All,
The following is a hunt report of sorts.... You see I went on my first sheep hunt in 1979 and met with more issues than I could deal with. I finally went back to confront the issues this year. Part 1 is the first hunt with some philosophizing and Part 2 is the hunt this year, with a little more philosophizing. It is long, but it was fun to write. I hope you enjoy it.

Special thanks to - Bill C, AKsheephunter, gumboot458, Yukon Delta, EB and AKshooter, coldzero, Palmer (Allen Johnson), and 458Lottfan for their answers to my questions about Alaska and sheep hunting. I took all of their advice and was well pleased with it. Bill C’s trip report was most helpful.

The Longest Sheep Hunt or My Last Sheep Hunt

This is a different sort of trip report. In summary, the hunt started September 15, 1979 in Dubois, Wyoming and ended August 28, 2008 in Nabesna, Alaska. The quarry (Ovis of any wild type) was finally acquired after much effort and soul searching.

Summary for the A-D-D members of AR
Hunted Dall Sheep in the Wrangle Mountains of Alaska for 10 days. Was rained out 7 ½ days, took a black bear on day 2 (a drive by shooting) and a full curl Dall on day 9 at the last hour. The trip was a struggle, like any sheep hunt, but there were mitigating factors. Used a reputable outfitter and all went fairly well. See details below and summaries at the end of this book.

Dates – August 16 to 28, 2008

Where – Wrangell-St. Elias National Preserve and Park near Nabesna, Alaska

Outfitter - Kirk Ellis Big Game Hunting Guides (booked direct) - http://www.ebgg.biz/history.htm

Animals Sought – Dall Sheep, Grizzly Bear

Animals Taken– Dall Sheep, Black Bear

Animals Seen– Dall Sheep, Grizzly Bear (1), Black Bear, Moose (1), various rodents

Birds Sighted- Golden Eagles, Common Raven, Kestrel, Northern Hawk Owl, Northern Harrier, Song Sparrow, Magpie, Gray Jay. For you birders out there, I had hoped to see a lot more, but there were very few birds in the area. I saw a few “LBJ’s†(little brown jobs) but was unable to ID them. The weather may have pushed many south for migration.

Travel – American Airlines from Dallas to Anchorage, rental car to base camp

Licenses All bought on-line from the Alaska Dept of Fish and Game.



Part 1 - Bighorn Hunt 1979 or The Nitty Gritty Details (more than you want to know)

The story begins in the fall of 1977 when I graduated from college and was sent to the Wyoming oil and gas fields to seek fame and fortune. Being an avid (rabid) outdoorsman and enthusiastic bird hunter, Wyoming was heaven on earth. I loaded up with rifles (2), shotguns (2), pistols (2), reloading supplies and three changes of clothes and moved my entire earthly possessions in a Chevy Blazer to Riverton, Wyoming. Upon getting there, starting work and learning the local game and fish laws, I found I had to live there one year to be a resident and be able to apply for economically prices big game permits. Fishing, on the other hand was cheap and for $20 I could fish to my heart’s content. Ok, I can live with that, and so can my budget.

When you are single and living in a place without an abundance of young, attractive, single women, I spent a lot of time reading, working and fishing. I discovered Jack O’Conner, Patrick McManus and Gene Hill via Sports Afield, Outdoor Life and other magazines. O’Conner convinced me to be a sheep hunter. Heck, I was young, in shape, and had a little money and liked the challenge of the mystery of sheep hunting.

I spent all of 1978 exploring the areas I lived near -Wind River Mountains, Green Mountain, Wind River Indian Reservation, Yellowstone and Jackson Hole, Crooks Gap, Red Desert and every stream that fed the Wind River. A couple of locals and two experienced trout fishermen taught me the ropes of stream fishing using ultra-light tackle and crude fly rods. Caught my first trout (6†Brook Trout) on a fly in the Popoagie River near Lander. With success, I developed my own style of fish catching which goes something like this – try flies first – wet and dry – if they hit, keep using them. If no action in an hour, switch to spinning equipment using Panther Martin spinners and see what shakes. If that does not get a strike, go to worms and drift them over holes and around rocks. If that does not work, go to another stream. Most of the time, trout or whitefish hit one of these offerings. I found the time in the stream, alone, highly addictive and enjoyable. After 6 months or so of this, I found myself evolving from a “catch and eat every fish†guy to being a little more selective and keeping just enough for a couple of meals, releasing the smaller fish or the females. I am not a purist. I am not much of a fisherman but more of a “catchermanâ€. A couple of my friends would throw flies all day to get one or two rises. They were happy with this. For me, I prefer catching them using any method that is legal.

My favorite targets were browns. I like their style and enjoyed matching wits with them along cut stream banks and submerged logs. The submarine/torpedo method by which they attack the bait was fun to watch. Cutthoats, brookies and rainbows were relatively easy to catch in my streams, but the browns were my favorite.

I learned a lot about Wyoming wildlife while stream fishing, seeing birds and the water and the deer as I worked along the streams. Same thing for antelope while I was sitting on drilling rigs. We (Amoco, now BP) had 20 drilling rigs working between Riverton and Wamsutter in fields named Crooks Gap, Happy Springs, Beaver Creek, Monument Buttes, Bitter Creek and others. Everywhere there were antelope. In the winter of 1978-79, some of the coldest weather ever to hit that part of the country arrived in December. We endured 33 straight days of below zero F temperatures, 10 days below -20 F and three days that hit -52 F. This West Texas boy was frozen solid. My duplex’s plumbing froze up for a week before I could get enough heat into the bathroom to thaw anything.

With the cold, the oilfield work went on. I was out in it a great deal of the time trying to drill wells. While out, I saw the suffering of the wildlife as well as the domestic animals (mostly sheep). On one of the bitterest days, I drove up on a surface water treating facility in the Sand Draw Field. This facility was a series of surface ponds where water that is produced with oil and gas is piped in preparation to be disposed of in an underground injection well. This water comes out of the ground at 150 degrees F, settles and cools and then is pumped back into the ground. On this particular day, I was worried that the facilities would freeze up, but found everything in working order – and a surprise.

These surface ponds were about one acre in size and steam was billowing up out of them due to the hot water and frigid air. I could not see the ponds because of the steam and had to walk up to the edge of the pond to even see the water and pumping equipment. When I walked up, I basically saw Noah’s Ark – all along the edge of the ponds were animals leaning over the water catching the heat of the steam as it rose from the pond. There were antelope, coyotes, rabbits, sage grouse, domestic sheep, cattle, deer, a badger, birds of several types – all stationary, all covered in steam and some frozen mist from being near the steam. I walked up and not an animal stirred, they saw me, but never moved or showed any sign of concern. The coyote was within feet of the antelope and several rabbits. I backed out slowly knowing full well that this was life or death for many of the animals there.

A few days later, I went back and found most of the animals gone – the domestic livestock hung around for several days. No carcasses, no signs of predation.

Later in the spring of 1979, I started staking out areas I hoped to hunt and the animals as well. It was interesting in that I was able to watch the life cycle of antelope everyday. From mating in the fall, to the migration to the return, to the birthing times and then to the summer. From one of the drilling rigs, we watched a doe give birth to twins and get them up in an hour or so. They stayed in the area all summer. I chased them in my truck getting up to 55 mph and they were just striding out. Amazing animals.

I applied for residency on day 365 and then applied for every hunting permit I thought I could afford. I drew out for antelope, deer, elk, black bear and BIG HORN SHEEP! All of my coworkers were stunned that I drew a bighorn tag on my first attempt. Most had been putting for years without success. To a man, they said that I needed a guide, especially in the area I was drawn for (Whiskey Mountain Unit 10 near Dubois, Wyoming). I started asking around (no internet or computers then) and was recommended to a young dude ranch cowboy that liked to hunt sheep. We hit it off and I hired him for $2000 for a ten day pack train hunt. He told me to practice shooting and get in shape. At age 24, I was in pretty good shape but proceeded to start running again and lifting weights. I dropped about ten pounds and could do 5 miles in my boots at 6 ½ minute per mile clip at 5200’ elevation. Little did I know or realize, the hunt would occur at 10,000’ in some rugged terrain. I researched packs, rifles, loads, sleeping bags and optics. On a budget, I settled on a Ruger .270 with a Redfield 2x7 scope, an internal frame mountaineering pack, a Schlumberjack Holofil sleeping bag, WWII German binos (7x50 weighing about 4 lbs.) and Browning field boots. Nearly every item was not the right pick! The boots were the worst being made for upland hunting, not mountain hunting. More later on the boots.

About two weeks before departure, I decided to try an overnight outing of my own with my gear in the general area I was going to hunt. On the drive into the area I saw an immature bighorn ram from the road.



I must be in the right place! Armed with topo maps and 60lbs of gear, I started off on the trail in the general direction of mountains. Being a flatlander, mountains look good from a distance but grew in steepness as I approached them. I managed the first pass (2000’ elevation change) ok, but was busted on the next one. How in the world could I be in shape and not be able to get over these passes with my gear? I parked my butt right there and seriously reconsidered the expedition. I decided to pack back out, reduce weight and bust my tail to get in shape over these last couple of weeks. The next morning I was sore, really sore, from the beating I put on my back with an ill-fitting pack and too much stuff. Lesson learned.

For two weeks, I pounded out the miles and did all I knew to do to get ready. I tossed everything but a rain suit, spare socks, ammo, bino’s and the sleeping bag.

Prep time was over, we met up at a trailhead and loaded 10 horses with gear. He brought his wife to do the cooking and take care of the camp. I have been around horses, growing up in a horse family – but I have never liked them nor do I ride well. Seems every horse on the planet hates me and decides to toss me right at the start to demonstrate who is in charge. Well, true to form, this happened twice on the 14 hour trail ride to the camp site. I was not prepared for this and was never so sore in my life – except for the next time I got on horse about 15 years after this experience. Steve the Guide was an excellent horseman and got me to the camp alive and uninjured. His wife was a good cook and managed the camp well.



Day 1 – Awoke to extremely painful knees due to not being an experienced rider and to a chapped backside. Steve decided to reconnoiter the area by covering about 10 miles of basins and ridges almost running as he went to cover a lot of ground to narrow down the areas we needed to look for sheep. We had light packs, rifles and water. I kept up with him going up and across the ridges, the cliffs, the scree areas and the snow fields. We saw sheep – all ewes and lambs in nearly every basin but no rams. We started back to camp late and arrived in the dark to hot food. I was not prepared for the pounding my legs took on the trips down the mountains. The Browning field boots were at their worst in this application. My toes constantly jammed against the end of the boot as I skittered down the uneven and unstable chutes and scree patches. By the time I got the boots off and looked at my feet, I was too tired to realize that I had done some damage to my toes and toenails. These boots are great on flat ground but not meant for the mountains.



Day 2 – Feet sore, legs sore, body sore. The chapped backside was a problem due to wearing blue jeans, I was rubbed raw in places that do not like to be raw. Looking at the topo maps, Steve had taken a circuitous route across some really bad (read “steepâ€) terrain. He eliminated those areas and set a new course toward the highest peaks in Wyoming in the Wind Rivers at about 13,000’. Checking my feet, I noticed my toenails were getting dark, almost bluish-black and were sore. However, no blisters, so I felt good to go.

About noon, we reached an isolated basin and started glassing, something we did not do the day before. I enjoyed the downtime and a chance to air out my feet. After an hour or so, Steve spotted a group of 9 or 10 rams bedded down about 2 miles away on a catwalk on a rocky, craggy mountain above the timberline. He could see one legal ram for sure. We made a plan and took off.



The sheep were on a catwalk – a narrow looking ledge of rock about 30 feet above a boulder field that spilled out into a deep valley below. Our plan was to go down our mountain, circle around behind the sheep on their mountain, climb above them to the next catwalk and tiptoe around the edge and ridge and shoot down on them. We could see very clearly where we needed to get to and how to get there. It was just a long ways.

We made the hike in about two hours and were perched on our catwalk slowly inching around the side of the ridge, wind in our favor, when we could hear rocks tumbling and shuffling type noises. We both go down and looked over the edge of our catwalk to the one below but saw nothing. We stood up, in single file and continued around when suddenly the big ram appeared in front of us 25 feet away on the same ledge. I dropped to a knee to shoot but several of the other rams continued walking past him blocking my view, not seeing us until they were in front of him. Steve said “don’t shoot, not legal, not legalâ€. At his voice, these sheep bailed off over the ledge they were on to the catwalk below then jumped down to the boulder field and took off in high gear across the boulder strewn valley/wash below. We could not see where they were landing due to the steepness of the ledge we were on, but could see them run out like a covey of quail across this basin in a multitude of directions.

I was swinging on each sheep as Steve shouted “not legal, that’s 1, not legal, that’s 2, there is number 3, not legal, 4..5…6…7…8 – not legal!!! Where is the legal ram???†After about 20 seconds or 20 minutes, and the non-legal rams running off to new territory, we stand up, and start looking around for the legal ram questioning if we even saw a legal ram. Steve leaned out over the ledge with me holding his belt to see if the ram had broken a leg when he jumped over the edge.

Looking back up at us was the legal ram, just standing there, looking straight up. He had not run but snuggled up next to the rock wall while his buddies took off. Steve pulled back and told me to get ready to shoot very close. I leaned out with him holding me to see the ram – at about 25 feet straight down. When I pulled the rifle up, all I could see was hair. I was about to squeeze when he decided it was time to run and he jumped off the ledge down to the boulder field. However, instead of running out and away from danger, he chose to run parallel to the catwalks and the rock wall we were on dodging in and around boulders the size of my truck. I tried to stay on him but he was too close and too quick and did not run in a straight line. I fired one shot when he was perpendicular to me but missed. At the shot, he turned and ran dead away from us down the hill/boulder field zig zagging through the boulders. Steve shouted, “get down, get ready, get on him!†, but I could not get him in the crosshairs. I was a fairly inexperienced rifleman at the time and could get myself in a good shooting position quickly and wasted time moving around. All the time, the sheep is running flat out straight away. When he got to the bottom of the boulder field (about 200 yards) he started up the other side and getting to the top, he did what most critters do – he stopped and looked back. I could see him in my scope as I tried to pull the trigger but the distance and my lack of experience did not allow me to take the shot. He glanced for about 2 or 3 seconds and disappeared over the ridge to a new basin.

We were shocked and surprised at what happened. How had we gotten on the same catwalk as the sheep? What caused them to get up and move, right when we go there? What possessed the legal ram to stay put when his buddies ran? Why had I missed the shot?

Obviously we had no answers to these questions. It was just sheep hunting (a lesson and statement I have now heard too many times). We regrouped, tried to follow them, but never caught sight of any. We trudged back to camp, quietly trying to figure out a plan.

Day 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 – Spent a lot of time climbing, glassing, exploring every basin and ever hidden place in the area. We moved camp once to a more remote spot and bumped into a nice elk. Steve asked if I had an elk tag and if I wanted to shoot the nice 5x5. I said – “heck yes†to which he replied that it would take 3 days to pack it out and the sheep hunt would be over. I passed hoping to get a chance at a sheep. Same for a nice 5x5 mule deer.

Each day my toes looked worse and worse when finally by day 8, all of my toes except the littlest were black and blue. The nails were completely black and would soon come off.



Day 8 and 9 – Same as before but more time sitting and glassing. We had searched every where we could get to. At the end of day 9, we spotted a legal ram about 3 miles away silhouetted on a ridge line. He was looking in our direction as if to say – “come and try, but I won’t be here when you get hereâ€. We had eaten most of the food and we needed a fully day to get out. Steve offered to send his wife for more food and we could hunt several more days, but I passed. I was beaten – mentally and physically.

The heck with Jack O’Conner and sheep hunting. These darn sheep are a lot tougher than I am. They can live in this treacherous terrain, eat nothing, walk straight and straight down, dodge coyotes and bears and hunters and thrive here. I gave up. Only the second time in my life I gave up on a physical challenge (I perceived it as a physical challenge when in reality it was mental challenge). I passed on a trip to Philmont Scout Ranch when I was 14 (1968) because I was not sure I was up to the challenge of a ten day backpack trip with a bunch of other Boy Scouts and dads. (I rose up and conquered that challenge in 2001 with my oldest son after much training and prep work.).

The sheep won, hands down. On the trip out, riding on that stinking horse, I made myself a promise to quit hunting big game until I could appreciate the animal, where it lived, and prepared myself for the challenge physically and mentally. I did not hunt any big game from that point in 1979 (except a few birds) until 1990. I went cold turkey and gave it up until I could resolve in my own mind a “hunting ethicâ€, a reason to hunt, and why I wanted to do it. I read various books by knowledgeable sportsmen; I wrote about it and thought a lot about it.



Time went by, I got married, started a family, got re-involved in wildlife issues, founded a couple of 501c3 charitable organizations to promote wetland conservation and wildlife conservation. Had great success doing that and met several fine people in that “realmâ€. One close friend, Jontie, convinced me to put in for a special elk hunt in the Witchita Mountains in Oklahoma. It is a unique area on a military base that was set aside by Teddy Roosevelt as an elk sanctuary when elk were basically eliminated from the plains and Oklahoma. There is a huntable population that is a special draw, once in a lifetime hunt. I put in, reluctantly. As you can imagine, I was drawn for a bull tag (1 to 10,000 odds) in a great part of the area. I was stunned and never expected to be drawn. Jontie was more excited than I was as he had been in there numerous times and knew what I was in for.

Problem, my home was robbed and lost every gun I had in 1982. I had replaced a shotgun but that was it. I had no money, three infants at home, just barely surviving the oil bust and massive layoffs. I checked out every pawn shop I could, I tried to borrow a gun, I just could not come up with anything. On my birthday, about 6 weeks before the hunt, a friend (who owned a nice sporting goods store) walks into my office with a wrapped box. Inside was a Winchester Model 70 .280 Rem with a 2.5x8 Leupold scope on it. My wife had gone to the store, told Doug to get me whatever I needed and she paid for it. I was stunned. First, we had no money and second that she did this. I cried.

I raced home, hugged her and kissed her and she said – “Jontie says this is something you do not want to miss, so you better go. The gun is to get you out there again, doing what you like to do.â€

I wish I could say that a mysterious light came down from heaven or I had a vision about hunting big game again – but I did not. I did, however, find that in searching for the “why†about hunting, I learned that having realized that respect for the game and a love for the outdoors was the answer I was looking for. For me, there is no silver bullet, there is no compulsion to hunt, just a desire to do something I enjoy and find challenging. This does not conflict with my Christian beliefs nor with the “soul†of the issue. I do not care about inches or measurements, just about the challenge and the testing of my strengths against those of the quarry.

I won’t get into details of that elk hunt but suffice it to say that I took a great elk on the first day first hour of the hunt – by being prepared and mentally ready. That hunt preceded many more hunts with Jontie and others for elk, mule deer, whitetail deer, antelope and oryx (in New Mexico on a special draw area). I took my sons hunting on many trips and we have even made two trips to Africa since that elk hunt in 1990.


Part 2 is here - https://forums.accuratereloading.com/eve/forums/a/tpc/f/...1043%2Fm%2F680107829