June arrived in Wyoming, bringing warmer temperatures and antelope fawns. In a cooperative effort with the country of Mexico, the Wyoming Game and Fish Department planned to capture American pronghorn antelope to transport to Mexico to help that country boost populations of the peninsular and Sonoran pronghorn. It was time to start our capture efforts.
The pronghorn of Mexico have struggled the last few decades because of disease, predators and declining habitat. To save these populations, wildlife biologists from Mexico put together a program using captured pronghorns from the United States, specifically Wyoming. Antelope fawns from Laramie county are captured and flown to the Mexican state of Zacatecas. Once all the scientific studies are completed, some American pronghorn may be released to breed with the Mexican pronghorn if the DNA proves to be similar. Some American pronghorn does may be used as surrogates for fertilized Mexican pronghorn eggs. But for now, the fawns will grow to maturity on wildlife preserves or other protected areas.
My first day, I reported to the capture headquarters, a large outbuilding on the F.E. Warren Air Force base. The crew from Mexico was already there, organizing bottles, wipes, ear tags and two weeks worth of snacks. Introductions were made, with me tripping awkwardly over their Spanish names.
"You are Teresa? Welcome," said Jorge, one of the capture's lead workers. He pronounced my name Tah-ray-zah, instead of the hard American pronunciation of Ter-eee-sah. Oooh, it sounded so mysterious and exotic as Theresa. Theresa, the mighty huntress.
"Me llamo Teresa, si. Hola," I replied, taking Jorge's outstretched hand. With that one sentence, I exhausted my entire knowledge of the Spanish language, unless I needed to order a beer later.
We helped feed the few fawns captured late the evening before. Then Cheyenne Game Warden Jon Stephens organized us into teams and sent us on our way. He had secured permission to capture fawns from several surrounding properties. Armed with a net, a map, a pet carrier and really no idea of what the heck I was doing, we were off.
Jorge rode with us the first morning, providing me with my first embarrassing moment of event. "How do you say antelope in Spanish," I asked him.
"Antilope," he replied.
"Yes, but what's the Spanish word?"
"Antilope," he said again.
"How do you say it in Spanish," I asked again, thinking maybe he didn't understand me.
He looked across the front seat of the SUV at me, a smile tugging at the corners of his tanned face. "Antilope. It is basically the same word, just a different spelling."
I suddenly remembered another Spanish word... estupido. I think its meaning speaks for itself. Actually Jorge said he and the crew used the word berrendos, another word for antelope. Antilope, berrendos, either way, I was ready to catch some fawns.
Two days of glassing, driving, more glassing and more driving produced absolutely nothing. We saw one fawn nestled on private land we didn't have access to, and another phantom fawn we saw once but could never locate again. The Great White Antelope hunter I was not.
Our third day capturing proved the third time is indeed a charm. I was working with Wendy, my good friend and counterpart in the Conservation Education unit of Game and Fish. We spent the morning tooling around the Air Force Base, but spotted no fawns. Oh, once we thought we saw one and prepared to sneak up on it, right up until a bird landed on its head and we realized it was just a rock. I was getting a lot of use out of the word estupido this week.
As we made our way back to the capture headquarters, we took a wrong turn and had to backtrack.
"Uh oh, there are lights behind us," Wendy said, easing our SUV to the side of the road.
A military police officer in combat fatigues approached our vehicle while his partner stood behind, his M-16 trained toward us.
"Whatever you do, don't say the words bomb or terrorist" I wise-cracked, trying to ease my own tension. We definitely hadn't done anything wrong, but its amazing how two soldiers with assault rifles will make you question every move you've made, including the night before when the cashier only charged me for one nail polish instead of two and I didn't return to the store to correct her mistake.
"I'll donate the nail polish to charity!" I promised aloud.
My repentance was unnecessary. After confirming we were the "animal people," the MP waved us on our way. Still, I'd return the nail polish in question. Best to not tempt fate.
Our luck improved after lunch as we moved to a nearby ranch. After about half and hour scanning the hillsides, Wendy spotted a solitary doe standing amid a group of rocks. As we watched, the doe gave a few warning squeaks at us and took off over the hill. I sucked in my breath as I realized one of the rocks was actually a fawn, its head nestled in its back legs. At least I was pretty sure it was a fawn.
"Here, you take the net," I told Wendy. I wasn't going to be the one who caught a rock.
Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I crept to the fawn, keeping my body between it and the path the doe had taken. From the other direction, Wendy started to raise her net. The fawn was about eight feet in front of her when it leapt up and bolted over the hill. I took off up the hill after it.
Why I thought my stubby legs could keep up with North America's fastest mammal, I'll never know. By the time I crested the hill, the fawn had hit the crest of the hill two hills in front of me.
"Zut alors," I swore. Wendy looked at me quizzically. "It's French. I don't know any more Spanish."
As we approached the end of the day, our frustration level rose. "I want to capture just one," Wendy said, thumping the steering wheel. "Uno!"
Forty-five minutes later we gave up and headed to the main road. Just then we spotted them. A single doe with a fawn at her side. We watched as the fawn took a few steps then bedded down into the tall grass and disappeared from sight. If I hadn't seen it go down, there's no way I would have ever spotted it, regardless of how powerful my binoculars were. Nature's camo at its very best.
While I sang camp songs and walked loudly to hold the fawn's attention on me and away from Wendy, she snuck up from behind. Reaching into the grass about five feet from where I thought the fawn was, she camp up with our prey. Ahhh, redemption. It smelled so sweet. Or maybe that was Wendy, now covered in antelope fawn pooh.
Triumphantly, we returned to the barn, our female fawn in Wendy's arms. We were greeted with high fives, smiles and offers to take our photo. I was a rock star!
The fawn was tagged, weighed and given some milk. We told our tale to anyone who cared to listen, or just anyone who would stand still. After giving Harriet, a.k.a. #67, a.k.a "our fawn," one last snuggle, Wendy left for a weekend trip to Nebraska and I went to brag to my family.
Epilogue
Almost two weeks of capturing produced more than 150 fawns from the Cheyenne area. They were flow to Mexico in two waves, including our little Harriet. Over the last four years of capturing, more than 300 pronghorn have been transplanted to Mexico. With a little luck, Harriet and her new friends can help bring the Mexican pronghorn populations back from the brink.
Adios, little fawns. Vaya con Dios.
