Texas Aoudad, The Rancher's Aoudad

    Yesterday I took a great markhor on the Record Buck Ranch, a 40,000 acre spread in the famed Hill Country of Texas, near the town of Utopia. I spent nine hours at a water hole, after trying to spot and stalk the animals for several early morning hours. My patience paid off when I got a terrific markhor by simply waiting them out. Chef Raul, the best cook I’ve ever encountered in any hunting camp, fed us well while we told and retold the tale of taking such a fabulous trophy.
    Since that hunt only took two days, I have a little time to play around. I inquire about other animals available on the ranch, and find out that aoudad are plentiful, though they are always extremely hard to hunt. My guide, Tony MacKinzey, tells me he knows where the animals hang out, but he has had great difficulty getting hunters onto them. Aoudad are all eyes, ears, and noses, and they run in large groups, so the collective information they gather is immense and highly protective. Spot-and-stalk in this Hill Country terrain, with its dense juniper and oak thickets, and its noisy, rocky ground, is almost out of the question. On the positive side, Tony tells me there is a huge old aoudad that everyone has sought for the past two years without success. The owner of the ranch looks for him every time he comes to stay in the big house, and has even taken a couple of unsuccessful shots at the animal. Tony believes he has a plan that will put us in range of the animal.
    It is still dark as we approach a camouflaged blind where we will spend the day, between a food plot and a water hole. The setup reminds me of the markhor hunt of the day before, so I am certain I am in for a long wait once more. There is a full moon, so I fear that perhaps the animals may have fed and watered during the night and might not show up. I learned yesterday on the markhor hunt that Tony’s instincts are excellent regarding what animals may or may not do, so I gladly climb into the blind. I have my cameras at ready, because in this spot one never knows what might appear.
    Night creeps over the bizarre landscape, revealing a towering mountain to our northeast, its rocky face illuminated by the quickening light. We are facing that direction, and are privileged to witness a spectacular dawn, a painting only the Creator himself could compose. Several red stags appear, and as light improves I snap telephoto pictures of the animals, some of which appear to be real trophies. But I am here only for aoudad, and these pictures are for pleasure only. Wild pigs also visit, as well as two big bull elk, all of them entertaining us. We see several dominance battles, none of which leads to any serious hostilities, but they are interesting to watch. I wonder how many nonhunters, apart from television shows, have seen such sights as are common in front of us right now. I am truly grateful for the privilege of just being here.
    Time on stand for me always wears on like the ticking of a grandfather clock. I have developed patience from years of hunting whitetails, and I will wait in like manner for aoudad, too. I break out my rangefinder and determine the distance to several key points, noting the top of the nearest steep terrain is 406 yards away, while the timber line is 221, and the opposite side of the feeding area and water hole is 156.
    Tony parked the truck not far behind the blind this morning, hidden by a clump of junipers. It should be no factor, we think. We finally spot our quarry, a large band of aoudad, very near the top of the small mountain at our left front. They have started down the mountain, but now all are stopped, looking straight at us. Have they seen us move in the blind? We can’t be sure, but as quickly as they appeared, they disappear, with only a couple of stragglers holding back to tantalize us from the skyline. After an hour, these also disappear, leaving us wondering what happened.
    We discuss a climb up the mountain to have a look. Tony doesn’t think much of the idea, though as a mountain hunter I can’t help but imagine that a long climb and a look might pay off.
    “In the first place,” says Tony, “You can’t sneak up on aoudad, no matter where they are. They’ve got too much in the way of senses. Second, that mountain is covered with loose rock, and we’d sound like a bulldozer. Even if we got up there without them detecting us, you probably couldn’t see them because the brush is twenty feet deep. Even if you were able to spot some of them, you probably wouldn’t see the biggest ones. Finally, every time I try that approach, when I get to the top of the mountain, the aoudad are already on the next mountain over and well out of range.”
    I ponder his words, which seem like wisdom to me. Stalks in heavily forested terrain are always pretty iffy, at best. I decide to stick with Tony’s instincts on the matter, though I do have one thought to add.
    “They wanted to come down, but they didn’t. There’s got to be a reason. I think they might see your truck, or at least a little patch of it, shining through the bushes,” I say to Tony. He rubs his chin, thinking.
    “You could be right,” he finally says. “These critters are sharp. If they see even a shiny or bright spot they aren’t accustomed to seeing, they might stay away completely.”
    “Maybe we should move it?”
    “We’ll go to lunch in a couple of hours, and we’ll leave the truck and walk back from a half mile down the road.”
    “You go get lunch. I’m staying right here. If they hear you leave, they might just descend on this place en masse,” I muse, not feeling very hungry anyway. “Just bring me an apple and a bottle of water.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yep. I’m not going anywhere. You said the aoudad would show up, and I believe you. I don’t want to be eating Raul’s famous enchiladas when they do.”
    “Okay,” he agrees. Noon comes and goes, and Tony slips out the back of the blind and leaves, the noisy diesel sound fading gradually. When he returns, I have nothing to show for my wait except more tiredness in my bones from just sitting, though several more red deer have fed, watered, and left. Tony is true to his word, and I savor the bright red apple and bottle of water he bears. He also has some excellent beef jerky.
    It is 1:34 P.M. when we finally see another aoudad. They appear in a most unexpected place, in a cleft between the mountains, an opening in the junipers carved decades ago by a bulldozer. There are aoudad everywhere, it seems, though a count shows only thirteen. They walk cautiously into the opening and begin feeding as I silently ready my rifle. None of the animals appears outstanding to me, and indeed Tony turns thumbs down.
    “Not a taker in the bunch,” he states in a whisper, a little bit of disgust creeping into his voice. I watch in fascination, enjoying my first close look at this species of animal, and try to make one grow a little. One animal actually is significantly bigger than the others, and has an excellent mane and chaps, but Tony insists it has horns only about twentyfour inches in length, much below what he expects. All the aoudad depart suddenly in a big hurry, apparently spooked by a large herd of approaching pigs.
    We see many more red stag, elk, and pigs, all within easy range. The only shots fired, however, are with my camera. Time drags on, though seldom do we find ourselves bored. There is too much going on out front to be disinterested. Hopes for an aoudad today are fading with the sinking sun, however, and we begin to quietly plan our strategy for tomorrow. There is another place we can try on a different part of the huge ranch.
    Now the sun is gone as we are engulfed in the shadows of rocky, picturesque hills behind us. The chill of early evening is upon us, and I put on my down vest. I have been in the blind almost twelve hours now, but in my mind today hasn’t been a failure. It has been a great day of hunting that I will never forget.
    “I see an animal in the edge of the brush,” comments Tony, a little nonchalant. “Is that another elk?”
    I flash my binoculars to the spot, and can clearly see the V-shaped horns of an aoudad from my position!
    “Aoudad!” I whisper, incredulous. “No, now there are two of them! No, more. And more!”
    We watch in awe as more than thirty aoudad enter the opening from the tree line. They are wary, constantly stopping and looking, and several appear to be mature males. I ready my rifle, because I am willing to take one of the largest at this point. Tony is more reserved.
    “Big boy isn’t here,” he says, disappointment obvious in his voice. “None of those out there are likely to make thirty inches. But I’d take the largest one, if I were you.”
    I sight in on the animals, which are now milling together so snugly that any shot will be hazardous. As I watch through my scope, Tony taps me on the shoulder and points toward the thick junipers from which the herd 204 Big Game Adventures • Annual / Convention Issue 2006 emerged.
    “Another one! Now that’s a really good aoudad!” he exclaims softly as he inspects the creature through his binoculars.
    I can see he’s right! This one is truly exceptional, and even a novice aoudad hunter like me can see the difference. I sight in on the new arrival, and watch as he approaches, hoping desperately he will pause. I would risk a longer shot to cut him off before he begins mingling dangerously with the tightly-bunched herd. I steady my rifle and follow him, but he actually breaks into a run as he nears the group, then plunges right into the middle of them. Several back off respectfully, but not enough so that a clear shot presents.
    Now I find myself in a true dilemma. I have the aoudad of my dreams in my sights, but there is always another animal either in front of him or behind him, and most of the time both. Light is failing, and it looks more and more like my opportunity may be ruined. I follow the large set of horns desperately, hoping for a break. It seems like a dozen minutes, and I’m starting to cramp a little from holding the rifle. I struggle a little to get a better rest, and pray that the animal will step clear before the whole herd retreats.
    Finally, I can see the big one with nothing behind him. A female is still between me and him, and I watch closely as the herd begins to close in once more. The top of the nearer animal’s back is almost halfway up on the ram’s chest, but it is now or never. I aim just above the center of the chest cavity and squeeze the trigger.
    There is a terrific commotion at the boom of the Remington 700, and I’m not certain if I’ve done well or not until Tony sticks out his hand in congratulations! The 7mm Ultramag has done its job, and I am elated. There on the ground is my aoudad, kicking a little in its dying throes. All the others have fled with no injury whatsoever.
    We approach in light that is declining drastically, and both of us are amazed at the size of the animal. I place my hand on the animal, then bow my head and give thanks verbally to God for the success, and for my guide’s diligence and patience. Back at the skinning shed, ranch manager Jim Fejes measures the animal. My aoudad has bases of more than thirteen inches, the right horn is slightly broomed and measures 33 inches, and the left is 35 inches and some change. It is the end of a two-year quest to take this particular aoudad, and I was blessed be the one to take him, and on the first day I hunted him!
    The only downside is well expressed by both Jim and Tony. They are afraid they might be out of a job, because I shot the owner’s aoudad! I hope they are only kidding, but I can’t be completely sure. I do know one thing: I am ecstatic over my entire experience at the Record Buck Ranch—and I haven’t even hunted one of their famous bucks!
    J.Y. Jones is an eye surgeon and the author of seven books and over two hundred hunting articles. Visit his web site at www.jyjones.com.