When I was about 100 yards from the rise he was standing on, I looked toward the right of the trail and into the creek bed. I could see that he was lying dead in the creek bed on flat ground 60 yards from where he was standing.
The diesel motors started up and we were cruising the salt. Heading to the other side of the island to begin our pursuit for Sitka blacktail deer and mountain goat. The captain of the 43’ delta was one of my old friends from times I spent fishing halibut in Seward, Alaska.
As my truck came to rest in front of the small log cabin on a brilliant blue-sky day in early September, it was almost impossible to not be grinning ear to ear. This was the second trip of the fall season I had done with Nate and it was already off to an amazing start.
Morning evolved into midday and the high sun was quickly passing behind the peaks – and no longer gracing them with its warmth. They moseyed around a bit to stretch their muscles as they worked from the east- facing crags into some south- facing spires that were beginning to warm. There they ate lunch and settled in for the routine afternoon siesta beneath the high sun. It wasn’t too long after he laid down that the fate of the day took a dramatic change.
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.