Twin Elements · Hunting Stories
Punching Pronghorn Tags : Bowhunting The Fastest Animal On The Prairie
By Ayden Doumtsis
As I recall memories and moments from this hunt. Some of my fondest are the racing thoughts bouncing around in my head as we sit in the truck, driving back to camp. Honestly, a little defeated and beat up after two intense days of getting thoroughly outclassed by pronghorn. With elk and deer opener starting at first light tomorrow, it was the distraction I needed.
Pronghorn were never meant to be the headline of this Montana trip. Elk and deer had our attention going in. But after forty eight hours of getting embarrassed by an animal I’d ranked third on my priority list, I can safely say the pronghorn bug has bitten hard.
In This Report
- An Animal That Sees Everything
- The Decoy Disaster
- The Zombie Bucks
- The One That Got Away — Literally
- Three Ways to Lose a Pronghorn
- A Much Needed Break & Punching Tags In Montana
- Fourth Time Lucky
- An Old Buck’s Bent Horns
An Animal That Sees Everything
Eyes On The Prairie
Nothing prepared us for just how good their eyesight actually is. You hear “they can see for a mile” and nod along, but living and experiencing their vision capabilities first hand is different. We’d crest a ridge, careful not to skyline ourselves, spot a buck, sit down to glass and assess him and he’d have already clocked us from what had to be close to a kilometre away. There’s zero vertical cover out here. These animals bed down in the dead centre of open, flat basin by choice. Giving up shade entirely for the ability to see a threat coming from any direction. Between that and their speed, they’ve quickly become one of the most genuinely fun, humbling animals either James or I had ever hunted.
The Decoy Disaster
Flashing The Decoy
Our first real crack came after patterning a buck with roughly six does the evening before. We got up on the highest ridge in the area, dropped in from above, and found he’d actually collected two more does overnight. With eight does now, one buck, bedded in what can only be described as the middle of a football field with absolutely nothing between us and them. No trees, no cover, nothing.
With no viable approach we decided to try the decoy tactic. Neither of us had ever used a decoy, but how tricky could it be. Flash it, let the buck think a rival’s moved into his territory, and hopefully draw him in while I peeled off downwind. The plan half worked spectacularly and half fell apart immediately. The moment James flashed that white decoy on the skyline, the buck rose from his bed and started sprinting straight towards us! Full speed, with aggression, instantly. James, trying to get the decoy down and set up to film before the buck arrived, ended up scrambling backwards down the hill with the decoy flapping wildly, at one point convinced he looked, in his own words, “absolutely spastic.”
The does must’ve noticed the commotion and the whole mob bolted, and we found them again three miles away five minutes later. A total bust for our first attempt, but genuinely one of the more instructive failures of the trip, because it taught us decoying only works while you’re still unseen, and pronghorn punish sloppy execution instantly.
The Zombie Bucks
Zombie Bucks
The next real opportunity came after a two to three hour stalk on two bedded bucks. This as closer to a mule deer hunt, than a fast paced antelope stalk. We took our time, watched them feed to their beds and then closed in. Performing a large loop down through the draws to get the wind right. I eventually got to within thirty metres, tucked behind the single biggest sage bush in the valley. It was barely enough cover to hide my shape and certainly not big enough to conceal any movement associated with drawing back the bow. This meant lying flat on my back for thirty minutes rather than kneeling. The smaller buck stood, repositioned, gave nothing away. Some time later, the bigger buck, the one I actually wanted stood, turned, and immediately fixed on James’s direction with an intensity that had nothing relaxed about it. In changing his angle slightly, he’d clearly caught the smallest glimpse of camera gear breaking the skyline. Game over! They hung around for a moment, then raced off in quick fashion.
What happened next was the strangest part of the whole trip. Those two bucks between running from us, ran into another mob of pronghorn further along the ridge. Suddenly, the whole basin was consumed by chaos. Dust kicked up for miles as multiple bucks chased each other in what we started calling a zombie like trance state. Genuinely rutted up pronghorn running full figure eights across the mountain, seemingly oblivious to anything except each other. The only vertical cover anywhere in that landscape turned out to be a line of telegraph poles, so we worked pole to pole trying to close the distance. I sat behind one for the better part of an hour with nothing coming through. I became impatient and gave up, and the second I stood to regroup with James, the bucks came storming straight back toward me! I was caught in no mans land. Fifty meters from the pole i had just been using for cover. Fifty metes from where the bucks just re emerged from over the ridge. My only viable option, regressing into the prairie and laying down on my side. Incredibly, remember the zombie like description? The rutting bucks passed within twenty five metres, so consumed by their own chase that they barely registered me lying flat on my side with an arrow already nocked. I never got the clean window I needed to draw and just like that, an unlikely opportunity became an impossible feat. Unfortunately they moved off to the other side of the prairie before I could get to full draw at all.
The One That Got Away — Literally
Spot & Stalk - Death From Above
Our best shot opportunity came late the next day. It had been slow, which meant we worked for every opportunity. Making our way along a ridge line, my eyes constantly looked down to the rocky floor, then up assessing the horizon. Thats when I suddenly spotted a flash of white. The colour paired with movement acted as a beacon which my eyes darted towards. James still refers to this moment as “the prickly pear incident”. I hastily signalled for him to get down and out of sight. In doing so, he knelt straight onto a cactus sending tens of dagger like thorns threw his pants and into his leg. He must’ve spent the next twenty minutes picking spikes out of his knee, while I attempted not to lose sight of what was identified as a lone pronghorn buck. That buck eventually bedded, giving us our single best opportunity for a successful stalk. A lone buck equals less eyes. A bedded buck equals a more deliberate approach. These factors were important and turned the odds in our favour. Rather than risk closing the last stretch on level ground, I dropped out of sight and looped around to come in from above. the same tactic you see used on bedded mule deer in break country, shooting almost vertically down into a bed.
I performed the out o sight approach, climbed the rocky ridge and got above the buck. Slowly cresting the ground before me, I spotted the bucks jet black horns shining in direct sunlight. I couldn’t range a specific body part at the risk of getting skylines and spotted, although I estimated him at no more than twenty five yards. After a short period o time, true to their nature, the buck stood from his bed and scratched. He was facing away fortunately and had no clue that i was within bow range. When the wind blew hard, giving ambient noice cancellation, I drew back, rose from a kneeling to standing position and steadied the pin on the bucks vitals. I released what felt like a clean shot execution. What I didn’t account for was just how explosively a pronghorn can drop and spin off, in hat we commonly refer to as “jumping the string”! He dropped what must have been eight inches and rotated in the same motion, and my arrow sailed clean over his back. I had assumed this in real time, yet, watching the footage back was an amazing insight into how quick they move. Going frame by frame on play back, there’s genuinely no trace of him by the time the arrow arrives. This tendency to evade arrows was reminiscent, if anything, to how explosively a chital stag can duck a shot. Lesson very much learned.
Three Ways to Lose a Pronghorn
Golden Hour
Three genuinely good opportunities across just as many days and we still have a pronghorn tag in our pocket. One thing to take away from the previous few days of bowhunting pronghorn on the prairie would have too be the ready made opportunities. If you’re keen enough to hunt hard, cover country and give anything a shot, eventually, or so we though, we would catch a break.
The next chance was created late one afternoon under perfect golden hour lighting.
The Montana landscape was turning it on and in a last ditch effort, not willing to let the afternoon die, we raced towards a mob of pronghorn in the distance. Using the topography, we dropped into a draw and sidelined a ridge to get within a couple hundred yards relatively quickly.
Below us, a buck tended what must’ve been ten does. Chasing them back and forth giving an element of distraction amongst the moving parts.
The Montana decoy which we affectionately named “Gary” (the GOAT - Greatest Of All Time) was implemented as we set up on the ridge. The stage was set as I crept forward, masked behind the decoy, trying to get the bucks attention.
Flashing the decoy almost worked too well as the buck left the does behind and covered the ground to the decoy in what felt like the blink of an eye.
Fortunately i had the foresight to place an arrow on the string and have my bow ready, release in hand as he closed the distance. A couple hundred meters disappeared as the buck performed an arc from exactly behind the decoy.
Many of the bucks which we did attract over the next few weeks, seem to prefer coming from the decoys back end. Presumably, avoiding the “fighting end,” understandably.
At full draw with a bead on his heart at around thirty yards, he caught a glimpse of me beyond the decoy at the worst possible moment, and between his last second flinch and my own awkward, twisted around kneeling position, the arrow sailed three or four inches astray.
The one silver lining, the footage shows the pronghorn’s own explosive drop and turn reaction saved him again. Sending a tuft of hair flying off his brisket where the broadhead clipped him, completely harmlessly like a haircut at the barbers.
A Much Needed Break & Punching Tags In Montana
Memory Lane in Montana
The coming days were swept up amidst some incredible action. On the second day of elk season, I managed to execute my best archery shot ever and take my first bull elk.
Continuing with the momentum, days later and James managed to get a tally on the board and proved that pronghorn could be bow hunted.
Having seen James tag out on a pronghorn buck, it seemed that finally, I had the methodology in place to try for the same.
Fourth Time Lucky
Tag Three Of Six
Following true Twin Elements superstition, the day started with a chocolate milkshake in town. If you have followed along with our adventure over the years, a chocolate thick shake preceded James’s Montana bull elk back in 2023, and sure enough, preceded this hunt too.
We raced into town, asked and dried clothes, did a quick grocery shop, replenished ice, fuel for the truck and returned to the hunting grounds.
We headed back out that evening to an area we’d mostly been scouting for elk. Instead we found pronghorn rutting harder than either of us has ever witnessed: bucks urinating on themselves, head-butting does, rubbing horns against bushes and each other, kicking up dust in every direction. We eased in on foot rather than risk the vehicle, closed to around 500 metres, and settled in to watch the chaos.
An important note on this hunt. Seeing as we were in new country, we were confident this herd had never seen a decoy before. At least for this archery season. They were likely genuinely naive , un educated animals in a corner of the BLM (Block Land Management) we’d never hunted.
By the time we neared a couple hundred meters of the herd of ten pronghorn. Two young bucks and a doe eventually split off from the main mob and drew the attention of an older buck with genuinely distinctive horns. They were obviously unique and all of character, bending inward at a strange angle that made an almost complete archway rather than the usual symmetrical upward curl. Body wise he looked mature and stout. The way he showed out, rutting to and from, I whispered to James that if he closed the distance, I would have happily taken either him or his equal companion.
We held tight, observing the theatrics when things changed.
Fortunately for us, the two dominant bucks collided in a non confrontational show rather than fight which resulted in the herd scattering two directions. The bent horn buck raced across the ridge and came closer, making his way toward the two young bucks and doe which had separated earlier.
Reading the situation, I raised the decoy which instantly received the desired effect.
The buck locked on and marched toward the decoy exactly as hoped. Rather than commit in a straight line like most bucks had, he hesitantly circled wide, trying to cut the decoy’s wind.
I took this as an older, more cautious animal reading the situation more carefully than the others. That circling left me stuck lying on my side with no clean angle to draw, watching him hold at what I judged to be somewhere between thirty and fifty metres.
The buck was locked entirely on the decoy and never once looking my way. Eventually I had to make a decision. Rather than lay on my side like the failed stalk many days ago. I decided to risk busting the stalk and took action. Rising to my knees, the buck remained. My next move, ranging him properly. At forty four yards, I as glad i had flirted with the buck spewing at the movement, because in order to pull off the subsequent shot, I needed an accurate range.
I dialled my option sight to the marker “44” and committed. I held my pin low on his heart. A fat shot should he remain motionless, whilst also accounting for any potential drop, should he react to the arrow.
The shot broke and he dropped and turned exactly as expected. The arrow caught him perfectly through the heart and he covered about a hundred yards before going down. What followed was almost surreal. The same young bucks and does that had drawn him down the ridge towards us, had washed the events play out and drifted back in and sat roughly a hundred yards off us. Looking between the fallen buck, us, and the decoy, clearly unable to process what had just transpired.
We had beat the buzzer, punching my pronghorn tag on a bent horn buck. Collecting Gary the decoy, we made our ay over to the fallen pronghorn just as the sun dropped below the horizon.
An Old Buck’s Bent Horns
A Unique Animal
Walking up to him, it was immediately obvious from his teeth and horn structure that he was genuinely old. Smaller bodied than James’s buck, well past his prime, but carrying a set of horns unlike any pronghorn either of us had ever seen, let alone handled. Where most curl upward and inward without ever truly meeting, his came in from both sides and crossed over completely. Enough, so that I could slide my forearm straight through them like a bracelet. Everyone we’ve shown the skull to since has said the same thing, a genuinely unique animal.
Between James’s buck hunt and mine, we’re in admiration of pronghorn hunting with the bow. The meat from these animals has been outstanding too. Its incredibly mild and tender. Even on an old, rutting buck, they taste great. We have made quick work of the tenderloins and heart. Utilising them in wraps which has quickly become a camp favourite and morale booster after these long days hunting in Montana.
If you’re keeping track, thats tag three of six, and James is up for elk again tomorrow.
This piece is adapted from a semi-live Twin Elements Podcast recap recorded during the 2025 Montana hunting trip.
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