DEFYING THE ODDS...THE FINAL PUSH
"This is no game for the weak-kneed and faint-hearted. Hunter success is not high, not because there aren’t enough sheep but because there aren’t enough people with the temperament to become sheep hunters."
—“The Bighorn,” March 1960
Day 10 greated us with blue skies! We packed camp and started our ascent up and over into the neighboring Valley. Six miles in Michael spotted a lone ram high up in the rocky cliffs at the top of a peak. We worked our way closer and closer. As close as we were going to get without being on slope with him, we still couldn't determine legality. Knowing he was a loner and looking like probably full curl we decided to make the stalk in on him to determine legality.
The stalk was intensely physical. 1,600ft of vertical in .6 miles over shale, boulders, and cliff bands. After hours of climbing we just couldn't get an angle on his little slice of heaven perched upon his rocky watch tower. My nerves were shot and I did not want to go any higher. With nothing to gain with more elevation, we dropped 100ft and scaled up and over a medium sized rock wall that was blocking our path. Once back out of sight we pushed forward. Another 200 yards put us up against another rock wall that made the south wall of his avalanche chute. As Michael slowly crested the top and immediately crouched back down with a look on his face I will never forget. On the other side at a mere 63 yards stood our ram. Head down and feeding he had no idea we were there. Michael eased his rifle over the top of the wall. Through his scope he could easily count 9 annuli. He whispered to me "he's 9, I'm gonna kill him. At 63 yards Michael squeezed the trigger on his rifle and put one well placed bullet 3" behind the crease of the big rams shoulder. With all the defiance of a true warrior king he stood his ground but his final moments passed quickly and with a wild thrash of his head he toppled over backwards crashing into a large boulder which luckily hung him up preventing a great fall.
My brother has wanted to hunt sheep since he was a little boy. Watching him reach down and touch the horn of HIS RAM brought me to tears. Here stood a man who I admire and love more than anyone on this earth, accomplishing what could possibly be his oldest lifelong goal was immensely moving. I choked back my emotions as to not ruin the excitement. We hugged, we high fived, we counted annuli 46 times just to be safe.
It was a nasty steep spot so we safely and methodically skinned and deboned his ram after many many pictures. With heavy packs we started our descent. Down down down we descended until we were safely on the valley floor. Before we set off after Michael's ram we had pitched our tent and offloaded extras so we had a 2 mile hike back to base. I was shot by the bottom of the hill but a quick stretch at the creek gave me enough life to make it back.
With camp already set I began caping out the head while Michael made dinner. Smiles never left our faces as we tended to our chores knowing we had just tagged out on dall sheep on the north slope of the Brooks Range on the worst year to be hunting sheep in Alaska! It was an intense but amazing day. One I will think back on until the day that I die.
Day 11, the day of the grind. We had 10.6 miles of muskeg to burn through with heavy packs to get back to the lake. We awoke reasonably early, ate, and packed camp, meat, and head. Walking the rock of the river bed was far more leisurely than high stepping through the life sucking muskeg so we attempted to stick to the rivers edge but it was short lived and we soon found ourselves slogging through the watery mess once again.
Six hours later we had made it to the lake to find everything as we left it. My rams meat was still good and the cape was in tact. I have never been so relieved in all my life. The unknown condition of my ram had kept both of us in a constant state of concern but we could now rest easy knowing all our prep work had paid off.
We set camp, unpacked Michael's ram and kicked back for a leisurely evening. We roasted backstrap over a sad fire made from twigs scavenged from the lake shore. Though labor intensive keeping the coal bed hot enough to cook it was a delicious meal and worth the effort. With fresh meat in our stomachs we called it a night.
The following day we ate, drank copious amounts of coffee, stared at our rams and fished a bit. The day prior we had messaged the air taxi to let them know we were back at the lake and ready for pickup whenever possible. They were positive an early pickup wasn't going to happen but around noon they messaged and said plane will be there by 1:30 so be ready! We packed everything up except our chairs and tarp and hauled it over to the beach.
We drank in the grand scale of this wild country one last time as the Cessna 185 floated to a stop in front of us. Loading gear, meat, and horns, we bid farewell to our wild home of two weeks. Thankful it allowed us to visit and take from her our bounty of meat and yellow horn. It was a terrifyingly rough flight home! The wind was furious and blew our little plane to and fro, up and down. For over an hour our pilot Brendan kept us pointed straight. Michael is a self admitted motion sickness sissy. He fought a hard battle but a mere 4 min from landing he lost that battle and filled a gallon ziploc with lunch. Our air taxi needs to replace their puke bags however as the many pinholes started to leak! Eventually we made it back to the float dock from which our journey started and we piled out of the plane like clowns from a car with Michael and his goody bag following up the rear as it geysered its contents out of its sides! I've never been so happy to be out of the sky!
Back in Bettles we paid our tab, grabbed 4 diet pepsi's and a bag of chips and headed back to the hangar to unscramble our world and get meat cut and in the freezer.
Making short work of our rams we were soon done with our chores. There was a group of 5 rafters from NY and Boston that were in the hangar at the beginning of our trip that were very interested in these two guys that could fit their entire world in two backpacks. Sure enough they got out of the bush the same day we did. We spent the next day and a half with them chatting adventures. They shared all about their trip backpacking and rafting in Mongolia and we explained and answered their questions in great detail about all things hunting. The following night I pan seared to medium rare a large piece of backstrap which we sliced thin and shared with everyone in the hangar (10 people counting us). It was gone in mere seconds as our non hunting friends tasted their first wild game. It was rewarding to unwind with some good company on our final days away from the "civilized" world and to help be stewards for our way of life.
Friday at 11 a.m. we hopped on our Wright Air flight and made it back to fairbanks where we got a taxi to Budget rentals, snagged a car and raced off to ADFG to get our rams checked. It was a fun process to watch. They aged them, took tissue samples, measurements, and finally plugging our horns signifying that both our rams were in fact legal. With a handshake and a congratulations from the biologists we bid them farewell.
With that done we found a big pepperoni and pineapple pizza and a hotel room with a hot shower and a bed. We hadn't slept in a bed in 14 nights and my God was it amazing!
Saturday morning we went to breakfast for Raindeer sausage and sourdough pancakes to honor our new tradition started on Kodiak during our first trip to hunt Alaska years ago. It was no Kings diner but it was plenty good enough for a couple of brothers who now call themselves sheep hunters....
"The mountain sheep keeps his horns as long as he lives, and on them he writes his autobiography. He records his age, his species, his good years and his bad, and his battles.”
—“The Stories Sheep Horns Tell,” February 1974
