Bambistew
Well-known member
While standing at the edge of a glacial fed river, airing up a small pack raft, I muttered to myself, “Just another way to die…” It seems that every year I hunt sheep; another life threating scenario is presents itself. This year happened to be a water crossing.
This year will mark the 6 season I’ve hunted sheep in Alaska. I’ve been hunting big game for nearly 25 years, which is hard to believe. I feel that of all the animals, all the adventures, all the country I’ve hunted, nothing captivates me as much as hunting Dall sheep. Each hunt is an adventure, a learning experience, and creates memories I’ll never forget. I moved to Alaska with one thing in mind, hunting, and hunting sheep was at the top of the list. Little did I know how much sheep hunting would consume my sole, and thankfully my wife’s as well, ha.
Schedules, babies, and prior plans worked against setting up my 2014 hunt it seemed. My wife couldn’t make the trip again due to taking care of our young son. A good friend commited then had to cancel due to family commitments, and Indian Larry had to work and had plans to hunt caribou. I was reluctant to ask a couple other friends because I knew they had sheep hunting plans already, and didn’t want them to change their plans just for me… looking back friends don’t mind doing this sort of thing, especially sheep hunters it seems. I know if I would have done the same and wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
My good friends, Wyodeerhunter (banned) and AKdrifter, are as stupidly obsessed with sheep hunting as I am. It didn’t take much convincing to talk them into going along with me. They’re always up for adventure and seeing new country. Sheep hunters are a cut different than the rest of the hunting pool, won’t say a cut above, because we’re hardly that. We lack most common sense, and inevitably put ourselves in danger more times than we should. I like to think the guys that are actually a cut above the rest, value their life one notch above the quarry they’re chasing.
Our trip involved a lengthy flight to a small landing strip situated adjacent to the above mentioned river. I had researched this spot all winter, and hoped that my intel was correct. No landing strips on the opposite side of the river for close to 20 miles meant that we’d probably have half a canyon to ourselves.
When planning any hunt, one of the first things I look for are barriers which limit access, be it mountain ridges, rivers, canyons, etc. anything to make access difficult. Human nature is to use the easiest route and transportation method possible. I’ve found this to be the case in practically every aspect of my life, and especially true when it comes to hunting and fishing. Being successful means going the extra mile. It is also true in the fact that so many “hunters” are willing to steal as much hard earned information. I refrain from posting most of the really great pictures from nearly every trip these days because of this. Sheep hunters tend to be the worst of the worst when it comes to “needing” to know where someone goes. For some reason knowing exactly where someone hunts, is like knowing the most intimate dirt on a rival politician just before election. Enough about that…
As we arrived and unloaded at the strip, we were greeted by an outfitter/guide. We weren’t expecting that, to say the least. I think he was just as surprised (and disappointed) to see us as we were him. He pulled his satellite phone out of his pocket and called his pilot to bring in his hunters ASAP. I think he was worried we were going to chase/find the sheep he was babysitting?
I don’t mind a bit of competition, and I hope his clients feel the same. We were in a pretty big drainage and there was more than enough room for a few guys to hunt. The way I look at it, its public land, public animals, and we all have just as much right to those animals as everyone else. Setting up a camp for two months and taking paying customers does not entitle him to anything… Surprisingly he was quite cordial (hasn’t been my experience with other outfitters in AK) and wished us a good hunt, after a quick chat with him and some gear re-arranging we were ready to hit the trail.
From the strip, we spotted what appeared to be a couple decent rams, but we would have to get a bit closer to determine legality. They were miles away, and all we could decipher was they were rams and looked like they might be big enough.
We shouldered our heavy packs loaded with gear to last us 10 days. We headed for a spot we figured would be the easiest to cross the river. It was braided in this section and not running quite as fast. It was however still running swift, deep and cold, we’d have to be on our game to make sure we crossed safely. The river discharged from a large glacier, our crossing would be near the terminus. This meant it was running the color of chocolate milk, and near freezing. Falling in, while unlikely to be fatal due to multiple gravel bars and depth throughout the braids, wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.
I tend to avoid water when possible, but in this case our other option included walking many miles up a glacier moraine to avoid the river crossing. I’ve spent a fair amount of time on glaciers, and honestly prefer an icy bath to walking in the labyrinth of rock piles and ice folds. We made the crossing in 4 trips, I say we, but AKdrifter did most of the crossing and work. I just hopped in and held on. The crossing was easier than I had expected, had it not been for my clumsiness at the take out, it would have been flawless.
Once across we stashed the boat, and set up a bear fence to keep Mr. Griz from chewing on the raft. For some reason bears like to chew on plastics, and other man made items.
We set up the spotting scope and reevaluated the rams we’d see earlier. They were fairly low on the mountain earlier that morning, and had moved up a bit. Still too far to determine size, but they were looking better. We now had a 3 mile bushwhack to get to the mountains. As we endured the monotony of weaving through the miles of stunted cottonwood and willow, I couldn’t help but ponder the week ahead. I empathize with people who lack a passion in their life such as sheep hunting has become to mine.
We ended up finding a suitable camp spot near the rams, and as luck would have it we got a really close look at them. They were holed up in a small basin near the top of a cliff, about 7-800 feet above us. One was broken or broomed on both sides making him legal, a bit young (7-8), but still a nice ram. The other 2 were smaller rams aged at 5 or 6.
We watched the rams for about an hour or so while also scanning the surrounding area. The sun was starting to set, and glassing light was improving. We spotted a small group of rams down low about 2 miles from us and another further up drainage from them. The second set of rams was made up of 6-7 rams, and one appeared to be a nicer ram than the one we were sitting under. We quickly made a decision to make a run at these newly spotted rams. Worst case we could come back for the first ram. We broke camp and headed towards the sheep. Our approach was thwarted by a wide glacial fed stream valley. The valley was about half a mile wide and completely void of cover. Our only option was to set up the spotting scope and watch the sheep until dark. While they were still over a mile away, we would have easily been spotted had we crossed the river bottom in daylight.
Under the cover of darkness and a full moon we made our approach. We had a sizable stream to cross, but again found a braided section which afforded us easier fording. The vision of crossing that stream under a full moon is a sight that is burned into my memory forever. Looking back we all wished we would have taken a few minutes and snapped a photo.
We finally reached the base of the ridge where we’d last seen the sheep. We contemplated camping there, or climbing the hill half way to be ready and in position at first light. We opted to climb the hill and find a place to curl up for the rest of the night. As it turns out the weather was clear and plesant. A flat spot to sleep was impossible to locate, we found a patch of grass next to a rockslide and fell fast asleep. We awoke at first light, gathered our items and started the final part of the accent. We figured we’d need to climb about twice as high as we’d come to get above where we’d last seen the sheep. As luck would have it we had a couple folds in the terrain to conceal our movements from their likely location.
We topped out on a small ridge overlooking the area we’d seen the rams the night before. They were however further down the hill feeding along the fringes of a avalanche “delta.” We could see about half the group, and couldn’t locate the biggest ram. We could see the backs of the rest of the rams as the fed in the chute, but with their heads down, we could only see bits and pieces of their headgear. The wait was nerve-racking. None of the rams we could fully see appeared legal, most were 4-6 years in age, but there was one that we hadn’t got a solid look at. We were in a perfect position, and only had to wait for the rams to feed up to us. We were in shooting range, around 350 yards, and it was only going to improve as the morning wore on.
While waiting for the last ram to show himself we noticed a couple tents in the bottom of the drainage about a mile away. Could it be the guides had come to the same drainage as us? There was half a dozen options at the strip, and we all chose the same one it seemed. We had to of arrived around the same time last evening if so, but taken different paths. We watched the sheep and the tents from time to time, and after probably an hour we noticed someone stirring down by the tents, then 4 guys roll out. Mind you it’s about 6:30 by this time. We’re literally camped out on sheep. We mentioned to each other, I wonder what the conversation will be like in that camp once they see 3 hunters sitting on a band of rams a mile from their tent. One could only speculate, but I imagine a few expletives were muttered. There was lots of country to hunt, and I’m sure the guides had plenty of backup plans.
Finally the ram made his debut. He was a bit bigger than the rest, but definably not a ram that we call a “no-doubter” meaning he’s obviously full curl, broomed or old. This one would need a bit of scrutiny. We watched him for about 10 min, and determined that he was likely legal, but if so, just barely, and probably only 7 or 8 years old. Not enough to risk pulling the trigger.
The rams ended up spooking and fled down and across the river bottom and up the other side. It was amazing to see them cover as much ground in 5 minutes in what would take us over an hour, amazing animals.
We spent the rest of the day exploring the drainage we were in, seeing a few more sheep but no legal rams. Some great country and a spot we’ll be back to later.
This caribou was curious to what we were doing; he came by at about 20 yards. We saw him again about a week later in the same spot.
This year will mark the 6 season I’ve hunted sheep in Alaska. I’ve been hunting big game for nearly 25 years, which is hard to believe. I feel that of all the animals, all the adventures, all the country I’ve hunted, nothing captivates me as much as hunting Dall sheep. Each hunt is an adventure, a learning experience, and creates memories I’ll never forget. I moved to Alaska with one thing in mind, hunting, and hunting sheep was at the top of the list. Little did I know how much sheep hunting would consume my sole, and thankfully my wife’s as well, ha.
Schedules, babies, and prior plans worked against setting up my 2014 hunt it seemed. My wife couldn’t make the trip again due to taking care of our young son. A good friend commited then had to cancel due to family commitments, and Indian Larry had to work and had plans to hunt caribou. I was reluctant to ask a couple other friends because I knew they had sheep hunting plans already, and didn’t want them to change their plans just for me… looking back friends don’t mind doing this sort of thing, especially sheep hunters it seems. I know if I would have done the same and wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
My good friends, Wyodeerhunter (banned) and AKdrifter, are as stupidly obsessed with sheep hunting as I am. It didn’t take much convincing to talk them into going along with me. They’re always up for adventure and seeing new country. Sheep hunters are a cut different than the rest of the hunting pool, won’t say a cut above, because we’re hardly that. We lack most common sense, and inevitably put ourselves in danger more times than we should. I like to think the guys that are actually a cut above the rest, value their life one notch above the quarry they’re chasing.
Our trip involved a lengthy flight to a small landing strip situated adjacent to the above mentioned river. I had researched this spot all winter, and hoped that my intel was correct. No landing strips on the opposite side of the river for close to 20 miles meant that we’d probably have half a canyon to ourselves.
When planning any hunt, one of the first things I look for are barriers which limit access, be it mountain ridges, rivers, canyons, etc. anything to make access difficult. Human nature is to use the easiest route and transportation method possible. I’ve found this to be the case in practically every aspect of my life, and especially true when it comes to hunting and fishing. Being successful means going the extra mile. It is also true in the fact that so many “hunters” are willing to steal as much hard earned information. I refrain from posting most of the really great pictures from nearly every trip these days because of this. Sheep hunters tend to be the worst of the worst when it comes to “needing” to know where someone goes. For some reason knowing exactly where someone hunts, is like knowing the most intimate dirt on a rival politician just before election. Enough about that…
As we arrived and unloaded at the strip, we were greeted by an outfitter/guide. We weren’t expecting that, to say the least. I think he was just as surprised (and disappointed) to see us as we were him. He pulled his satellite phone out of his pocket and called his pilot to bring in his hunters ASAP. I think he was worried we were going to chase/find the sheep he was babysitting?
I don’t mind a bit of competition, and I hope his clients feel the same. We were in a pretty big drainage and there was more than enough room for a few guys to hunt. The way I look at it, its public land, public animals, and we all have just as much right to those animals as everyone else. Setting up a camp for two months and taking paying customers does not entitle him to anything… Surprisingly he was quite cordial (hasn’t been my experience with other outfitters in AK) and wished us a good hunt, after a quick chat with him and some gear re-arranging we were ready to hit the trail.
From the strip, we spotted what appeared to be a couple decent rams, but we would have to get a bit closer to determine legality. They were miles away, and all we could decipher was they were rams and looked like they might be big enough.
We shouldered our heavy packs loaded with gear to last us 10 days. We headed for a spot we figured would be the easiest to cross the river. It was braided in this section and not running quite as fast. It was however still running swift, deep and cold, we’d have to be on our game to make sure we crossed safely. The river discharged from a large glacier, our crossing would be near the terminus. This meant it was running the color of chocolate milk, and near freezing. Falling in, while unlikely to be fatal due to multiple gravel bars and depth throughout the braids, wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.
I tend to avoid water when possible, but in this case our other option included walking many miles up a glacier moraine to avoid the river crossing. I’ve spent a fair amount of time on glaciers, and honestly prefer an icy bath to walking in the labyrinth of rock piles and ice folds. We made the crossing in 4 trips, I say we, but AKdrifter did most of the crossing and work. I just hopped in and held on. The crossing was easier than I had expected, had it not been for my clumsiness at the take out, it would have been flawless.
Once across we stashed the boat, and set up a bear fence to keep Mr. Griz from chewing on the raft. For some reason bears like to chew on plastics, and other man made items.
We set up the spotting scope and reevaluated the rams we’d see earlier. They were fairly low on the mountain earlier that morning, and had moved up a bit. Still too far to determine size, but they were looking better. We now had a 3 mile bushwhack to get to the mountains. As we endured the monotony of weaving through the miles of stunted cottonwood and willow, I couldn’t help but ponder the week ahead. I empathize with people who lack a passion in their life such as sheep hunting has become to mine.
We ended up finding a suitable camp spot near the rams, and as luck would have it we got a really close look at them. They were holed up in a small basin near the top of a cliff, about 7-800 feet above us. One was broken or broomed on both sides making him legal, a bit young (7-8), but still a nice ram. The other 2 were smaller rams aged at 5 or 6.
We watched the rams for about an hour or so while also scanning the surrounding area. The sun was starting to set, and glassing light was improving. We spotted a small group of rams down low about 2 miles from us and another further up drainage from them. The second set of rams was made up of 6-7 rams, and one appeared to be a nicer ram than the one we were sitting under. We quickly made a decision to make a run at these newly spotted rams. Worst case we could come back for the first ram. We broke camp and headed towards the sheep. Our approach was thwarted by a wide glacial fed stream valley. The valley was about half a mile wide and completely void of cover. Our only option was to set up the spotting scope and watch the sheep until dark. While they were still over a mile away, we would have easily been spotted had we crossed the river bottom in daylight.
Under the cover of darkness and a full moon we made our approach. We had a sizable stream to cross, but again found a braided section which afforded us easier fording. The vision of crossing that stream under a full moon is a sight that is burned into my memory forever. Looking back we all wished we would have taken a few minutes and snapped a photo.
We finally reached the base of the ridge where we’d last seen the sheep. We contemplated camping there, or climbing the hill half way to be ready and in position at first light. We opted to climb the hill and find a place to curl up for the rest of the night. As it turns out the weather was clear and plesant. A flat spot to sleep was impossible to locate, we found a patch of grass next to a rockslide and fell fast asleep. We awoke at first light, gathered our items and started the final part of the accent. We figured we’d need to climb about twice as high as we’d come to get above where we’d last seen the sheep. As luck would have it we had a couple folds in the terrain to conceal our movements from their likely location.
We topped out on a small ridge overlooking the area we’d seen the rams the night before. They were however further down the hill feeding along the fringes of a avalanche “delta.” We could see about half the group, and couldn’t locate the biggest ram. We could see the backs of the rest of the rams as the fed in the chute, but with their heads down, we could only see bits and pieces of their headgear. The wait was nerve-racking. None of the rams we could fully see appeared legal, most were 4-6 years in age, but there was one that we hadn’t got a solid look at. We were in a perfect position, and only had to wait for the rams to feed up to us. We were in shooting range, around 350 yards, and it was only going to improve as the morning wore on.
While waiting for the last ram to show himself we noticed a couple tents in the bottom of the drainage about a mile away. Could it be the guides had come to the same drainage as us? There was half a dozen options at the strip, and we all chose the same one it seemed. We had to of arrived around the same time last evening if so, but taken different paths. We watched the sheep and the tents from time to time, and after probably an hour we noticed someone stirring down by the tents, then 4 guys roll out. Mind you it’s about 6:30 by this time. We’re literally camped out on sheep. We mentioned to each other, I wonder what the conversation will be like in that camp once they see 3 hunters sitting on a band of rams a mile from their tent. One could only speculate, but I imagine a few expletives were muttered. There was lots of country to hunt, and I’m sure the guides had plenty of backup plans.
Finally the ram made his debut. He was a bit bigger than the rest, but definably not a ram that we call a “no-doubter” meaning he’s obviously full curl, broomed or old. This one would need a bit of scrutiny. We watched him for about 10 min, and determined that he was likely legal, but if so, just barely, and probably only 7 or 8 years old. Not enough to risk pulling the trigger.
The rams ended up spooking and fled down and across the river bottom and up the other side. It was amazing to see them cover as much ground in 5 minutes in what would take us over an hour, amazing animals.
We spent the rest of the day exploring the drainage we were in, seeing a few more sheep but no legal rams. Some great country and a spot we’ll be back to later.
This caribou was curious to what we were doing; he came by at about 20 yards. We saw him again about a week later in the same spot.
