"Goat Hunt"

Years ago I had what I consider to be the good fortune to live in Portales, New Mexico, "The Land of Enchantment". My job took me and my family there and we bought a house, changed our driver's licenses and became state residents of New Mexico for the next seven years. Contrary to what some of my geograpically challenged relatives and "Yooper" friends believed, New Mexico is proudly represented by a star on Old Glory so the water was safe to drink while I lived there! I settled into my work and after several months made friends with some of the local people, including some who still keep in touch even though we haven't lived there for over twenty years. Since I was a hunter, one of the first things I did was start lining up places to hunt and cajoling people to show me how to get there or take pity on me and drag me along with them on their hunts.Even though I was a northern boy with that funny Canadian accent I was readily taken in by the friendly people I worked with or met through others. New Mexicans are very quick to accept strangers as long as you shoot straight with them. Some of the friends I had courted, feeling profound pity for me no doubt or getting extremely tired of my pestering, finally invited me to go pronghorn hunting at a friend's ranch and I jumped at the chance. I had never been open range hunting, since most of my hunting had been for whitetails in forest land back in Upper Michigan and one elk hunt in the mountains of Idaho. My friends helped me get outfitted since we would be spending up to five days camping and scouring rangeland for the wily animals. We set off in an old Blazer so packed to the gills with gear and supplies that it looked like a peddler's wagon on our trip to the "Ranch", which was probably as big as the whole county I lived in back in God's Country. As is common in "The Land of Enchantment" those enchanted places are often many miles and miles away and give a person a lot of time to reflect on the coming events with much anticipation and even some trepidation, you never know how a hunt will turn out. We were meeting some ranch hands who were also friends at the first campsite and I was a bit worried when the hands by the campfire stood to greet us and I noticed they looked a lot like a couple of Francisco Arango's boys! Of course my buddies vouched for those ole boys, but I still maintained my guard because the cutlery that adorned their belts looked awful menacing, not to mention the scars on their faces that betrayed past close encounters with cutlery of the same ilk. I tried to be nonchalant about the situation and hoped my face wouldn't show my mild apprehension since those guys did have some really interesting stories to tell around the campfire. Luckily my fears were unfounded because by the next day I was "one of the boys" and we were off scanning the landscape looking for the fleet bands of pronghorn that populated the ranch.I had seen pronghorn before but never out in the wide open spaces of the high plains. The way they ran, as if all were one animal and the way they dived through fences was amazing. The locals often referred to the pronghorns as "Sage Goats" or just "Goats". I wasn't exactly sure why, perhaps because they act a lot like goats and thrive on the sage covered range. Our hunting took us to all corners of the ranch, sometimes grazing land that was lush and green, due to irrigation and windmill "Tanks" which drew animals like flies, and some dryer sage speckled areas that looked like they couldn't sustain a thing but were surprisingly populated by all kinds of birds and animals.The range cattle were scattered in clusters and often very inqisitive and spooky, so much so that the "Villa" boys expounded on how hard it was to hunt with all those damn cows roaming around, but we lucked out and several of the guys had their tags filled by the second day. I was kind of holding back since I was a guest and didn't want to seem like a hog or prima donna in front of my friends, so I waited until they determined it was my turn and that worked out great as I got my "Goat" on the fourth day and was happier than a kid in a candy store! I can summarize the hunt as a success since we all filled our tags with nice pronghorns and I was happy with the whole experience, and especially glad that I got to see so much of the "Enchanted" landscape and meet new friends. I was actually on "back patting" terms with the two "Villa Vaqueros" by the end of the hunt; they got a big kick out of my accent! So I suppose the moral here, if there is one, is "don't be too quick to judge those who you don't know or understand". The hunt was over but the rest of the story isn't. When we got back home my friends announced we were going to have an old-fashioned barbacue and serve up fresh pronghorn for everyone to sample. I wasn't prepared for the event because the "Barbacue" was actually a pit roast with whole pronghorn antelope seasoned the southwest way, hot and spicy, and stuffed with chickens along with fresh vegetables. I was told this is a popular way to do real goat and beef in traditional settings. The pit was dug in the backyard and a fire set to burn into a bed of coals, upon which the carcasses were placed and the whole thing coverd up to cook for hours, I don't remember how long exactly or all the cooking details because by that time refreshments were being liberally dispensed for our enjoyment and we were regaling everyone (that would listen) with our prowess as great plains game hunters! The meal was a wonderful example of New Mexican cuisine, sliced and shredded meat served with fresh corn tortillas cooked on a gridle over the fire and toppings like homemade salsa, tabasco sauce and horseradish mustard, and fresh vegetables as well as roasted corn on the cob, beans, spanish rice and even baked squash and potatoes. There were various soups like pozole and menudo and other dishes such as enchiladas and burritos for appetizers. By the end of the day the food was pretty well gone and little was left for next day snacks. It was truly a grand event and I was glad I was there to participate. Chris