Pronghorn in Wyoming

American Speed Goats

08/27/2026
Hunter against the sunset

For anyone looking to chase something truly wild, to feel that thump in your chest when you know you’ve got one shot to get it right, Wyoming’s pronghorn country is calling. The land, the wind, the challenge – it’s all there, waiting for those who dare to earn it.

Simon K. Barr

The sun was just spilling over the horizon, slashing streaks of orange and red across the endless sky. It was the kind of morning that promised more than good weather – it promised adventure. I was here, near Casper, standing on 80,000 acres of wild country owned by the Cole Creek Sheep Company. A place where men have hunted since the days when pronghorn antelope were just as wild as the wind that blows here. This wasn’t just any hunt. This was a chase for the fastest land animal in North America. They call them “speed goats,” and you better believe they’ve earned the name. 

A group of female prong horns
Challenging Terrain

The Wyoming prairie isn’t as flat as it looks. At first, it seems like an ocean of sagebrush and prickly pear cactus, but the ground is sneaky. Little dips and rises hide the real story, and it’s a story that a smart hunter can use to his advantage. This isn’t a place for rushing in like a bull in a china shop. No, this is a place for creeping and crawling, for spotting and stalking. My guide Kelly and me rolled slowly across the ranch in his truck, eyes peeled. We spotted several groups of pronghorn, and the older bucks caught my attention. Faces darker than the rest, horns a bit thicker and meaner looking. The rut was on, and the bucks were cruising, looking to mix it up. There was tension in the air, the kind that makes you feel alive.

A hunter is stalking

Every Step Counts

We climbed out and moved slowly through the sagebrush, using the dips in the land to stay out of sight. I’d been shooting PRS matches, stretching out past 900 yards, but hunting isn’t a match. It’s not about showing off; it’s about making the shot count. I wanted to get inside 400 yards. I spotted a good buck – older, with a flat prong (known as a ‘cutter’) above the ear. That’s what you want.

The wind was still there, blowing. The pronghorn hadn’t quite figured out we were there, but they were getting suspicious. The lead buck lifted his head, scanning like he knew something was off. We froze, and time stretched thin. You could hear the prairie breathing, feel it in your bones. One twitch, one wrong move, and the game would be up.

Hunter is looking with his Leica CRF Rangemaster

Ballistic Data You Can Trust

I got down, set the rifle, and waited for the wind to settle just enough. My Leica CRF Pro Rangemaster delivers lightning-fast calculations, automatically factoring in temperature, angle, and air pressure – turning complex data into instant precision. Everything immediately at the touch of a button.

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The Moment It All Comes Together

My rifle was as ready as I was. I dialed in a 5 MOA elevation adjustment of my Leica Amplus 6 3-18x44i BDC for the 388-yard shot and held eight inches left for wind. I knew what I had to do. There’s a moment in hunting where everything goes quiet. Not outside, but inside. It’s just you, the rifle, and the animal. I took that breath, let it out slow, and squeezed the trigger. The shot broke clean, and the buck dropped like a sack of rocks. No run, no struggle. Just down. Walking up to that buck, I felt that rush, that mix of pride and respect. This wasn’t just about taking an animal; it was about everything that led up to it. The stalk, the patience, the waiting, the shot. It’s all got to come together, and today it did. The buck scored in the mid-70s – not quite record book, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is the hunt, the moment, the challenge.

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