I've told the story of the 11in Owyhee antelope, but I need to add this postscript. In the hunt planning stage I often got the comment that the unit was very "snakey" so be careful where you stepped. My brother and I took this very much to heart, that's why we used a tent rather than sleep under the stars, to avoid a snake crawling in with us. We even wondered whether a rattlesnake might bite our feet when they were pressed against the tent wall.
Well, we never saw a snake and suffered no foot punctures while we slept. However, it was a different story on the home front.
I live in the sticks outside Pendleton in a nice little green grove with a spring fed pond in the middle of 10,000 acres of CRP and weeds. When it is as hot and dry as it is now, the critters like to wander in for a little shade and a drink. The poor old rattlesnake in the photos was just such a visitor, unfortunately for him, my trusty snake-dog, Spud, was on duty and spied him on the patio next to that planter at about 11:00pm Friday night.
Spud, who was kind enough to pose for this reenactment (I rescued the carcass from its improvised coffin), set up his unmistakable snake alarm which roused my wife from a deep slumber. Knowing old Spud must have a snake cornered, she grabbed a flashlight and, unfortunately, her .22 Beretta pistol and ventured onto the dimly lit patio with the wind-blown shadows dancing over it.
She promptly unloaded all but one round from the little pistol on the snake, inflicting non-lethal wounds but blowing its rattle in half (about 8-10 rattles apparently from the remnants). There are definite .22 skidmarks in the pavers and I haven't really had time to carefully inspect my trailer and 4-wheeler which were parked just aways downrange.
At any rate, the reptile fled the patio into the driveway with my wife close behind, now hysterical. It crawled under her Dodge and she thought to intercept it on the other side. Of course, it didn't come out. So she shined the flashlight under the rig and there he was, coiled next to her tire. She had presence of mind enough not to shoot her tire and she grabbed a shovel leaning against the fence.
At this point the snake headed down the driveway toward her, at the same time her flashlight started flickering on and off and she had to shake it to get light, she was also concerned about what might lie behind her in the dark driveway.
These circumstances combined to turn her into a wild-eyed, homicidal, shovel-wielding killer and she attacked the poor devil mercilessly, thus, his somewhat misshapen noggin.
Of course, she tried to reach me for some consoling words, but, one of the things I forgot to mention about the Owyhee Unit, there is no cell service there, anywhere, get as high as you want and nada, nothing. So she had a couple days to formulate the notion that somehow this snake episode was on account of my lollygagging around enjoying the desert air.
Oh well. . .
Owyhee Antelope postscript
Eagleclaw
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