It was finally go time! August 22nd was here and things were lining up perfectly. I got out of work a few hours early to make the drive and Dale was already there. I was peaking physically and all my gear was prepped. It was time to go Dall sheep hunting.
But as is common with fly-in mountain hunts, Mother Nature had different plans for us. The trip started with a two-day delay. Oh she is cruel! It was like getting ready to play in the state football championship your senior year, only to have a rain delay. Needless to say those were two very frustrating and boring days. I killed some time glassing the surrounding area and actually found four black bears on the same hillside in one evening. On the second day, we got to try to fly into our area, but to no avail. Our pilot had been flying the area for over 40 years and, without question we trusted his judgment, as the glacier was socked in with fog. It made for a cool sightseeing tour, but ultimately, it was just a tease, as it only added to our growing frustration and anxiety. On the morning of the 24th, we awoke to clear skies and a renewed optimism that today would be the day, and it was!
When we finally made the left hand turn up the glacier and landed on what I would hardly call an airstrip, nothing else mattered in the world, all was right. Now how did I get to this point? Let’s back up to the end of my 2014 hunting season.
With the 2014 hunting season coming to a close, I sat reminiscing on my previous year’s success. Not being one to rest on my laurels, there was little time for complacency. The planning for next year’s Dall sheep hunt had already begun. Through a few close friends, and lots of research, I ended up with enough information to pick a well-known glacier in Southeast Alaska for my 2015 Dall sheep hunt. I just had to wait for the draw results, update my gear and find a hunting partner. The preparation began immediately!
My usual buddies were already booked up and I was in limbo, not really wanting to do my first glacier hunt solo. Fast-forward to February 20, a close second to Christmas Eve for all Alaskan outdoorsmen, as it’s the day the Alaska Department of Fish and Game draw results are posted. This resulted in another buddy of mine being removed from the equation of possible hunting partners, as he had drawn a coveted Dall sheep tag in another area. Not wanting to waste any more time, I phoned my buddy Dale to see if he was up for an adventure. I believe that God puts people in your life for a reason and Dale just so happened to be put into my life to be a hunting partner. We met last year on a sheep hunt. After a few phone calls passing information, he was up for the adventure. Upon getting confirmation from Dale I immediately called the local air services to look into booking a bush flight. Since it wasn’t the opener, we didn’t have much of an issue with scheduling. Both Dale and I booked our flights, with Gary Green of McCarthy Air from 22 August – 6 September. This would be my first fly out hunt, part of the experience of a sheep hunt, and one I was certainly looking forward to.
Throughout the winter I updated and purchased new gear, all while creating an Excel spread sheet with weights of everything I would be taking, down to the nearest eighth of an ounce. I crosschecked my gear list with Dale to reduce as much weight as possible. We agreed to split everything we could. I would be carrying the spotting scope and tripod, while Dale would bring the tent and stove and we’d split the fuel. Both of our packs came in around 60 lbs. with 15 days’ worth of food.
In the lead up to the hunt my days would unfold predictably. My alarm would go off at 4:45 a.m. I am a relatively fit individual at 6’2” 185 lbs., but I had my weaknesses in the mountains. Well, let’s not call them weaknesses, rather opportunities for improvement. I tailored my workout routine to hit my legs and shoulders more this year. Additionally, when the New Year rolled around I decided to set a goal of doing 800 miles of cardio before the August 10th opener for sheep season. That meant hiking, running, biking, swimming and stair climbing. I was successful there, clocking a total of 1066 miles before I left for my sheep hunt. When the opener rolled around, I was peaking and itching to go. We had the usual preseason dinner at a local restaurant and things where falling into place, the only problem was I had to wait until August 22nd to go on my adventure.
Now that we’re caught up, let’s get back to the story.
Gary surveyed the rest of the strip to make sure there was nothing in his way for takeoff, and just like that he taxied, turned down the glacier and was off. It was nearing 10:00 o’clock and it finally sunk in, we were closer to Canada than home and more than 60 miles from any form of civilization. Everything I would need was on my back for the 15 day hunt. We got our bearings and began glassing the surrounding area. Right away Dale spotted white dots above the strip. It was a group of five mountain goats. Luckily for them, the season did not open until September 1st. As we continued glassing, it did not take long to find what we were after, white dots with curling horns. The only down side was that they were across the glacier. We could tell that they were rams, but we could not tell if they were legal. Regardless, they warranted further investigation and off we went for our first crack at crossing the glacier.
With the proper gear—crampons, trekking poles, etc. — it went surprisingly smoothly. We were mid-glacier when we decided to take a break, pull out the spotting scope and take another look. Much to our dismay we spotted hunters after 30 minutes of glassing, so we packed our gear and headed back across the glacier. We reached our destination, with blistered feet and sore backs, at dusk and were forced to make camp in the dark. After getting settled in, we broke out the stove and made a much-needed meal.
Day 2 brought our eyes onto new country and turned up three different groups of rams. All of the sheep were in places that would take a two day trek for us to get into a position to make a play and, while the trip was young, no move was made in hopes of recouping from a rough two days of glacier travel. Two of those rams were undoubtedly monarchs, for the locations that they chose to rest gave them a commanding view of the entire drainage. Furthermore, there was no practical way to get to them, as the terrain they called home was just impassable.
Day 3 dawned overcast, but decent for a sheep hunt. With renewed vigor, we fell into our normal routine of glassing and breaking camp. As we were glassing up another fork, the whine of a Super Cub, quickly followed by a second Super Cub became audible. They eventually landed and picked up what we believe were the two hunters we had seen the previous day. As we watched the planes leave, we decided to pack up and go back across the glacier after those sheep we had spotted before. The trek over to the other side was every bit as difficult as it had been the first time. There were no flat spots to cross and anything that looked crossable typically ended in either a vertical drop or a miniature river. So, while we were only three miles as the crow flies from the rams, it took all day to cross as we had to cover nearly five miles on the glacier — my buddies had warned me about crossing and how much time it would take. Regardless, the stalk was shaping up. We packed water off the glacier, found a flat spot (relatively speaking) to pitch the tent, and decided to put the rams to bed. They were extremely low on the face of the mountain that evening, furthering our hopes that they would feed up in the morning. The stage was set.
Day 4, we awoke to another blue bird day, perfect weather to make a stalk. Shortly after sunrise, we began to climb, packing a day’s worth of food, our optics and extra clothes. Halfway into the climb, a bowl on the backside opened up and, sure enough, there were two sheep up and feeding. We backed off and found cover in hopes of better evaluating the rams. One stood out right away as a shooter, as he was full curl on his right side and broomed on his left. Unfortunately, the other ram was only a youngster, pushing five-years-old at the most. From here things took a turn for the worse, the rams who had the high ground, decided to bed down in plain sight, with the younger ram facing our general direction.
After waiting for an intense 40 minutes, we decided to get aggressive. We were 20 feet from a cut in front of us that would provide cover while, at our backside, was a steep shale slide, more vertical than I cared to be on. The decision was made to try and make it into the cut and work our way up above the rams. Dale went first, as he spotted the rams and therefore had the right of first refusal. We both made it to the cut, but on our way down, the sound of sliding rock must have alerted the younger ram to our presence. They both stood as we froze in our tracks. What ensued was the most intense standoff I have ever been in. My legs began to quiver, and eventually fell asleep, as the rams stared us down for almost 15 minutes, at which point they decided they had seen enough and took off. We hurriedly moved into the bottom of the cut and started gaining as much ground as possible in hopes of cutting them off. We should have known better. Those rams disappeared, never to be seen again.
Depressed, we continued up after the other band of rams. Upon cresting the top, we were relieved to find the five rams still feeding low on the mountain, slowly working their way up towards us. This was the perfect. We sat above this group of rams for more than 10 hours. It was about 7:30 in the evening when the weather began to change. There was a sudden shift in the wind, bringing clouds and rain. After putting on every piece of clothing and doing calisthenics to stay warm, the rams finally showed themselves two hours later. Unfortunately, we just couldn’t make any of the rams legal. This, added to the fact that the wind was steadily increasing, prompted us to drop back down to camp.
Day 5 brought fog, but no rain. We had all our gear strung out like it was an old fashioned yard sale in hopes of drying out before we packed up to head down glacier. We had spotted sheep on day two further down glacier and they were our next targets. We broke camp and made for the smooth white ice in hopes of easy travel — easy travel in glacier country is a relative term, as we soon came to learn. We spent the better part of eight hours hiking in our crampons doing what we could to save our feet. We eventually made it to our desired location only to be greeted with one last obstacle: finding a way to get off the glacier.
Frustrations began to mount, as there was just no easy way off the glacier. Now, both Dale and I are fairly athletic individuals, but after a trek like we had just done, our motor skills had begun to fade. One careless step resulted in a fall and, as I slid all of five feet time stood still. I’m sure that it all transpired in mere seconds, but it seemed like two minutes passed while I slid. Five feet is not a long distance but what lay below me was more than I cared to explore: a big enough crevasse to easily fit my whole body and the pack on my back. After regaining my composure, we found a rock about the size of a spare tire and kicked it into the crevasse. What ensued is something I wished I’d filmed, as it’s hard to imagine. The rock just kept tumbling further into the frozen depths of the glacier, for nearly 30 seconds straight we listened to the rock crash. The look on Dale’s face was priceless, as I’m sure mine was as well. To think that I could have ended up down there! Man, was I ready to ditch the crampons and ice to put some dirt beneath my feet. A blister-popping climb ensued, and one hour later, camp was reached, as we found the first piece of flat ground and threw the bags down. Sleep came easy that night.
Day 6 found us hiking further off the glacier, climbing into a little bowl that looked to be promising. After topping out, we found a virtual sheep sanctuary, with grass bordered by escape terrain, and ample water. Sign was everywhere, but the sheep weren’t anywhere to be seen. We hiked back on a worn trail that had been pounded into the earth by sheep and goats for longer than I have been on this earth, in a place where very few people have ever set foot. It was a fruitless day for all of our labours.
Day 7 found us moving to the next spot. After waking up, it seemed a bit darker outside than normal, but I did not think twice about it. However, in the process of getting ready, we both bumped the tent and, to our surprise, snow fell off. Always trying to make light of the situation, Dale cracked a joke, “Well at least it’s not raining.”
He had a point. On this trek we found a really nice mountain goat and contemplated going after him, but, as is often the case in this country, there was just no route to him. He was perched on a vertical ledge 500 feet above the ice. So, yes, while we could have easily shot this billy, the possibility of recovering him was almost zero. He would have either died in his bed with no way for us to climb up to him or he would have fallen the 500 some odd feet to the ice and either lodged himself in a crevasse or, possibly, exploded upon impact, either of which was not a fitting end for a true monarch.
After reaching our next spot, we had to find another way up to our camp destination. This would be the first large climb of the trip as it looked to be more than 1,500 feet. There were three options: two creeks or hike the mountain that led back up to another high mountain bowl. We chose the mountain face after consulting the maps and GPS and, let’s just say that Dale and I lucked out in our route picking. One thing I have learned to do, especially after this trip, is to choose a route in advance. From the glacier we used our binoculars to pick apart the mountain in hopes of finding the easiest path to the top.
Day 6 found us hiking further off the glacier, climbing into a little bowl that looked to be promising. After topping out, we found a virtual sheep sanctuary, with grass bordered by escape terrain, and ample water. Sign was everywhere, but the sheep weren’t anywhere to be seen. We hiked back on a worn trail that had been pounded into the earth by sheep and goats for longer than I have been on this earth, in a place where very few people have ever set foot. It was a fruitless day for all of our labours.
Day 7 found us moving to the next spot. After waking up, it seemed a bit darker outside than normal, but I did not think twice about it. However, in the process of getting ready, we both bumped the tent and, to our surprise, snow fell off. Always trying to make light of the situation, Dale cracked a joke, “Well at least it’s not raining.”
He had a point. On this trek we found a really nice mountain goat and contemplated going after him, but, as is often the case in this country, there was just no route to him. He was perched on a vertical ledge 500 feet above the ice. So, yes, while we could have easily shot this billy, the possibility of recovering him was almost zero. He would have either died in his bed with no way for us to climb up to him or he would have fallen the 500 some odd feet to the ice and either lodged himself in a crevasse or, possibly, exploded upon impact, either of which was not a fitting end for a true monarch.
After reaching our next spot, we had to find another way up to our camp destination. This would be the first large climb of the trip as it looked to be more than 1,500 feet. There were three options: two creeks or hike the mountain that led back up to another high mountain bowl. We chose the mountain face after consulting the maps and GPS and, let’s just say that Dale and I lucked out in our route picking. One thing I have learned to do, especially after this trip, is to choose a route in advance. From the glacier we used our binoculars to pick apart the mountain in hopes of finding the easiest path to the top.
Our trek started off up the grassy slope and hit the only rock chute allowing us to reach the shale slide. I had hoped that by this point my toes would be warm and I would have regained some dexterity, but no dice. When we reached the shale slide, we were bummed to see that the sun had not come out and melted the snow off. This, combined with the unstable shale and the lack of dexterity in my toes and our full packs, made for a very sketchy ascent. We made it to a semi-flat spot and I scurried over to the right, nearly on hands and knees due to the steepness of the mountain. It was an almost vertical rock chute with a more than 150 foot fall. Making it back to the gear and relaying the info to Dale, he decided to check the left side. He brought back different news and, at last, another short 30 minutes of climbing had us at camp. Needless to say, I was glad to have that shale slide in the past for now. We hurriedly set up the tent in hopes of drying out our gear as much as possible as the weather broke. Later that night we were blessed with finding three sheep not more than half a mile from our tent. Sleep came easy and morning could not get here fast enough.
Day 8. Dale gets up for his morning routine saying, “Watch. There will be sheep right when I get out of the tent.” Well, I have to give it to him, he was right. It was the fastest that I’ve ever gotten dressed and out of the tent. We both packed our gear for the day and began hiking, keeping an eye on the sheep from the previous night, as well. We found the perfect saddle that let us see into the side that the sheep were occupying. We glassed them with the spotting scope only to find, again, no legal rams. As we were sitting there, unable to locate the sheep Dale spotted earlier that morning, I just happened to catch movement out of the corner of my right eye.
“Do not move. Sheep less than 300 yards.”
They were walking away from us and, once out of sight, we quickly relocated to get set up and look at them. The first sheep was confirmed to be the largest. After watching him for more than 30 minutes, we both came to the conclusion that he too was not old enough to take a flight home in a Super Cub. After another hour, we retreated back to camp to catch an afternoon nap.
Since I could not sleep, I would periodically check on the rams to see if any more had joined the bunch, but no such luck. We decided to head back out for the evening around 3:30. After walking out of sight of the sheep, we reached a spot where we could see into the bowl. I immediately recognized that all was not normal. The sheep were higher on the side hill and there was a large black object visible to the naked eye in the bottom of the bowl. We broke out the glass and quickly confirmed it was a grizzly bear. I had hopes of hunting the Alaska Peninsula for Brown Bears in the spring of 2016, so I gave Dale the option to shoot the grizzly. We both hemmed and hawed about whether or not to harvest him and we basically decided that, if he came across the creek towards us, we would give it a go.
We watched this bear for over an hour. He was constantly feeding on berries, fattening up for winter. He would stand up look around, go back to eating, lie down, roll around and just do bear things. All of the sudden his demeanor changed and he began walking towards us. He walked down this steep riverbank and both Dale and I could not believe how easily he simply walked down it. At this point we realized we needed to move in order to close the distance. We cut another 300 yards off, making it to a knoll. Dale got set up and I pulled out the rangefinder and ranged the bear at 303 yards. No sooner had I said those words, than Dale let his .270 Winchester bark.
Watching through the rangefinder I could tell the bear was hit, and well, but with a short dash the bear was out of sight. We decided to side hill over immediately so we could see where it went down. After a very brief hike, we found the bear piled up in a little depression. We looked at each other with a grin, exchanged high fives and started down towards the bear. As we closed the distance, the tension rose. We watched to see if the bear moved and nothing for five minutes. I found a baseball sized rock and chucked it at him, nailed him and nothing. We edged closer, rifles at the ready, eventually reaching the bear. As we poked him, he rolled and let out a noise. I’m sure that would have made for a funny video, as we both jumped a little. It was just air trapped in his chest cavity, but man, it makes for a scare. We set about taking photos and field dressing the bear. We shot the bear around 4:30pm and had him skinned and packed back to camp by 6:00pm. A beautiful sunset graced us that evening, a fitting end to the day, as Dale harvested his first Mountain Grizzly.
Day 9 found us retracing our exact steps from the previous day in hopes that new sheep had moved into the bowl overnight, but to no avail. Upon further inspection, and to our surprise, there was another bear in the exact same location as the previous day. It looked as if it may take the exact same path as the bear from yesterday. Now I was having serious internal debate about whether or not to shoot that bear. We watched the bear for more than three hours, as she lay down to take a nap in the midday sun. Dale’s bear was a little over five and a half feet nose to tail and we eventually decided to pass on this new bear as it looked to be similar in size to Dale’s. Regardless a pretty cool experience to see two bears in two days behaving so similarly.
Day 10 found us looking at new country and pushing further back into this high mountain valley. However, it resulted in no new sheep sightings.
Day 11. We were pretty much out of good sheep country, so we decided to head towards the extraction point, as it was a grueling hike of approximately eight miles back. As we packed the packs one more time, I paused to reflect on this hunt, realizing that the odds of harvesting my second Dall sheep were all but gone for 2015. I was quickly reminded that this trip was not a failure by any stretch of the imagination. The view of an eagle soaring overhead was all it took to remind me that I was doing what I loved. I was in my happy place a virtual heaven on earth. But it was time to get down to business.
Loaded up, we headed back down the steep shale slide. The pucker factor was still high as we had added weight to our packs with the bear. After reaching the grass, we had a relatively easy descent down to the glacier, but we just could not get onto it. The walls were massive and could not be touched without technical climbing gear. We eventually picked our way down and found one spot on the ice that provided a sketchy access point, at best, with a knife edged lip falling into a dark abyss on both sides. That put us into a point of no return situation and into a spot where we had to take our packs off and lower them by rope so we could jump down. It was an eight-foot drop, onto a rock pile, before we could keep moving down glacier.
Two hours into this hike, we finally made it down to a resting spot. I immediately got my binoculars out and began glassing the hillside. Not more than 500 yards to the right of the camp we had just left, on a high ledge, was a nice, legal ram. We could not see this ledge from camp and the problem was there was no safe route to get to him. Looking back at it, there was only one way to get to him. We would have had to back track to our original camp spot from that morning, hiking roughly three quarters of a mile farther up that valley, side hill around the creek to the right of camp and back out towards the cliff face, in hopes of being within shooting range. Unfortunately we did not realize this until we were back home and looking over the maps and Google earth to determine the feasibility of it and, to be quite honest, I’m still not 100% sure it would have been possible.
We continued our trek down glacier in hopes of making the extraction point in time to get picked up that day, but it wasn’t meant to be. Along the way we took one last break before exiting the glacier and hitting the washout the pilot had shown us from the air. Again out came the binoculars, and what a sight to see. I began glassing the far hillside and saw white dots everywhere I looked. I attempted to count them. Two different counts brought back over 50 sheep. After seeing this I broke out the spotter and learned that most of them were lambs and ewes, but nonetheless seeing 50 plus sheep on one mountainside is a sight to behold. We finally made it to the extraction point around 4:00 in the evening. We made contact with the pilot and scheduled for a “fluid” 11:00 o’clock pick up time on day 12. With time to kill, we made some improvements to camp, building a nice fire pit, creating a large woodpile and bringing over some nice logs for seats.
That evening I sat on the riverbank reflecting on the hunt as it came to a close. So many emotions ran through my mind. It is one of the most bittersweet feelings in the world; one that only a sheep hunter knows and appreciates. He is overjoyed at the time he got to spend in the mountains, the views that pictures will never do justice, the fact that he gets to sleep in a bed, his feet will get a break, the camaraderie and, if lucky enough to harvest a sheep, the feeling of success. On the flipside, he is sad to have to go back to reality.
My first feelings that night were ones of frustration for having failed in harvesting a sheep. However, as the sun set low I was reminded of the many successes of this trip. I had survived 12 days in some of the roughest country in Alaska. My gear was dialed in. I was graced with many views that will forever be etched in my memory. I had a great time with a phenomenal sheep hunting partner. I had walked in places that few souls, if any will ever walk. I got out of the everyday routine and pushed my limits, ultimately learning new things. We were lucky enough to harvest a very pretty mountain grizzly. We had no major injuries, aside from the usual minor bumps, bruises, cuts, and blisters that occur. Lastly, I got outside of my boxed-in life.
We live in a world of boxes. We live in a house, we drive a car, we largely work inside, we go to the gym, you go to a store and you go out to eat. All these things are boxes, a virtual vacuum that sucks us into nothing. If you take one thing away from this story, please make the time to get out of your boxes. Go find your place and push your limits, for that is the only way to grow yourself. Besides the only people that never fail are those that never try in the first place. That night as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness slowly crept in God graced me with a sight that Alaskans, all too often, take for granted: the Northern Lights.
I sat there without any light pollution and watched them dance for an hour before I finally decided to crawl into my sleeping bag and head to bed, completely content with the outcome of this hunt.
