The Journey of Death

Once again the winds of fate had blown me to a strange place. I found myself in the heart of some of the most desolate country in North America. These lands were hideouts of outlaws, Apaches and lost legends. Aptly named, Jorannado Del Muretje, The Journey of Death, by the Conquistadors who braved this vast unknown in searches for Kingdoms and Cities of Gold in what is now today’s central New Mexico. But 400 years ago was just yesterday. 270 million years before the Spaniards arrived with their history changing horses this area was a prehistoric volcanic death zone, hissing with poison air and molten lava flows and fearsome creatures long extinct. Things had settled down and brightened up a bit in the last few million years. The risk of getting snatched by a Terradactyl or T-Rex was slim but it still was no Garden of Eden. It was bone dry area and we had backpacked far into its barren heart where we would make our last stand. Or what we thought would be our last stand. Fate had something else in mind.

We were after Oryx or Gemsbok as the Africans still call them. About 50 years ago a politician had gotten one right. Governor Boland an avid International big game hunter had thought that Oryx and Persian Ibex might fit in nicely to some of the most barren parts of New Mexico and he was right. The Oryx were tough hombres and had roots to the hardest and driest deserts in Africa. They were freed on the White Sands missile range a land so vacant they knew before they touched off the first atomic bomb no matter what happened nobody was going to miss it. The wild card was how they might adjust to the sometime subfreezing weather. Against the odds the Oryx thrived to the point that they needed to bring their numbers down they finally allowed two three day hunts a year on the highly secure and restricted missile range. Not only do the Oryx make a striking and handsome trophy, they have the most delicious meat of any game animal in North America. And those that might differ have just not had it yet.

Oryx are known to be ornery, hard headed, tough and have minds of their own. No wonder they fit into the west so nicely. Some had wandered off the base onto the surrounding lands. Not wanting the Oryx to spread any further the New Mexico game commission set up a year round hunt for the “Off Range” animals. You don’t have to have much of an imagination to know that the already spooky Oryx with razor sharp eyesight that will stack up to Pronghorns and nervous natures became very elusive quarry after this year round hunt year after year. Somebody was always out to kill them and they learned quickly or died even quicker. Add in the vast area they wander, ability to go days and days without water, and sparse numbers I knew it was going to be a tough hunt. All hunts done right in the West are physical and when 50 is fading in the rear view mirror they get tougher every year.

Tough is just what JP my hunting buddy likes likes. A John Ford cowboy look alike he had tasted the glory and dirt of low budget rodeo arenas throughout New Mexico and Texas. He told me the wildest of the wild were the impromptu “Indian Rodeos” where wild mustangs were rounded up on the reservation for breaking. He said the word would get out and Bronco breakers and dare devils would show up and “give her a go.” No bleachers, sponsors, silver tongued announcers or waiting ambulances here. Usually they were held in a holding pen, cattle corral or sometimes the open prairie. The waiting contestants and spectators stood in the backs of pickup trucks or draped over the fence edge drinking beer waiting your turn whooping on the action. Rodeo at it’s purest. At times there was betting from people who made hard livings and sometimes bad judging was settled with a fist fight. JP shook his head “it was crazy shit”

From what I knew a single-minded focus to get it done is the main ingredient for standing any sort of a chance to bag an off range Oryx where success rates are low single digits. JP is not just tough, he is smart and came up with a hunt plan that had me nodding as I heard it. Not only was it full of raw tough adventure that would push us more than we could then imagine once the hunt unfolded, it made tactical sense as to where these off range Oryx just might be given their relentless pursuit. JP had hunted in one of the areas a decade earlier finding his own needle in a haystack taking a beautiful bull.

Mike Tyson once said, “Everybody’s got a plan until they get punched in the face.” We were heading in our second week and my eyeballs and brain were numb from endless glassing. If one has the idea that this might be a hunt of soft morning blushes across Socorro cactus and pastels of desert wildflowers you would be sadly mistaken. It is an endless sea of wiry bushes dried and dead mesquite thickets, dirt, sharp rocks, volcanic ash and some stubborn wisps of grass and scrub and more dirt. It was some of the most barren and just downright ugly country I had ever seen.

But it was not without life. We were treated to occasional coveys of quail scurrying and fluttering here or there. Road runners; feathered Velicoraptors in contrast to cartoon images and some of the most relentless killers on a search and destroy missions of their own. Horny toads bristling with bone spikes and armor as terrifying to their small prey as a T- Rex would be to me. Hand sized tarantulas, bizarre multicolored thumb sized grasshoppers and skinny coyotes scampering across the horizon. Life always seems to find a way to exist, but their sightings were rare across this blank repetitive canvas.

We hadn’t seen a single Oryx. The initial hunt buzz was long gone and I was truly thinking this is pretty hopeless.

Our hail Mary was going to be in the Del Muretje I had spoke of earlier. The area is completely dry most of the time except for a few flash downpours a year. We couldn’t risk not finding water and would have to carry it in.

A wilderness area that only allows footprints or hoof prints. According to JP we wouldn’t see a soul. I chuckled to myself thinking of the three other people we had seen in the last two weeks and thought so now it gets lonely. JP grinned “Anyone alive anyways” The area is filled with legend of ghosts, lost patrols, Apache attacks and hidden caches. I found that in the region there is legend of a cave with a lost Calvary patrol now sitting skeletons in dusty and tattered uniforms that was once found and lost by a miner trying to find shelter in a fire and brimstone thunder storm. The miner swore to his dying breath what he had seen and they were out there and never found again. After all it is called the Journey of Death. The land is steeped with legend and death and had all the time in the world.

After putting several miles under our boots and ankle rolls on the baseball size lava rocks weaving our way through massive buckled sheets of lava we were coming close to where JP thought we might camp. The area was remote, a natural five mile wide corridor where the Oryx might stay away from the road hunters. If desolation was the goal we struck it rich. But as far as Oryx go we did three days in there and saw nary a track.

Pulling the cord was pretty much long overdue as we approached the end of week two. JP was relentless had one more last ditch effort in mind “They’re here I just know it”. Hell JP didn’t even have a tag he just wanted to be there for the hunt.

One more back pack over-nighter as the last full measure. We loaded our packs and the load was cutting in to pains of previous hikes of the last weeks. Several miles in looking about for a suitable spot to camp. Our heads snapped up in unison when we shockingly jumped a herd of six bulls at about 80 yards. I wouldn’t have been more surprised to see Bigfoot riding a unicorn and yodeling. They ran to the ridge about 200 yards away, apparently as surprised as we were that someone was in this God –Forsaken place. They made a quick look back and then a swish of their tails were off. We tried to run across the broken lava ground with our big packs on, top heavy with water and caught a few quick glimpses of them as they fled. We had to drop the heavy packs quickly to have any chance to get a look at them again before we lost sight of them in the choppy hills and lava gorges.

We lost them. We thought they would want to get in the wide open still rattled by the close encounter and head out to the flats thousands of yards from cover. Our only chance was if they stopped out there secure in the wide open space. But they could trot for 20 miles and disappear into nothingness. It was such a surprise you could almost imagine you were seeing things.

It was 0900 and the chilly morning had given way to what was going to be a hot day. Already thirsty from the exertion and adrenaline dump we soon realized we had about eight ounces of a cold coffee drink and an apple between us and too far to turn back for our big packs and provisions. The temperature was rising. Little did we know then we would not see our packs and water until just before dark. Across the flat a mile away JP spotted the Bulls in the watery haze of heat waves standing hard alert a thousand yards from anything that looked like cover. We had a picked up a couple of spectators as three turkey vultures circled hundreds of yards above us. I couldn’t help but think it was an omen but afraid to wonder too much on just what kind.

Their hilly hideaway had been found and now they were in the open. It was a lose lose for both of us. We could see them and if we showed even the smallest bit of ourselves they would see us and it would be game up. It was the classic game on, chess match between man and prey. We were able to work our way within 600 yards of them and could see there were two stand out bulls with long black knobby-handled spears and the heavy chest and thick necks of bruiser bulls. Oryx are tough as railroad spikes; about the size of an elk it takes perfect shots to put them down. The heat waves were distorting their images in a watery wall making it difficult to make any kind of precise shot and I could see I needed to get at least 300 yards closer.

It was flat with almost zero cover but I know from a lifetime of crawling after game in the west there is always more play in the land if you are willing to hit the dirt and find some folds that I could sneak through. I have crawled through lots of the west after game and coming back with cactus and abrasions, a screaming back, a cranked neck just a little wear and tear and small badges of courage and reminder a week after the hunt is over. It looked like a giant sheet of course sandpaper, but the sand was jagged rocks the size of almonds and axe sharp. Both of us were shaking our heads about leaving our knee pads and leather crawling gloves back in the truck. Trying to keep our gear minimal with the extra load of water, we would pay a painful price now.

It was getting to be late afternoon the apple spilt and core eaten, the coffee drink long gone and the thirst was really sinking its talons in us. Both of us were light headed with thirst and had stopped sweating. Suffering is just part of the equation and there was no thought about cutting it off until we saw how this played out. The journey had been too long and hard to flinch now.

It was going to be dark in an hour and we were a couple of miles from our packs and in the rush to dump our packs earlier neither had a headlamp. Traversing this country in the dark would be impossible. If darkness overcame us the only choice would be to hunker down in the pitch back and wait for what was a rare anticipated super moon to light our way back to our packs. We pretty much had binos, a GPS (thank God JP had thought to grab it quick and mark our packs) a gun and a knife and an unfilled tag.

We were pinned down until they drifted over a slight ridge. Slowed by the nasty ground I was eventually able to work my way to within 345 yard of the bulls They were just across a small rise of Mesquite but I could only see bits and pieces of them in the brush and wasn’t sure where the two big bulls were. One the small bulls stood to his feet and hard stared back at me. A week ago I would have been thrilled to shoot any Oryx but the sight of those big bulls had put the hook in me. I know that nervous stare of game and it wasn’t good. What had gotten his attention only God knows the wind was right and we were camouflaged by heat waves and just showing the top half of our heads, but no doubt he was eyeballing us hard. I could sense he was ready to bolt. Not sure if the other bulls caught his stare or felt his vibe but soon they all were up and nervously milling about looking back. Nothing to shoot at and soon all I saw were the tips of their horns as they drifted over the ridge and out of sight. I was up and in a desperate “run” toward where I last saw them. Two weeks and they were getting away, by the time I reached the ridge I was winded lightheaded with hunger, thirst and exertion. Slowing coming to the top I spied a spot of white it was them. They had gone about 250 yards to a small rise and were looking back.

I dropped down to shoot and they saw the movement and spun and ran kicking up a rust colored veil of dust in the setting sun. They ran about 50 yards, spun again stopping to look back. I knew I had seconds to shoot. They were the haze of the sun and the first Oryx that presented a good target was going to be it. Big bull or not one was broadside. The cross hairs bounced across his shoulder with my pounding heart and I touched the trigger. The recoil and muzzle break blast of the 300 Win-Mag rocked my world and I lost sight of what I was shooting at. I cranked another in and only saw bits of hard running Oryx and the cloud of dust as they disappeared into the sunset. By now JP was next to me and he said he thought he only saw five run away…but maybe not. Neither one of us had seen anything go down.

It all seemed surreal and the desert was feeling more barren than ever as we made our way to where if the bull had gone down he would be, and then past it. Nothing….no no no… we both stopped. Certainly we had gone far enough and scanned the surrounding area. No it can’t end like this. I felt like somebody stole my soul.

Then a spot of white. There..there…!!! One’s down! I got one!!! Already mule kicked with excitement to be thrilled with any Oryx as we ran over. I was blown away by the stud bull who had dropped in his tracks from a high shoulder shot. We both roared like madmen. From zeroes to heroes!! He was one of the big two and couldn’t be more perfect. Thick knobby horns with a shiny enamel black rapiers that later stretched the tape to over 37 inches. He was as big as the six point bull elk I had downed a month earlier. His crisp , sharp markings of gunboat grey, ivory white and ink black made for one of the most striking and handsome animals that ever walked the earth. And he had come the hard way.

We marked his location and with just a little day light left and in afterglow of the waning day made our way back to our packs riding the adrenaline high through all the aches and pains and crippling thirst. Our water was hot from the day but went down like ice cold raindrops from heaven and this time we not soothing our sorrows; we had success and it is the elixir that heals all hunting woes and wounds.

Picking up our packs soon it was pitch black and our head lamps shone an eerie path across the prehistoric landscape. Our packs heavy with meat, hide, horn and the smell of blood and musk as we made our way back to camp. The promised Super-Moon, a lunar goliath rose and made for an other- worldly setting, its luminescence glow let us click off our headlamps. You could feel a strange power, a cosmic energy coming from the night heavens. We had stopped talking and the only sound in the still night was our footfalls and steady breath. Was this unexpected moon a beacon of goodness and hope or of doom and terror to those of the past? Would a baby born under it be worshiped as a King or God or banished as a Demon. It was easy to let your mind wander not only to the hunters that shared this land within a different time but hunters through millennium across the world and my primal need to hunt. Why would we be so eager to put ourselves through such an ordeal? For us this moon had brought us the best of luck and a little luck and superstition is hard to ignore in such a mysterious place when the hopeless becomes true and the moon burns bright.