Stid2677
WKR
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2012
- Messages
- 2,349
My sheep obsession started a decade ago this past fall. Unlike many I didn’t really dream of hunting wild sheep as a young man. Coming from a modest single parent home, I did not have much exposure to big game hunting until I was an adult. A friend taught me how to bow hunt deer in my 20s and that consumed me for almost 20 years. A career in the military, wife, family all took a front seat to hunting.
In 2003, after serving over 20 years and earning the Bronze Star injuries made it no longer possible to serve. I returned from Iraq, retired from the service and moved to Alaska with my wife. It was here that I met a guy that would forever change my hunting life. Jake is my wife’s best friends husband, he and Brenda were deployed and had a problem with their home. I helped them getting it fixed and to show their appreciation, Jake invited me to accompany him on a fly-in sheep hunt.
This would be my first hunt in Alaska, having hunted for whitetails for 2 decades I thought I was an experienced hunter, I would soon find out how wrong I was.
Jake made the air taxi reservations and selected a place that he had hunted before, so I did not really learn much about what a challenge this all would be in the future. I loaded up my Cabela’s pack with my best deer hunting gear, first gen Gore-Tex, Danner boots, Army sleeping bag, the MSR Dragonfly stove that had served me all over the world. I did have a new pair of Zeiss binos the wife bought me for Christmas.
August 8th arrived and we drove to Anchorage and arrived at the floatplane, we played the wait on weather game that I would soon learn was just part of the price of admission. The flight into the high mountain lake was captivating, this was my first time flying over Alaska and I was awestruck by all the wondrous sights. Glaciers, rivers, mountains, and as we neared our lake white dots that moved, I had spotted my first wild sheep! We landed on a pristine lake with crystal clear water, we taxied over and quickly unloaded the plane and in an instant it was gone.
Having flown for 2 hours I thought we were so remote that we would not see another soul, I could not have been more wrong. Not long after we landed, plane after plane landed and within the hour 3 other teams of sheep hunters had invaded our slice of heaven. My first lesson in sheep hunting was an eye opener to say the least. My illusion of terra incognita forever ripped away. We all shouldered our packs feeling the weight and the urgency to race the other hunters to find some rams.
As darkness neared, brought on sooner because of the darkening sky, heavy with impending rain, we set up our single wall mountaineering tent that Jake had brought. It was a Mountain Hardware and an expensive one at that, although he was very proud of this new tent, he would feel very differently in 10 days
We were up early to make the most of opening day; we were greeted with a cold, wet rainy morning. As we worked our way through the dense wet brush, my choice in rain gear showed it’s first sign of weakness; the constant contact with the wet leaves was transferring water through my rain gear soaking me to the skin. Once my pants were saturated, the water ran down into my boots completing the suck factor.
As we gained some elevation the steady rain stopped and we broke out of the brush, it was getting close to lunch so we took a break and enjoyed a meal and hot drink. The food and drink helped stave off the chill that was creeping into my bones. The temperature was 38 degrees and it did not take long once we stopped moving to get very cold.
I was thankful to get moving again although at the time I did not realize how getting my clothes, that were not wet from rain, soaked in sweat from the exertion of climbing, this would come back to haunt me later. As we topped a ridge I got my first glimpse of wild rams, 3 rams were bedded high in some very nasty looking terrain. Jake looked them over and thought they were all sub-legal. This was my first drink of the bitter beer that is the realization that the sheep you worked so hard to get to were not legal; I would have many servings from this pitcher in the years to come.
From our advantage point we could look into another bowl and we could see sheep, but because of the rain and poor optics, (another lesson) we could not judge legality.
A closer look would require us to give up hard earned elevation; the thought of this was less than appealing, but this was the price we were going to have to pay. What looked like an easy hike proved to be very difficult. Unlike the sticker on your truck mirror that says, “objects are closer than they appear” the opposite is true in the mountains; “objects are NOT as close as they appear”. The climb up into the bowl that held the rams took place in a creek bottom overgrown with Alders and covered in fresh bear sign, about half way up we flushed a sow with cubs. This was my first bear encounter and about caused me to add something solid to my already wet pants. Jake was able to move through the Alders much better than I because he was wearing only a day/waist pack. My frame pack kept catching on what seemed like every Alder.
We at last reached the alpine and using available cover we eased up to have a look. We spotted 2 rams, one was bedded low in the bowl and at first look was a ¾ curl. Jake quickly dismissed this ram and was concentrating on trying to judge the ram on the high wall. Since I did not have a spotter I used my binos to have a look at the closer ram. Even though this was my first sheep hunt, it struck me quickly that the near ram while only ¾ curl, had thick tips. I quickly realized that he might be broomed off. I ranged him at 300 yards and ask Jake to have a look at him with his spotter, Jake said that his right side was indeed broken. We still needed to see his other side before we could make a call, as luck would have it the ram stood and turned to look our way. Jake said “kill him” I scrambled into a firing position only to discover that my muzzle was not clear of the rocks to my front. I had to inch forward to get into the clear and as I did, with one step he was gone!
My heart sank, but I had the scent and I ran forward trying to gain the angle on him. As we reached the high flat bench he was bedded on, he was nowhere to be seen. How could he just disappear? I stood there exhausted, cold and wet, as the adrenaline started to fade, I began to shiver. I heard rocks falling down a near by chute and caught movement, he had been hidden in the chute and was making his escape! I dropped to the rocks and tried to range him with my 400 yard range finder, it refused to work. I asked Jake his guess on distance and he said at least 300 yards. I found him in the scope and squared the 300 yard reticle of my B&C Leupold scope on him and took the slack out of the trigger. The 300WM roared in the bowl and I could see the shale explode under his belly. Jake was about to squeeze the trigger on his rifle sticking to the “if you miss rule” when having seen my splash, I adjusted up to the 400 yard line on my scope and fired before Jake could. Through the scope I could see my round impact him in the shoulder and exit out his neck. His legs folded and he rolled down the chute.
All discomfort was forgotten as I scrambled to try to reach him, although Jake had judged him legal, I wanted to get his horns in my hands to know for sure. This feeling of anxiety would play out again and again on future hunts. No matter how sure a sheep hunter is that the ram they just shot is legal, I think we all share in those anxious moments that consume us all until we have the horns in hand. I felt like a hamster on a treadmill, the harder I tried to climb up the loose shale chute the more loose shale would give way under my feet leaving me with little gain in elevation. My ram was so close, yet remained just out of my reach. Spent from the events of the day, I had no choice but to slow down and pick my way up to him.
When I reached him, all worry was washed away and I was overcome with raw emotion unlike any I had ever felt in taking an animal up to this point. There is something special about harvesting a wild sheep. I paused as I held his horns in my hands, admiring this Monarch of the mountains. Not only was he legal, he was a true trophy that I would come to appreciate even more as the years passed. Being my first, I was just happy that he was legal. In the years since I have come to learn that this ram, that was over 13 years old and heavily broomed, is what many sheep hunters, myself included consider the ultimate trophy, valued more by some than even the mythical 40 plus incher. Old rams like this can often be found low and alone, driven off by the younger stronger rams.
As the chill set in, I knew it was time to get at it. I pulled out my knife that I got for renewing my Buck Masters magazine subscription and used the gut hook to open the ram up and attended to the gutting. Once free of his entrails, I pulled him down the chute to where Jake was waiting. With Jake’s help we pulled him over to a flat spot, after some photos, we prepped him for the trip back to the lake. My knife, while fine for quick gutting jobs was sorely lacking for the task at hand. We had been so focused on skinning and quartering him up that we both had lost track of time. As the light started to fade, we realized that there was no way we could make it down before dark.
In 2003, after serving over 20 years and earning the Bronze Star injuries made it no longer possible to serve. I returned from Iraq, retired from the service and moved to Alaska with my wife. It was here that I met a guy that would forever change my hunting life. Jake is my wife’s best friends husband, he and Brenda were deployed and had a problem with their home. I helped them getting it fixed and to show their appreciation, Jake invited me to accompany him on a fly-in sheep hunt.
This would be my first hunt in Alaska, having hunted for whitetails for 2 decades I thought I was an experienced hunter, I would soon find out how wrong I was.
Jake made the air taxi reservations and selected a place that he had hunted before, so I did not really learn much about what a challenge this all would be in the future. I loaded up my Cabela’s pack with my best deer hunting gear, first gen Gore-Tex, Danner boots, Army sleeping bag, the MSR Dragonfly stove that had served me all over the world. I did have a new pair of Zeiss binos the wife bought me for Christmas.
August 8th arrived and we drove to Anchorage and arrived at the floatplane, we played the wait on weather game that I would soon learn was just part of the price of admission. The flight into the high mountain lake was captivating, this was my first time flying over Alaska and I was awestruck by all the wondrous sights. Glaciers, rivers, mountains, and as we neared our lake white dots that moved, I had spotted my first wild sheep! We landed on a pristine lake with crystal clear water, we taxied over and quickly unloaded the plane and in an instant it was gone.
Having flown for 2 hours I thought we were so remote that we would not see another soul, I could not have been more wrong. Not long after we landed, plane after plane landed and within the hour 3 other teams of sheep hunters had invaded our slice of heaven. My first lesson in sheep hunting was an eye opener to say the least. My illusion of terra incognita forever ripped away. We all shouldered our packs feeling the weight and the urgency to race the other hunters to find some rams.
As darkness neared, brought on sooner because of the darkening sky, heavy with impending rain, we set up our single wall mountaineering tent that Jake had brought. It was a Mountain Hardware and an expensive one at that, although he was very proud of this new tent, he would feel very differently in 10 days
We were up early to make the most of opening day; we were greeted with a cold, wet rainy morning. As we worked our way through the dense wet brush, my choice in rain gear showed it’s first sign of weakness; the constant contact with the wet leaves was transferring water through my rain gear soaking me to the skin. Once my pants were saturated, the water ran down into my boots completing the suck factor.
As we gained some elevation the steady rain stopped and we broke out of the brush, it was getting close to lunch so we took a break and enjoyed a meal and hot drink. The food and drink helped stave off the chill that was creeping into my bones. The temperature was 38 degrees and it did not take long once we stopped moving to get very cold.
I was thankful to get moving again although at the time I did not realize how getting my clothes, that were not wet from rain, soaked in sweat from the exertion of climbing, this would come back to haunt me later. As we topped a ridge I got my first glimpse of wild rams, 3 rams were bedded high in some very nasty looking terrain. Jake looked them over and thought they were all sub-legal. This was my first drink of the bitter beer that is the realization that the sheep you worked so hard to get to were not legal; I would have many servings from this pitcher in the years to come.
From our advantage point we could look into another bowl and we could see sheep, but because of the rain and poor optics, (another lesson) we could not judge legality.
A closer look would require us to give up hard earned elevation; the thought of this was less than appealing, but this was the price we were going to have to pay. What looked like an easy hike proved to be very difficult. Unlike the sticker on your truck mirror that says, “objects are closer than they appear” the opposite is true in the mountains; “objects are NOT as close as they appear”. The climb up into the bowl that held the rams took place in a creek bottom overgrown with Alders and covered in fresh bear sign, about half way up we flushed a sow with cubs. This was my first bear encounter and about caused me to add something solid to my already wet pants. Jake was able to move through the Alders much better than I because he was wearing only a day/waist pack. My frame pack kept catching on what seemed like every Alder.
We at last reached the alpine and using available cover we eased up to have a look. We spotted 2 rams, one was bedded low in the bowl and at first look was a ¾ curl. Jake quickly dismissed this ram and was concentrating on trying to judge the ram on the high wall. Since I did not have a spotter I used my binos to have a look at the closer ram. Even though this was my first sheep hunt, it struck me quickly that the near ram while only ¾ curl, had thick tips. I quickly realized that he might be broomed off. I ranged him at 300 yards and ask Jake to have a look at him with his spotter, Jake said that his right side was indeed broken. We still needed to see his other side before we could make a call, as luck would have it the ram stood and turned to look our way. Jake said “kill him” I scrambled into a firing position only to discover that my muzzle was not clear of the rocks to my front. I had to inch forward to get into the clear and as I did, with one step he was gone!
My heart sank, but I had the scent and I ran forward trying to gain the angle on him. As we reached the high flat bench he was bedded on, he was nowhere to be seen. How could he just disappear? I stood there exhausted, cold and wet, as the adrenaline started to fade, I began to shiver. I heard rocks falling down a near by chute and caught movement, he had been hidden in the chute and was making his escape! I dropped to the rocks and tried to range him with my 400 yard range finder, it refused to work. I asked Jake his guess on distance and he said at least 300 yards. I found him in the scope and squared the 300 yard reticle of my B&C Leupold scope on him and took the slack out of the trigger. The 300WM roared in the bowl and I could see the shale explode under his belly. Jake was about to squeeze the trigger on his rifle sticking to the “if you miss rule” when having seen my splash, I adjusted up to the 400 yard line on my scope and fired before Jake could. Through the scope I could see my round impact him in the shoulder and exit out his neck. His legs folded and he rolled down the chute.
All discomfort was forgotten as I scrambled to try to reach him, although Jake had judged him legal, I wanted to get his horns in my hands to know for sure. This feeling of anxiety would play out again and again on future hunts. No matter how sure a sheep hunter is that the ram they just shot is legal, I think we all share in those anxious moments that consume us all until we have the horns in hand. I felt like a hamster on a treadmill, the harder I tried to climb up the loose shale chute the more loose shale would give way under my feet leaving me with little gain in elevation. My ram was so close, yet remained just out of my reach. Spent from the events of the day, I had no choice but to slow down and pick my way up to him.
When I reached him, all worry was washed away and I was overcome with raw emotion unlike any I had ever felt in taking an animal up to this point. There is something special about harvesting a wild sheep. I paused as I held his horns in my hands, admiring this Monarch of the mountains. Not only was he legal, he was a true trophy that I would come to appreciate even more as the years passed. Being my first, I was just happy that he was legal. In the years since I have come to learn that this ram, that was over 13 years old and heavily broomed, is what many sheep hunters, myself included consider the ultimate trophy, valued more by some than even the mythical 40 plus incher. Old rams like this can often be found low and alone, driven off by the younger stronger rams.
As the chill set in, I knew it was time to get at it. I pulled out my knife that I got for renewing my Buck Masters magazine subscription and used the gut hook to open the ram up and attended to the gutting. Once free of his entrails, I pulled him down the chute to where Jake was waiting. With Jake’s help we pulled him over to a flat spot, after some photos, we prepped him for the trip back to the lake. My knife, while fine for quick gutting jobs was sorely lacking for the task at hand. We had been so focused on skinning and quartering him up that we both had lost track of time. As the light started to fade, we realized that there was no way we could make it down before dark.