The mountains were steep and tough to navigate. Even with fresh legs and light packs. Lon was determined. It was obviously apparent how much it meant to him to get a ram. He had no thought of not following me, if it meant a chance at a ram.
They had no way of knowing the role they would play in the population of their species throughout the region, but those first sheep, along with the ranchers and eventually hunters who helped facilitate them, set the groundwork for what would later become a thriving business for landowners and hunting guides in West Texas. There’s a lot going on in that 8×12 oak frame.
As we made our way down, two wolves were howling in the valley below. It was really eerie to hear the howls echo in the valley as we marched my trophy off the mountain, but it certainly added to the moment.
I want to systematically explore air pressure topics so that we all have common nomenclature and a basic understanding of measurement and reporting systems. We will start with a general discussion of air pressure, definition of terms, measurement devices, and then finish with some alternative ways to use pressure data when calculating ballistics.
And yet, here we find ourselves. Under stars, older than the dirt beneath our feet. Surrounded by mountains that took shape before the first of our kind came into existence. Huddled around a campfire, as our aforementioned kin once did. Glued to a f–king screen.
The melodic thrum of the Cessna 206 filled the cockpit as the small gravel runway shrunk below us. Leaving the quiet community of Toad River, British Columbia behind us, we steadily climbed in elevation over the jagged peaks of the Northern Rocky Mountains. Our aerial path loosely tracing one of the many rivers, branching and braided in vein-like networks, deep into the heart of the Muskwa-Kechika Management Area.
It all started in the early months of 2018. I had a crazy idea to go chase stone sheep with a bow again, but my problem was a lack of bow hunting buddies that could get the time off. Last year was the first trip where I carried a bow in sheep country, though mainly to keep myself from shooting another one with a rifle. Most importantly though, it was my sheep hunting partner’s son that needed an opportunity at a ram. Our efforts and tactics were geared towards a rifle hunt and not a bow hunt.
Rifle cartridges — for reasons unbeknownst to me — possess a sort of magical quality. The sort shared by a stray puppy, in that once they are brought into the home, they become family. Make a disparaging remark about someones beloved cartridge of choice, and you will see what I mean.
I learned to hunt and shoot from my uncles. All but one, farmers. Like most farmers or ranchers, they had a connection to the land that few can grasp, unless they were raised in similar circumstances. Naturally, they loved to hunt, and fortunately for me, passed that love on to their nephew.