There's a large boulder on one end of Stone house burn.

It's almost a half-mile above the Bureau of Land Management marker commemorating that conflagration just north of Mann Lake. Every time I pass by, I remember the lessons about antelope behavior I learned there.

Mahlon and I had drawn antelope permits on our first try.

Kinda annoyed my dad and Bruce, who'd been applying since prehistoric times, that the two "young guys" got lucky. (They never did draw antelope permits.)

I still think the "things" that came up so they couldn't go along had to do more with a case of sour grapes than necessity.

So just the two of us finally pulled my old trailer onto a flat spot at Mann Lake a couple days before season opened.

About all we knew about antelope was: They had terrific eyesight and August was the beginning of their rut.

We'd learn more.

The next day we drove through abandoned Poor Farm, up and over the top, checking out a place I'd seen herds during deer season.

We'd left at sunrise. That was our first lesson: Antelope glow like orange neon signs as the first rays strike them but don't later in the day.

We spotted several bunches while driving, as well as a herd above the Poor Farm.

We returned to camp late just as a family pulled in, dragging a boat. They asked if we minded them camping near us since it was a good place to launch.

"No problem," Mahlon said. "Just stake that tent down good, the wind really howled last night."

They did and then told us that the wife and 14-year-old, on his first hunt, had drawn tags.

Poor Dad was there to drive and pack if needed.

That night we woke to the trailer thumping up and down in the wind and the sounds of a tailgate banging.

Their tent was flat.

They spent a long night in the pickup.

Next evening, after a day in which I'd crawled a half-mile before spooking a herd, we returned to find the boy had gotten a large buck shortly after dawn.

I smiled, as much as I could while rubbing antiseptic on my knees, when he began the traditional recapitulation of each step of his hunt.

Then we cooked as the wind began blowing.

"At least it'll cool down anything we get," Mahlon said.

The second day had merely confirmed the telescopic vision of the critters but I'd noticed something: If not spooked too badly, herds seemed to make a huge circle and return to the spot they'd started from.

Noon on day three found me almost up to a herd in the burn when they got uncomfortable and departed.

Even though they'd been hunted, I thought I'd hang by the boulder to see if my theory was right.

I began to wonder as the group continued drawing farther away, heading straight for the road that marks the boundary between units.

We'd found that large bucks usually had a couple smaller guys around, whose job was to keep the does - flighty ladies who seemed to like to strike out on their own - herded up.

The big guy let these smaller bucks do all the work, only taking an active role when another large buck approached the herd.

Now I watched as the does and small bucks reached a spot where they could go under the fence and cross the road.

All but four had made it across when an approaching car divided them up.

One of the small bucks, two does, and the larger buck didn't make it through but I figured they'd follow as soon as the car passed.

They didn't.

Instead, they headed almost straight back toward my boulder, stopping about 50 yards away.

Then it became a race to get the buck opened up, his hide off - being careful to avoid letting his scent glands taint the meat - and out of the hot sun as quickly as possible.

The quickest way to shade was packing the buck about a mile north, to a juniper that grew next to a small creek.

While Mahlon headed off to get the rig, I started packing.

It was hot.

We even went so far as to wash the quarters off in the creek and let the breeze dry and cool them before heading back to camp. We weren't too worried because the howling winds would really start cooling things off, about 3 p.m., as usual.

Wrong.

The wind didn't blow again while we camped in the area.

Thanks to our neighbors visit to the snow banks on top of the mountain, we were able to keep my buck cool while Mahlon hunted for another day and a half.

I unsuccessfully attempted to herd a couple bucks past him. It would have worked if he hadn't seen us disappear over the horizon and, assuming we'd never return, left his position.

When they finally got tired of me, those bucks ran right across where he'd been.

Oh well, maybe next time if we ever draw permits again.

Bill Barker is a freelance outdoors writer from Corvallis. He can be reached at P.O. Box 368, Corvallis, OR 97339 or billbarker@comcast.net