HuntingStories9WhiteOakRam20043

After waiting a bit we took off in search of the band. What followed was a chase that seemed to go on forever. We first caught up with them at a creek juncture but they had banded up close together with eyes out. We had to sneak along trying to get within range but they were a good 47 yards away. Not a preferable distance for a shot but one I was willing to take under ideal circumstances which this one wasn't. We closed the gap using terrain between us and the rams. This seemed to work better as even though we had been keeping vegetation between us and the eyes of the band they were still able to pick us up. We waited in this position for some time hoping they might "single out" so I wouldn't get a "2 for one shot." The rams never did and headed up another ridge.

We took off after them again and Bob said they'd probably be waiting for us right on top and that I should take the lead. I did and eased up the steep shale bank. I peeked over the top of the ridge and saw a corsican ram behind a fallen tree not 15 yards away. Hoping the barbarossa was with him I knocked an arrow and stood up hoping to get a shot. The rams wouldn't have it and they spotted me and took off across the ridge. Bob quickly said, "Get on the end of the ridge and I'll try driving them to you." Well I did and he took off after them. The plan worked to perfection. The whole band came by at 17 yards! However, they were grouped up and offered no shot. They safely crossed up into a valley.

I told Bob that it worked but I couldn't get them to "single out." He understood and we went after them again. This time we kept a creek bottom between us and the rams but it was rather open and they wouldn't let us get any closer than 50 or so yards, just on the far side of bow range. We were ready to call in re-inforcements. Bob got on the radio with another one of the guides who was apparently on the top of the ridge. He told him to come down and try to break the rams up, especially the spanish goats who seemed to be leading the entire pack. Well, he did and it worked. About half of them went up the ridge and the other half worked their way back to us. In it was my barbarossa. I picked my ambush point and lasered the distance to my shooting lane - 32 yards. It was do-able if they would just single out. Closer and closer the ram got but as the saying goes, "safety in numbers" proved to be true for the barbarossas again. They walked right through my shooting lane, shoulder to shoulder knowing full well what the hell they were doing and purposefully trying to piss me off. It was working. I whistled, yelled, did everything I could to get them to stop but instead they just ran off!

I quickly went down into the bottom with Bob in tow saying, "If we can just cut them off down by the creek you might be able to get a shot." We had been playing tag all day and I honestly didn't expect that we'd catch up with them. However, we had about 30 yards of ridge between us and them without any chance of them seeing us. Bob peaked over the ridge and saw them, "Brad they're right there!, move up there and take your shot if it presents itself." I did, moving right behind a large tree and the three barbarossa rams were waiting in the bottom. Again they were banded up with all eyes outward! Bob said, "I'll move down the creek and come up. There's ta pretty steep trail moving up that shale bank and I expect that they'll single out to go up it if they don't keep following the creek up." Sounded good to me and sure enough it worked! As Bob moved up the creek, the rams started going up the trail but it was a steep quartering away shot. I took out my laser rangefinder and ranged the opening I had 37 yards. As the second ram singled out and stopped, I let loose an arrow. I felt a "flick" on my hunting jacket and knew my bowstring had hit my arm. Damn it! I heard the telltale "thump" of a hit but really wasn't sure of the shot. Bob and the other guide who'd broken up the band earlier, Robert, came down and said, "That's a hit!" I told him about the bowstring slapping my arm and couldn't tell how good a hit it was. Bob said, "That's a tough shot, angling away like that." I was aiming about 3 ribs behind the left shoulder when I let loose the arrow. We followed behind the wounded ram and looked through binoculars and could see the hit had been deep but the angle seemed right. But about another 30 or 40 yards later, the ram collapsed! The 72 pound PSE and 32 inch arrows driving my 125 grain Muzzy broadheads had done their job. Upon examination, the arrow had struck about 6 inches in front of the left hind quarter but had angled up through the chest and out the other side stopping in the front right leg - shiskabob! Robert and Bob congratulated me and we stopped to cool off. The morning was beautiful and though we had started out with clouds and cool temperatures it was probably pressing close to 65 or 70 now. After a few poses and pictures with my ram I said, "Well, it's time to gut this thing." Bob volunteered and though I didn't think it was right he insisted. I knew it was his job but dang it the guy that draws blood should be the bloodiest! So, I did help. I asked Bob, "How far we got to drag him?" "Oh, we'll have the 4 wheeler come pick him up and take him back to the cooler." Dang, that's nice I thought! So off we went back to the lodge to cool down and get ready for lunch.

Back at the lodge, we helped ourselves to the bountiful soda and a few snacks as Sherri wouldn't have lunch for another hour or so. That was a nice feeling. Usually, hunters back at our deer camp at the farm had to make their own breakfast after a hard morning's hunt. Bob and I sat out on the wooden chairs and relaxed, sharing stories of the morning's hunt and other topics that commonly pop up during such guy times! We got to discussing the average hunter that comes to hunt White Oak. Bob had over 14 years of guide experience on the preserve and had seen all sorts of hunters too numerous to count. He said that the CEO of Debier's Diamond Retailers comes frequently to hunt and said that a person's first thought would be that this is some corporate business dick who would be so big on himself that nobody could stand to be near him. Not so. Of all the folks he's guided, Bob said there were about a handful of guys that were true assholes. He's met a lot of wealthy people but they were just as nice and honest as his neighbors. I got to asking about the guys that were currently in camp - the Chicago and Indianapolis crew. They were "big money" folks but were nice to be around. Their ring-leader Rick wasn't the best marksman according to Bob. Rick had been going to White Oak for at least one trip every year for over 12 years. Never had he made a one shot kill save for one. All the others were ugly shots - from animals running into the lake to chases lasting hours on end. Not exactly a good sportsman I had thought though I didn't say a word. About that time we had heard multiple shots coming from the direction that "Reload Rick" had went out to hunt that morning. One shot, followed by another, then another, and another. This went on for some time and I had counted 16 shots at least. Finally, the shooting ended and we heard the truck fire up in our direction. I told Bob, "That's gotta be 'Reload Rick' though in all honesty it could've been any of that crew for all I knew. True to my prediction, it ended up being Rick. He had shot a javelina with a 45 semi-automatic pistol. Apparently, the little bugger came chasing him up a ridge after Rick had shot him. The only thing between him and the javelina was a big tree and Rick sought refuge behind it. Apparently javelina can be more agressive as wild boar due to their small size and agility. Rick found this out first-hand as the javelina swung around the tree and Rick fired in desperation around the tree!