When Pronghorns are Scarce, Every Chance Needs to Count

Antelope hunts often feature plentiful numbers, but when that's not the case you have to make the most of your opportunities.

August 07, 2025 By Kyle S. Lipke

“You drew that unit for antelope?” my brother quipped. It wasn’t a reply of optimism but rather a passive way of asking why I ever applied for the hunt.

This particular New Mexico Game Management Unit was vast, with scant numbers of pronghorns. Unlike most antelope hunts, finding animals was not going to be a simple task. Adding in the reality that I would be spot-and-stalk bowhunting made the odds of tagging a buck seem even bleaker.

Acknowledging my brother, I said, “It’s not going to be easy, but it only takes one.”

The Search Begins

With brilliant cracks of lightning littering the night sky, I made the solo drive to my unit. Getting to where I wanted to start in the morning, I pulled off the two-track road and threw down my sleeping bag and pad for a few short hours of sleep. I arose with the predawn light, boiled some water for coffee, downed a protein bar, made sure my bow was good to go and started my glassing routine. The country that I was hunting was flat, interspersed with soaptree yuccas. Driving to different locations where I had seen antelope in the past, I stopped every couple hundred yards, or whenever I thought new country was exposed, to survey the landscape. Taking advantage of every height increase I could get, I pulled over to glass from the sides of windmills and water tanks. When those weren’t an option, I settled for the back bumper of my Jeep.

hunter using windmill to glass and scout for antelope — As I traveled through my hunt unit, I used every possible vantage point to glass for speed goats, including water tanks and windmills.

Ten o’clock rolled around and I had yet to spot a single antelope. Knowing there was ground that I couldn’t cover solely by glassing from the roads, I decided to change things up. Looking forward to stretching out my legs and covering some country on foot, I cinched down my trail shoes, slung my pack on and grabbed my bow.

Keeping the wind in my face, I headed off into a mess of yuccas. Moving slowly and methodically, I frequently paused to dissect the area. With so few antelope, I wanted to spot them before they could lay eyes on me.

As I continued with my systematic approach, I kept envisioning bucks I had seen in prior years. I just needed one that I could make a play on. Using some yucca stalks for cover, I pulled up my 12x50s and continued with the routine. While still peering through glass, I swung to my right. A buck appeared as if coming from nowhere. At a tad over 300 yards, he had no clue I was there.

Making a Move

Wanting to make sure there weren’t any other antelope, I spent a few more minutes glassing, finding only a doe. Surprised there weren’t more, I was glad to know there was just one other set of eyes to worry about. Doing my best to keep yuccas between me and the prairie goats, I started working my way in. Having made it no more than 50 yards, I realized that I was going to run out of cover. So, I kept my profile low and retraced my steps. Once I got back to where I started, I reevaluated my stalk. A few hundred yards to my right, the desert floor dipped down several feet in elevation with a heavier concentration of yuccas. If I took my time, I could loop out of sight and still have a favorable wind. I just had to make sure that after I closed the distance, I spotted the antelope first.

Skirting several hundred yards out of sight, I rose out of the drainage, slowed my pace and checked the wind. I was still good to go. Working my way forward, I frequently glassed ahead, thinking the antelope would be in view at any point. Coming up to a dirt road, I moved up the bar ditch. Having not seen the antelope for over half an hour, I was concerned that they had moved, or I had bumped them.

Keeping faithful to my binoculars, I continued combing the yucca forest. Moving forward a few steps, I noticed a small black mass to my left. A quick glance through my binoculars revealed the tops of the buck’s horns. He had bedded down. I soon found the doe that had also bedded down several yards to the right. With both antelope facing away, I crouched over and hustled to a clump of yuccas. This put the couple less than 200 yards away; however, the new position allowed the doe to spot me if I were to scramble for a few more yards. So, I remained kneeling behind cover and contemplated my next move.

bowhunter crawling and ranging pronghorn antelope — The unit I was hunting features wide-open expanses with sparse cover, making keeping a low profile and even belly crawling essential to the hunt.

Rolling onto my stomach, I began to bellycrawl, keeping yuccas between me and the pronghorns. Trying my best to remain undetected, I slowly slid myself forward. Making it 20 yards to a trio of yuccas, I peeked around the side to make sure the antelope were still bedded, then slumped beneath the small piece of shade. Though minimal, it was welcomed. I was drenched in sweat, and my exposed skin was getting baked.

The doe stood up to feed just as I was gulping down water from my hydration bladder. If I crawled, she would likely see me, so I sat tight. She meandered further to my right, continuing to graze. Just as I thought she was going to wander off and I might get a one-on-one stalking opportunity at the buck, he stood up and began following her. As they fed, they started getting closer. Soon they were 120 yards and closing. I nocked an arrow and rolled to my knees, hoping they would feed close enough for a shot. Suddenly, the doe took off, taking the buck out of sight. The wind was cutting crossways, but not enough for the antelope to wind me. I also knew they hadn’t seen me. They simply decided it was time to move.

Docking my arrow in my quiver, I began the process of spotting the antelope all over again. I figured they didn’t go far. So, I reverted to cautiously stopping and glassing. Moving my way in and out of the yuccas, it didn’t take long for this tactic to prove effective. Traveling just a couple hundred yards, I again picked out the buck by finding the tops of his jet-black horns. The doe was napping just a handful of yards to his right.

With the wind in my favor, I went back to army crawl mode, aiming for a clump of bristly yuccas. Inching along the ground, my hands and knees began to blister as I pressed them into 90-degree sand. Nonetheless, I stayed committed to slipping in undetected.

Slowly but surely, I made it to the yuccas. I kept tabs on the buck as I crawled but wasn’t sure how far he was. When I sat up against a yucca, I ranged the buck’s head at 102 yards.

With the buck looking the other way, I tucked myself under the yucca. Hardly getting a chance to consider what to do next, the doe stood up to feed. The buck followed suit, walking straight at me. At 96 yards, the pronghorn bedded down in the open, seemingly glaring right at me. Hidden behind dried, yellow sheaves, I was sure he couldn’t see me, but I didn’t dare move.

bowhunter practicing shooting at long range — Prior to the hunt, I practiced regularly until I was comfortable shooting out to a distance of 70 yards.

Ten minutes later, the buck leveled up on his feet, sauntering toward the doe. Once the buck’s eyes were blocked, I repositioned to my knees and nocked an arrow. The buck cut to the right at 85 yards, broadside. Wanting a shot at 70 yards or less, I waited. The buck then turned, walking directly away from me. With brush between us, I almost jumped up, stayed low and moved to the next yucca, which would have put me within shooting distance. I held off though, because I couldn’t do so without spooking the doe.

Staying put, I observed the doe lead the buck further from bow range. Hours spent with my face in the dirt had gotten me so close, but not close enough. The good thing was they still had no idea I was there. There was plenty of daylight left; I just needed to stay patient and persistent.

I hadn’t covered much ground before most cover dissipated. I weighed my options. If I tried to sneak in, I was going to get picked off long before I could get a shot. So, I planned to move 10 yards over to a bush that provided a bit more cover. I would hang out there until the antelope moved to a better position or the sun set. If need be, I would wait for the last minutes of light to make another move.

I waited for the pronghorns to put their heads down before making a dash to the bush. Sitting down, I pulled up my binoculars and to my disgust, found the doe looking my way. I don’t know if my timing was bad or if I had gotten sloppy, but the doe must have merely caught some movement. With her head up, she began meandering toward me. The buck remained feeding, unalarmed. I sat still, thinking I had blown it. As the doe eased in closer, the buck started trailing behind her.

Putting It Together

bowhunter posing with downed New Mexico pronghorn antelope — On the afternoon of my first day of hunting, I was able to capitalize on this pronghorn buck with an almost 60-yard shot.

The doe seemed more curious than alert, quickly covering ground. Soon, she was within a hundred yards and still coming. Realizing I might get a shot opportunity, I clipped an arrow onto my bowstring. Both goats kept coming, swinging to my right. I transitioned to a kneeling position as the buck walked behind a couple of yucca stalks. When he walked out, he was at 70 yards. By this time, the doe was about 50 yards and swung to the right, attempting to get my wind. She began stomping her hooves and snorting, but the buck stayed the course.

Ranging him at 65 yards, I slid my sight to 60, knowing he was going to walk a few more steps. Once his head went behind a yucca stalk, I came to full draw. The buck walked out and halted. I was already settled into my anchor point though, with my fiber-optic pin floating on the buck’s side. I released and watched as the buck cut over to the doe, unscathed. Immediately, I nocked another arrow.

The buck was now 59 yards and quartering toward me. I waited, hoping he would turn broadside. Instead, the buck pivoted, facing me straight on. Coming two steps forward, he reverted to the quartering angle.

In one quick motion, I pulled back, set my sight pin midway up the buck’s chest, at the front crease of the shoulder, and let the arrow fly. The pronghorn whirled, breaking into a sprint. My heart rate spiked as I saw bright green fletching sticking out the buck’s side. Trying to keep up with the doe, I watched as the buck slid into a yucca, ran a few more yards and took a nosedive. He was dead in seconds.

bowhunter raises his arms in celebration as he approaches pronghorn antelope — There’s nothing quite like the feeling of beating a pronghorn’s keen eyesight and executing a successful stalk.

Letting my emotional high ease, I made my way to the buck. During the five hours I spent stalking him, I had endeavored not to study his headgear. Now, as I knelt in awe of the buck’s beauty, I admired his heavy, curved horns. It was a blessing to have killed such a mature animal.

When I arrived home later that night, I pulled my pronghorn out and shared the story with my brother. He was surprised I killed such a nice buck, in that unit, on the first day.

I grinned and said, “I told you — it only takes one.”