Leupold BX-4 Rangefinding Binoculars

Oh No Ewe Aren't: Humbled by the Breaks

Clarq

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Feb 26, 2022
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133
(Note – before reading, please see my first post about this hunt here ).

PROLOGUE

Dear Lord,

Thank you for the health, finances, and physical ability I have that allow me to go on this adventure. Thank you for the safety that has accompanied me so far. Please provide me with strength and good judgment today.

With the weather looking how it is, it looks like today might be my only shot. So… anything you could do to help out would be great.

Amen.


I cringed as I stood up from the bedside and began preparing for the day. I don’t like praying for success on a hunt. I frequently question whether there is a god out there listening at all. And if there is, I’m not sure it’s right to ask him for something so trivial when there are people around the world with real problems and serious concerns.

Though not at the level of many of the real problems and concerns of others, I’ll say that this hunt was an important one for me. I had spent 8 points to draw it, in addition to the cost of a nonresident sheep permit, gas money for what would be nearly 3,000 miles of driving when all was said and done, plus other supplies and incidentals. At the last minute, I’d added a hotel room to that list of expenses. Camping out alone in stormy weather, with lows in the 20s, just didn’t sound appealing when things came right down to it.

It was a lot of time, money, and effort to throw at a ewe tag, but at the end of the day, I guess I’m a sheep nut, and one who would rather go sheep hunting than sit on the sidelines and wait decades for a ram tag that would quite possibly never come.

My first foray into sheep hunting occurred in 2019, when I applied for and drew a ewe tag in Colorado. I was able to harvest a great animal on day 2 of the hunt, right before a huge thunderstorm blew in and blanketed the mountain for the next several days. Here she is.

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My only real regret with the Colorado hunt was not having enough fun with it in the moment. Though I look back on that hunt now with great fondness, at the time, I let the pressure of an expensive and uncommon hunt get to me at times. I’d have had some more fun if I had just chilled out a little bit.

My goal going into this ewe hunt was to relax and enjoy it more. However, I was having a hard time doing just that. I was racing the clock and feeling like I was in just a little bit over my head.

I gave my first post about this hunt a fairly arrogant title. I had pictured a fair weather hunt with a friend or two and a pretty good shot at success. This time around, I was feeling decidedly less ready. I would be making this trip alone, gunning for success within a tight window, and all in an area I hadn’t scouted before. I was putting full faith in the advice I’d received on a call from a Montana sheep biologist. I had no doubt he was offering me solid advice, but I also know that sheep are where you find them. Heaven only knew whether there was even a sheep within miles of my chosen destination.

Hey, at least I was here trying. I loaded up the car in the pre-dawn darkness, making sure I had enough food, water, blankets, and warm clothing to survive for a few days if I ended up stuck in the middle of nowhere. Snow from a recent storm was melting, and the whole area was soaked. The roads would probably be horrendous. I started the truck, wondering what I had gotten myself into. I soon ran into fog. How fitting.

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As I made the long drive to my chosen destination, I pondered on all the mistakes I had made and the things I’d done wrong when preparing for this hunt. This is the story of the hunt in its entirety – the things I did well, and the silly mistakes I made. I could simply post a few more pictures and call it good, but how valuable would that be? I’m hoping newer or less experienced hunters can read this and learn a thing or two.

Besides that, our poor buddy Marshian deserves a break. My turn to get laughed at.

Here we go…
 
So far it looks like, at the very least, even with screw-ups and mistakes included, you probably must have given a good effort and likely didn’t shank the tent so I’m excited to read your story!
 
APPLICATION SEASON

As I drove down the lonely dirt road, I wondered if the real mistake was applying for a 680-31 ewe tag in the first place. The hunt area included a portion of the Upper Missouri Breaks, north of the river and west of Stafford Ferry Road. The application guidebook contains a fairly significant warning regarding the hunt unit:

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Still, I really wanted 2023 to be the year I went sheep hunting, and this tag was probably my best shot at doing it. When I applied, my relationship was progressing nicely, and I was looking toward wedding bells in 2024. Possibly a new baby in 2025. It was only going to get harder to do things like this from here on out. I went ahead with the application, not giving it the full consideration and research it deserved.

Still, I didn’t go in completely blind. I did some e-scouting and picked out a few access points. There was a conservation easement, some roads that touched BLM land that looked promising, and miles and miles of canyons along the river. Surely I could find a ewe in all that country. And if it was looking really tough, I’d just call up an outfitter and get onto some private land. No big deal, right?

I was notified of my successful draw on May 19th.

On May 29th, my relationship with my now-ex ended in a manner I’ll only describe here as catastrophic and stunning. I can look back now and see that I dodged a bullet, but it took me a while to get to that point. I was pretty torn up about it for a few months. This hunt didn’t get much attention from me in June and July.

I finally got my butt in gear and started seriously preparing for the hunt in August. It was only then that I found out a few important details:
  • Access to the conservation easement is more limited and difficult to obtain than I realized.
  • Some roads which appeared to be public on maps actually aren’t public.
  • Ewes tend to spend time in specific areas, with the canyons along the river not being their favorite place (at least not on the west side – I’ve heard that the east side is different but I don’t know a lot of details).
  • An outfitted hunt on the unit would, in all probability, consist of driving up to a herd and shooting one out of a hay field (no outfitter I talked to explicitly said so much, but that’s what I heard when trying to read between the lines). I don’t judge anyone who wants to do it that way, but that’s not really the experience I was after.
I eventually called the unit biologist and got some information. He was very helpful and forthright regarding what I had gotten myself into. It appeared that the key to success, assuming I went unguided, would be an awful lot of walking.

I started an aggressive hiking regimen to prepare. It was good for my sanity and my physical fitness, and I was glad I had that tag and the upcoming hunt to give me something to look forward to.
 
MAKING THE TRIP

My first trip to the Breaks occurred over the opening weekend of archery season (see my previous post for that report). I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and intended to make it back up before the end of the month.

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I had intended to take trip #2 in late September, when the weather would be pleasant and a little more conducive to a campout, and when I had a buddy lined up to come with me. However, several consecutive rainstorms prompted me to delay the trip. I’d heard enough horror stories about the Missouri River “gumbo” mud that I thought it best to wait. September turned to October, and I put another two trips on the calendar that ended up getting postponed again – once due to weather and once due to a work emergency.

The joke around the office soon became that this was going to be the hunting trip that never actually happened. I was worried my coworkers might be right. I’m blessed with a great career that allows me to make a difference in the world and fund my hunting addiction, but that can make it difficult to get away. It was especially difficult this year, after one of my team members was sidelined due to an injury. My team was swamped and I was dealing with a lot. When it looked like I could get away with disappearing over the period of October 31 – November 4, I put it on the calendar and set my plan in motion. The forecast was a little iffy, but it looked like I’d have a shot at a window of decent weather. I made my reservations and headed on up.

As the week progressed, the forecast fell apart on me. It looked like I would have good weather on Wednesday the 1st and a few hours on the morning of Thursday the 2nd before the rain socked in. Still, I made the journey. If I postponed again, I wasn’t sure when I’d make it back, and whether conditions would be any better when I did. I arrived late in the afternoon on October 31, checked in to my accommodations, and checked the forecast one more time. It looked like I was going to have one good day of weather before the rain hit. I intended to make the most of it.
 
DAY 1 - MORNING

I made a predawn drive on roads which were currently frozen solid but appeared likely to turn to mush as soon as things warmed up. Oh well, that was a problem I was just going to have to deal with later. I made my way to my chosen starting point.

I had one lucky break on my first scouting trip simply by chatting with the locals. I was able to get in touch with a landowner who was willing to grant me access through one of their parcels. This access would shave a mile or two off my previously planned hike – helpful, though I was still looking at quite a trek. I agreed to meet up with the landowner on the morning of the hunt to secure written permission and discuss a few ground rules. That went well, and I was off.

The difference between the Breaks on Labor Day and the Breaks I was now looking at was night and day, with snow being perhaps the most conspicuous difference.

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It sure was a nice morning.

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The miles passed by as I soaked in the quiet serenity of the place.

I eventually ran into a herd of about 30 elk, including a massive bull. All I have is one bad picture, but you can see just how much bigger his body is than the surrounding cows. He was a good 6 point – a real trophy in my book. Luckily for him, I was after something different today.

elk_herd.JPG

I eventually arrived at the general area where the biologist suggested that I might find some sheep. My GPS tracker told me I’d covered 5.5 miles up to that point. I did some initial glassing and turned up empty, so I started walking along the cliffs and surveying the country. Pretty soon, I was on my first set of tracks.

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This was starting to get interesting.
 
DAY 1 – MIDDAY

The moments after I discovered that first set of tracks could best be described as hunting at its finest. I was in absolutely beautiful country, miles from the nearest human, and getting closer to what I had been looking for. I took my time and tried to really enjoy each moment.

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I had my eye on a finger ridge that would give me an incredibly scenic vantage point and plenty of country to glass. As I made my way out onto it, I wondered if another human had ever gone where I was going. Probably some crazy sheep hunter, at some time past. And, certainly, a few sheep over the years. I smiled as I found another set of tracks.

Yes indeed, this was paradise. A man could really relax and unwind in a place like this.

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Unfortunately, my relaxation was cut short by the stare of a four-legged friend up on the skyline. See it?

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How about now?

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I put the binoculars up and positively identified it as a bighorn ewe. She was staring at me from 475 yards away. An easy shot for some, but not one I would even consider taking. I have a tremor in my body, and in a hunting situation, I need to keep it within 300 yards to feel ok about taking a shot. Preferably closer.

I surveyed the scene. She was in a great spot as long as she stayed up on top. A quick 50 yard dash would put her down in the cliffs and in terrain I wouldn’t dare follow her into. To get to her, I would need to retrace my steps and get back off the ridge I was on. I could then disappear into a shallow drainage and probably sneak within range. I wouldn’t be able to stay out of sight the entire time, but at that point, she’d already seen me. I would just have to hope she wasn’t inclined to move.

I made it off the ridge and to a place that would allow me to hide and catch my breath. I checked my maps again. I’d walked 6.5 miles at this point. The walk back would be about the same distance. It was almost 1:00 PM. I’d need to start back toward the truck within a few hours to make it there at a reasonable hour.

The weather and my limited time were heavy on my mind. The rain tomorrow was probably going to hold off long enough that I could pack some meat out in the morning, but probably not long enough that I could get a meaningful hunt in. This was my chance.
 
DAY 1 – DECISION TIME

Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. The wise words of my grandfather echoed in my head. I had plans to join him for Sunday dinner to report on the hunt, after I’d arrived back home. He was quite the hunter in his day, but at age 92, his hunting now happens vicariously. I wanted to make him proud. And I knew that to do that, I’d have to make good decisions and return home safely. He wouldn’t care whether I filled my tag or not.

Ok, make sure you think this through. What was my plan if I succeeded? I’d quarter her up, cache some of the meat in a tree, and complete the retrieval in the morning, before the storm hit. It would be doable if I got an early start.

I tried to honestly assess the situation. My body was feeling good. I knew the path I’d just walked along, and I felt like I’d have no trouble walking back with some weight on my back. I’d trained and prepared for this.

If you don’t take this opportunity, will there be another? In all honesty… probably not. With work and life the way it is, another trip would be hard to pull off. 11 hours of driving each way is enough to make it a challenge, let alone the expense and the time away from work. Maybe around Thanksgiving? But at that point, heaven knows what the access will be like.

What is the chance you end up regretting this? There was definitely a chance something could go wrong. I was all alone, and a long way away from anyone or anything. Maybe I’d dislocate my kneecap again... it’s happened twice already. The overnight low was going to be around 25 degrees. Maybe I’d get caught out after dark and freeze. Maybe I’d slip and tumble down a steep hillside. The possibilities are endless, if you really start thinking about it. Maybe this was all just a stupid idea.

Nope. I can’t live my life running from the what-ifs.

I took the gun off the pack and headed for the sheep.
 
DAY 1 – AFTERNOON

For once, the stalk went more or less as planned. I eventually exhausted my cover, sat down, and set up for a shot.

She was standing broadside, feeding, either unaware of or unconcerned with my presence. I ranged her at 225 yards. Good enough. I was shaking like crazy. Calm down – the last thing we want is a wounded sheep down in the cliffs. I took some deep breaths and settled in. Then spazzed out. Then took some more deep breaths, and settled in again. Chambered a round. Squeezed the trigger…

She collapsed at the shot. I had a sheep down.

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I collected my things and reverently approached my fallen quarry. I was overcome with gratitude. It had been a dream of mine since I started applying in Montana to hunt sheep in the Upper Missouri Breaks. And while it wasn’t with one of the 3 ram tags that more than 4,000 nonresidents apply for every year, I’d found a way to make it happen. Best of all, it culminated in the harvest of a beautiful animal, and in stunning country.

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For just a few minutes, I allowed myself to pause and enjoy the moment. The sun came out, I had an animal down, and I had a world-class view. It doesn’t get much better than that.

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Unfortunately, the daylight was ticking away, and it became clear that I needed to get to work. I broke her down and got the meat cooling. After that, I got to participate in a little science project. The FWP sent me a sampling kit to use and send back to them if I was successful. I was happy to help, and happy to pose as a wildlife biologist for just a few minutes. That was my dream job for a lot of years. I’d have probably been happy in that career, but I probably wouldn’t have been able to finance a hunt like this on a biologist’s salary, either. Pick you poison, I suppose.

I collected nasal swabs and samples of blood, tissue, and feces, and added them to the pack.

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I loaded all my supplies, the head, and all the meat into the pack. I didn’t intend to take the whole animal out in one go, but I had to at least get the meat off the flats and away from the coyotes. I put the pack on and stood up. Yep, I definitely wasn’t going to get this all out in one load. I headed toward the truck, and the trees where I could stash some meat for the night.

I soon discovered that the ground was much softer than it had been on the walk out. The warm afternoon sun had started to thaw the place out. It’s funny – when I had considered driving around the Breaks, I was conscious of the fact that the roads would likely turn soft by the end of the day. When I had considered packing my sheep back, though, the thought of the terrain doing so had never crossed my mind.

I had ignored or minimized a lot of things about this hunt up to that point – how difficult the access would be, how hard it would be to get up there during a good weather window, etc. But this was quite possibly my biggest oversight. By the end of the night, the Missouri Breaks “gumbo” mud would teach me a lesson I won’t soon forget.
 
Cool hunt!! Nice job!!
No tents were harmed in the making of this hunt!!
 

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