom of the valley, stands a beautiful buck looking at the little brook flowing down the middle. I crawl forward... I can barely stifle a cry of pain.
I've put my hand on a cactus.
The sneaky little plant is growing underneath a clump of grass. I can't keep crawling as I have to remove the spikes. I get rid of most of them and we continue crawling... the buck is looking around... the target is not properly visible and there is grass in front of the gun, which is resting on
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my rucksack... another 6ft. ... I read 510ft. on my laser. It's a big shootable buck, and Babsie tells me to shoot...
The antelope looks towards us again... and with five leaps disappears behind a curve of the hill.
I missed my chance.
I was simply not prepared for such a fast reaction, or that it could move so energetically. I stare after it with my mouth agape. I know it's a fast-moving animal, but that fast? Babsie slaps me on the back with a laugh; mine isn't the first open mouth he's seen among novice antelope hunters. I just can't understand what the buck saw. This hunt is not going to be as easy as I thought.
We get back into the Polaris and go on, swallowing dust. Every five or ten minutes we see more nice bucks, either alone, or in groups. We can't get any closer as we have no cover whatsoever.
It's like trying to stalk on a football field. At one point I measure the distance to a herd: they are 2400ft. from us. We approach another 150ft. but they are already running away. I don't know what the plan is, but I don't think we're going to succeed like this. The solution can be found in the unevenness of the ground. We try to get off the plain, into the hills. The only problem with this is that it makes it more difficult for us to spot them. Suddenly, on coming around the curve of the hill, Babsie spots two more bucks, looking away from us. We quickly reverse and get out. We climb up the hill, crouched right down. If we can get up the hill unnoticed, we might get a chance to shoot. My guide is carrying something, but I only realise what it is when we reach the top.
It is a decoy pronghorn.
It's an instant pronghorn, made of folding sheets of plastic, devised to wickedly deceive the antelope. We are planning an ambush. Babsie unfolds the decoy, and we crawl another 300ft.
hiding behind it - I try to avoid the cactuses. We have been on the hilltop for a while, but the ground is so bushy that I can't find a suitable shooting position. Babsie keeps an eye on the animals, I try to make a shooting stand. There is no shooting-rest or usable protrusion, no nothing. I rearrange my rucksack until I can see the target, more or less. It's far from ideal, but, right here and now, there's nothing better. Even a bad gun-rest is better than no gun-rest at all. I can see the bucks and one is definitely bigger, which is my choice ... laser ... 30ft. Grass again.
There's no point in shooting over long distances if there is something in front of the barrel. I signal to Babsie that I can't take the shot. He understands the situation, and beckons me to crawl further. As we approach the other side of the hill, the ground starts to descend and I can see above the undergrowth. We drag the rucksack forward again ... the bucks are alerted ... all I see are their undertails flashing.
If I said that we'd ruffled three blades of grass I'd be exaggerating.
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The Dall sheep is virtually blind compared to this creature. What eyesight!
Back in the Polaris we hold a council of war. Babsie says we have to stick to this method, which is to stick close to the high points of the terrain, using them to try to get within rifle range. This is the only possible way; this, or me shooting from 3000ft.
I think it's better to go for the first option.
We go for about a mile along another dusty stretch of road, until we see a promising pronghorn.
From this distance we can't judge the size of the horns. We leave the vehicle and, under cover of the hill, we start the operation. We go for 1/2 ml. like this, and, during this time, we can't see the buck, but he can't see us either. We climb a small hill, crouching down as we go up. I'm right behind Babsie so that we show the smallest possible area to the antelope. I finally get a good view of the target, but I can't measure the distance while on my stomach. It is still a long way off, out of shooting range, but we need to know just how far. Carefully, inch by inch, I get to my knees; laser ... there are three horizontal lines on the screen. That means it is further than 3000ft., beyond the measuring capability of the device. Cautiously, I start to lie down ... the buck is already off.
What can I say?
It can see us from over 3000ft., even though I am moving very slowly.
Back to the Polaris.
We start to drive around again, while I try to come up with a plan. First of all we must forget all this creeping and crouching, and shooting while sitting or kneeling. It hasn't worked so far, and isn't going to. We must crawl all the time, and shoot while lying down. If this is impossible because of the type of vegetation, then we must just accept that the antelope can't be shot. Here comes another chance. We get out and, in spite of what we have just decided, move forward crouching. We can do it as we are completely hidden by a hill. For safety's sake we start to lie down at the bottom of the slope, and I put my gun across my back, like a hussar.
We crawl up.
Approaching the top of the hill we completely flatten ourselves. So far we have been on our elbows, but now we are absolutely flat. Our heads never rise above the top of the grass. We avoid the larger plants in case their movement betrays our presence. We go forward like two shadows. If it can spot us like this, there's nothing else I can do.
We get to the top, but can see nothing but grass. I don't dare to raise my head. We must find a gap. Babsie crawls forward, slowly pushing the rucksack in front of him. I stay behind; until I need to get into a shooting position, I'm not going to risk moving. Babsie is now 30ft. ahead of me, and has put the rucksack in the correct position. He signals with his finger that I can come forward.
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My face is almost brushing the ground. I worry that the buck will see the gun barrel wobbling on my back.
Babsie risks getting up on his elbows, but he is still half-covered. There is a bush between him and the buck and he can watch it under the lower branches. I reach him, but I'm afraid to look up.
With his open palm Babsie indicates that I must not move. The buck is already looking! The seconds slowly pass; I stare at the ground, aware only of the smell of the grass. I haven't been able to take one glance at the antelope. When we first saw it only its horns were visible above the grass. They were what made Babsie decide it was worth stalking. Still crawling, I sidle up behind the rucksack, after being hidden by it for the last 9ft. My guide helps me with the rifle strap. He can risk a little more movement than I can.
I slide the gun onto the rucksack.
I slowly raise the visor on my cap to the level of the gunsight...
I remove the lens cover...
Now I can see it...
It looks in our direction ... it isn't running yet, but it must be suspicious. Motionless, it keeps looking towards us. I can see its chest... 855ft. I can either risk a shot now, or wait for it to turn side-on. But, usually, if a pronghorn moves, it starts to run. Then I'll have no chance at all, specially from this distance.
What shall I do?
It's my decision now, Babsie's done all he can. The reticle is focused on its chest, the gun is cocked, I start to pull the trigger. Just a couple of millimeters to go before the gun fires. I wait in this position. It might have heard or seen something because, very slowly, it turns to its left. No, it's still far from being side-on, but I do have a better view.
I fire immediately.
A hit; Babsie gives a shout ... but it hasn't fallen. It wasn't exactly on target. It runs down the hill and we follow, waiting for it to collapse. Babsie runs back to the Polaris and I wait, not going any closer. I don't want to frighten it. When the vehicle has arrived we'll try to intercept it; Babsie thinks he knows, where it is heading, if it has the strength to struggle on. We get closer, but, once more, all we can see are the horns ... We are now only 90ft. away so I reduce the magnification of the riflescope. Babsie whistles to me to shoot, and as it stands up slowly, BANGG!!! The blaser knocks it over, this time for good.
PRONGHORN!
Here is the antelope right in front of me!
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I give a loud yell, and all the tension is gone!
We finally got it! We managed to outwit it! We outfoxed those famous eyes! Our cunning plan worked! I touch the beautiful, curved horns with indescribable pleasure. I acqaint myself with this remarkable head ornament, I've never seen anything like it before. It is a very special animal with a beautiful coat. In my mind it's more suited to the African savannah. We take lots of photos, using a still camera and a video, while we discuss the events over and over. My mood remains high; patiently Babsie takes what is probably the 100th picture.
Then he starts to gut it.
He specifically shows me the heart; it is well worth a look. Compared to the size of the animal, it is huge. So this is the secret of its speed and stamina! A huge motor to pump the blood to the muscles, to provide the much needed oxygen. When the work is finished we open the cool-box standing on the Polaris' rack. One after the other the coke cans are opened, and I start to eat
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Toni's excellent lunch. It is hot and we are hungry and thirsty from our great hunt. The antelope is put on the loading space. I ask Babsie if I can have a go driving this machine for a while. He agrees, and I take the wheel. I step on the gas and the prairie flies by! But what's that up ahead in the grass? A stone, but it doesn't matter, we'll go over it.
No, we won't.
There's a sharp sound of grating metal, and the Polaris half-pulls the rock out of the ground. We almost go through the windshield. Babsie is enjoying it so much that he is crying with laughter and beating his knees. He's the type of guy who thinks life is basically funny. There's nothing in which he couldn't find something to laugh at. I love hunting with people like this! He isn't angry with me, and says a good machine should be able to put up with a certain amount of rough use.
He does not even want to take over the wheel.
We are driving back to the car. Suddenly, some birds rise up in front of us...
Hungarian partridge - that's what Babsie calls them!
Honest. Here, exactly 5117mi. from my home, I meet some Hungarian birds! This bird (Rotes Rebhuhn) is officially known as the Hungarian partridge over here. Babsie wasn't just using this name out of politeness to me. Flying ambassadors of the Hungarian hunt, right here in Montana! I am almost bursting with pride! Yes, at this time of year, if someone here is looking for birds to shoot, their choice will mainly be Hungarian partridge! (And sharptail. The information about the pheasant hunt was wrong: it is not the season.)
We quickly take a 20 caliber, plastic-butted, pump-action shotgun from the gun-rack, and try to follow the birds. We're actually equipped for an antelope hunt, but, even though we don't have a dog with us, why not take a walk around the area as we are already here. I move away from Babsie - he's not hunting and the wind is coming from his direction. If a bird rises it will fly towards me. I'm in a good position; six partridge fly up in front of me. I take a shot... one falls.
We search and search, but cannot find it. It glided down; it was a bad shot. This is when we need a dog; we'll never find it.
A couple of hundred feet away more birds rise. I empty the whole magazine, and Babsie gives a yell with every shot; the birds are happy too: not one has been hit. I don't really care - I feel as if we are related. We come to the banks of a small creek, where the vegetation is lusher; if we can't find birds here, we won't find them anywhere. They rise in front of Babsie and fly towards me.
The shotgun roars, a flight is broken, and the Hungarian lands 30ft. away from me. I'm staring at my dead relative and I hope it isn't too upset that I've shot it so far from its original home. Now my
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success in America is complete - even with a shotgun! The weather is great, my companion is excellent, and I've shot both fowl and big game... ! What more do I need?
This is what I call, a good day's hunting!
Slowly we return to the jeep and trailer. We leave the Polaris behind as Babsie's brother is going to use it next. We head for home; our long hunt is over. When we arrive, we leave the game at the house of a friend of my guide; he will look after it from now on. His name is Tony, but he's not at home. His house is wide open; only a lazy black cat is guarding the valuables.
Back at Babsie's house , our headquarters, we collect the latest parcel to send back home - the result of my shopping trip to Cabela's in Billings... - and drive to the post-office. The woman at the post-office bursts out laughing: I'm still wearing the earmuffs up on my forehead. I'm so used to them, I don't notice them anymore. We manage to send the parcel in 30 minutes. This sleepy, small-town post-office is quite excited at having to send a parcel to Hungary. They've never done anything like this before. We study the tariffs and forms together. On the way back we drop in at the local hunting shop; Babsie knows everybody here. Eventually we get home.
The shower at Babsie's is so complicated that it takes me 15 minutes to work it out. There are six shower-heads, out of which water may, or may not come. There are three levers, two of which have three settings. The combined setting of these levers determines which shower-heads work and the temperature of the water. By the time I've managed to get warm water to come from the top, the lower ones run cold. When I get the lower shower-heads to produce warm water, I get nothing from the top. When I manage to get warm water from the upper part again, the side ones start spouting boiling water at me. This requires an engineer, not an internet expert...
Babsie Bishop's House
Malta