Hunting in Texas brings to mind high fences and exotic animals. Corn feeders. Dainty, fragile-looking whitetails with outsized antlers. But Sam Ilse of Lomas Chicas Outfitters offers a Texas hunt that includes none of these elements. He hunts an animal native to India, the nilgai, or blue bull, a trophy worthy of even the most well-traveled hunter. These bulls have noses like seasoned whitetail bucks, eyesight like pronghorn antelope, are nearly as big as an elk and are as tough as Cape buffalo. The only qualities they lack to make them one of the great game animals of the world are big horns and an aggressive nature.
In October 2010, my dad, Burl Jones, and I flew from Montana to join our friend David Long to hunt nilgai in the scrub country of South Texas, between Corpus Christi and Raymondville. The first evening, Sam “met us at the door,” so to speak, with a friendly handshake. Soon, the conversation turned to the game at hand, and specifically rifles and shot placement. Sam recommends big guns, .300 Win mag and up. “The toughness of these animals and the kind of country they are in makes tracking and follow up damn near impossible,” he said. “You need to put them down immediately or you’re not likely to find ‘em.” With a photo of a nilgai bull as reference, Sam showed us where he likes his clients to shoot. “If you can spine ‘em, that’s the best bet for an easy recovery.” I would soon find out why Sam was so insistent on putting these bulls down quickly.
The next morning began as the fog burned out of the live oaks. Dad and I hunted with Sam while David rode shotgun with Fred, Sam’s business partner and main guide. The hunting rigs were fully-loaded Jeep Wranglers, modified specifically for rough country and game recovery. The abundant seasonal rain had produced tall stands of wildflowers, native grasses, and weeds, as well as a good acorn crop. The pastures looked untouched by grazing. All the plentiful feed would make our hunting all the more difficult.
Using a spot and stalk method over a variety of terrains, for the next three days we threw everything we had at these strange antelope. We peered deep into dark stands of live oaks while acorns rained down like a slow hail storm. We glassed the open grasslands that led out onto the mudflats of the Gulf of Mexico. We made our way around waterholes, trying to slip through the brush undetected. We drove slowly down roads that might have been on the savannahs of East Africa, and we crested sand dunes that would have been at home in the Sahara. But no matter what part of the lease we were on, it seemed the nilgai were either staring at us, ready to run for cover, or already disappearing into the brush.
Toward the end of the first morning, we parked the Jeep at the end of a sandy double track and quietly glassed over a series of white sand dunes that seemed to be winning a battle with the live oak for real estate. Sam donned his Ghillie hat and peered over a fifty foot dune. I peeked over as well. Several nilgai bulls stood in openings over the next several hundred yards. They ranged in size from young bulls, hardly much bigger than a good mule deer buck, to at least one respectable bull. This bull was starting to go grey in the face and had a distinct gun metal blue on his flanks. He stood with his head down feeding, quartering toward me, about seventy-five yards away. The .378 Weatherby made a big hole going in, but didn’t exit the chest. The bull dropped immediately. Only a tough animal could soak up all that leaded velocity and still hold onto the bullet.
With my first animal down, I still had one to go. I had a day and a half to hunt. And while we continued to see a number of good bulls, they were are all in the process of exiting the locale. But then just before dark on the second day a good bull took a few tentative steps out into the open about 230 yards away. He glanced cautiously around, then turned on a dime and disappeared back into the brush. No sooner had he vanished than another bull appeared in his place, nose held high, testing the wind. I readied for the shot, and as he leaned forward into the open I dropped the hammer. A reassuring “whump,” put him on the ground. He had kicked, but only once. No doubt he was going to be right where we saw him drop.
Dad trailed behind Sam and me as we neared where the bull should have been. I looked down into the slight depression, wondering why I had not spotted the dead bull yet.
“There he is!” Dad said. “And he’s limping.”
“What? Where?” I looked up and saw a nilgai bull moving directly away, in no big hurry. I dropped to a sitting position and rested the rifle off my knees. Through the scope I could only see his rump. Was it the same bull? I couldn’t be sure, and there was no visible blood. If so, this bull had just seconds before taken a hit solid enough to drop a Cape buffalo. He moved into the shadows of the live oaks, and disappeared into the brush. Trailing him, we found only a few drops of blood, but never saw him again. Darkness finally called it in for us.
The entire next morning we combed the area for any further sign. No blood. No birds. No coyotes. No bull.
That afternoon found us in the sand dunes, staring at another blue bull. He’d made the mistake of standing up at the wrong time. Sam determined he was a little darker and a little larger than the previous bull I’d taken. When his head went down to feed, I spider-crawled sideways out into the open for a clear shot. He was quartering slightly toward me at 240 yards. I put a 250 grain "Swift A" frame right on the point of the near shoulder, and was rewarded with a satisfying “whop.” But instead of falling over dead like a buffalo or elk would have done, he only bucked slightly and took off like the blue streak he was. He ran flat out for over one hundred yards. Fortunately he was in open sage and low dunes, and so when he finally did pile up he was easy to spot. Had he been in dense cover, we’d have had no hope of finding him.
After coming up to the dead animal, I backtracked him for several yards. There wasn’t a drop of blood to be seen, even on the white sand.
As it turned out, he wasn’t quite as good as the first bull, but he did have much more blue in his coat and was a great trophy in my book.
What a great experience. We left Texas the next day with a deep respect for nilgai as a game animal, and for Sam Ilse as an outfitter and guide.
Thank you for a great time. I am already looking forward to next year.
I can count the number of testimonials I’ve written on one hand. I don’t make a practice of it, but every once in a while one is deserved. Nilgai hunting with Sam Ilse and Lomas Chicas Outfitters definitely deserves one.
Prior to hunting with Sam, I had only hunted Nilgai two times. Both times were on a King Ranch lease, and both times the hunting style was less than impressive. We rode around in a truck and when an animal was spotted, it was chased with the vehicle. In two trips (5 hunts) I saw perhaps 10 – 12 animals total and only 2 mature bulls.
I had heard Sam’s hunts were different, and what I had heard was correct. We used a vehicle to get to likely areas, but the hunting was done on foot. Once an animal was spotted, the stalk was planned based on the wind and terrain. As with any antelope species, the Nilgai’s eyesight is incredible and they are very wary. If you appreciate the hunt itself, this is the way to do it. If you appreciate huge stretches of south Texas country with very little human influence, this is the place to hunt. Sam and his guides are very experienced and know what it takes to anchor one of these animals. These are not North American critters, and their vitals are better protected than our native game. Listen to these guys when they tell you where to place a bullet.
I saw more mature bulls on the first afternoon hunting with Sam than I had seen total Nilgai (bulls, cows, calves) in all my previous hunts combined. I was able to anchor a very fine bull the first afternoon. The hunting method, abundance of game, scenery and excellent guiding became addictive. On the second day I couldn’t stand it anymore and purchased a “second animal” hunt … a Nilgai cow. The hunt was on again, and after an even more challenging stalk than the first day, I was able to drop a cow.
Sam and his guides are very professional and work hard to ensure you have a quality hunt. The number of free ranging Nilgai on this vast stretch of land is hard to believe. I can strongly recommend Lomas Chicas Outfitters, and I will return.
-- Jerry Beardmore
Have you ever seen the movie, where the guy takes his trusty 50BMG and knocks out a huge threatening helicopter armed to the hilt? I’m thinking, as precise as a helicopter is and the rotor is probably the most important part of the machine, and as big as the bullet is on this particular type weapon, then maybe this is not too farfetched.
Now, have you ever hunted Nilgai, and hit one, like you wanted, only to see he or she leave the scene, possibly to never be found or seen again. Or maybe even got lucky and found one anchored down where you wanted them, with a happy ending to an eventful hunt. At either rate, our normal hunting practice is the spot and stalk method. With this method, we try and get as close as possible for the best shot. Close being the key word!
Just recently, I received a phone call from an old friend and customer Blanton Wofford, which last time he hunted with us, brought a 458 Lott, which proved to be enough gun for the task. Although the big bull shot clean through behind the shoulders, still got up and traveled another 30-40 yards but leaving blood trails that a young child could have followed. On this hunt, Blanton and I discussed the problem with Bulls out in the wide open that could see you coming for miles and just standing out there appearing to say nana nana boo boo you can’t get me here. Anyway, Blanton had a new plan which was, to bring a 50 BMG, with the possibilities of using it at longer ranges. After discussing the guaranteed shot and drawing blood policies that we have, I told him that we could give it a try.
Blanton and his friend Ron were right on schedule for the hunt. We were helping them get their gear unloaded, when Blanton heaves out this Barrett 50. Equipped with a scope as long as my leg! Man, what a gun!! And the thoughts on my mind were, with a bad shot could this caliber still turn out to be good. In the back of my mind I knew things needed to go right. While handling and drooling over the 50, Ron is pulling out this other gun which caught my eye and it was a Barrett 98B with all the bells and whistles. It was a first for me. I’m already saving my pennies.
Blanton admitted that he had not had time to practice or shoot the 50. But Ron stated that between he, and the folks at Barrett, they had the gun set up for 600 yards. So we left to shoot the gun at the sand dunes, to get a little practice in, and sure enough the gun was good to go. Now, the only thing I had to do; was to find a big bull at 600 yards; that was willing to stand there long enough for us to get set up and pull off a shot. Piece of cake!! After an hour or so, we stopped and were glassing all around where we could see for two miles, and could see nothing. As I turned around to get back into the jeep, there stood a huge bull, which I guess had been laying down. I ranged him at 640 yards and told Blanton to get set up. And the bull just keeps standing there looking at us. While the whole time, I’m thinking how lucky can we get! Well, just seconds from taking the shot, the bull decides to move along and walks away over the ridge he was on. From time to time I could see the bull traveling west at a non-alarmed pace.
With Nilgai being so direct, not wanting to change their directions, once their minds are made up, I told Blanton why don’t we go around another road and get set up, and see if he shows up. So, we eased around to a likely spot and got set up. After a short while with us glassing, the bull shows up with only his head visible. He got to one point where he could see us. But I think he had made up his mind that we were “friendly folks” and kept on coming. I told Blanton, that if he stays on the same course, he should cross a clearing where he might give us a shot. The bull did just that! Once again the bull stopped out in the opening, with the range being 454 yards. I then asked Blanton, what he was going to do about the yardage. Blanton explained; with his “cheat sheet” in hand, equipped with a sharp pencil, having it figured, he had to aim 36 inches low. This! is when I thought we may have the S.W.A.G. going on. That would be a “Scientific Wild Ass Guess”. Oh man! Things are running through my head, just like any other time just before the shot is taken. Due to these animals being so tuff, with so much stamina, the only thing that I could hope for was the caliber being used, if a bad shot happened, maybe it would just do so much devastation things would be fine.
OK! Blanton tells me the time has come! Fire in the hole! Put the kids in the closet and latch the hatches. And with a roar the shot was off, with it echoing across the wide open plains, I’m sure that the fishermen on the bay had crawled under their consoles. The bull appeared to be jabbed in the ribs with a pipe; never taking him off his feet; he went kicking and bucking over the ridge and out of sight. I knew he was hit, but how bad? And I knew we may have our work cut out for us. Blanton, not being able to see impact due to recoil, asked if he had hit him. I told him that he definitely hit him! He then asked where is he? I advised Blanton that he had hurt the bull’s feelings, and he had left the scene. We both thought it was rude of the bull to be hit with a 50BMG hosting a 668 grain bullet and not sticking around.
After directing Blanton to the spot by foot, I followed behind with the jeep. Upon arriving, I see Blanton still looking, and once again I had a sinking feeling. We spread out, looking for blood and trail, and within minutes Blanton looked ahead, noticing the bull, lying there some 60-70 yards from ground zero. After examination of the bull, we found the entry hole just perfectly behind the shoulder to be the size of a ball point pen with the exit through the off shoulder being a 2.5”x 1” gash. And I may add there was not a drop of blood at either place. I then asked Blanton to help me back track the animal, just to see if we could find any blood for future information; we came up with nothing.
But we had a huge impressive bull on the ground, which green measurement indicated 35 3/8, and “TWO” happy campers.
I certainly do not want this article to seem like a Barrett commercial. It just happened to be the weapon used. But it was still educational to see what the 50BMG would do.
Happy Hunting All, and Stay SAFE!
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