Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Backpack Hunting (DIY) Sheep hunts of North america

Good morning Dwayne, it’s been a while. Still kicking here. I trust life has been treating you well?

As you know Dwayne, I grew up just an hour north of where you live now. In fact we moved there in the summer of ‘91. I have fished for bass on Vaseux a couple times though I don’t recall ever having much luck.

Very cool story and as I know the country, I can picture it well. In my mind there is no better hunt and possibly meat, than sheep, so to be a part of two is pretty special. Are you still putting in for the draw there?

Take care, Nash




Some beauty dalls there guys. CWH2, that left ram on your wall looks like he has some impressive length.

Nashville;
Good morning and thanks for the reply.

Other than having too much snow too early, we're good here thanks.

When we first moved out here in '84 we lived on Vaseux Lake for the first year and then a few years later when we lived in Oliver the buddy who got drawn for sheep got us into bass fishing.

While we did catch a few in Vaseux, it was never our first choice either as it was always a moody lake at best.

For sure we put in for the draw every fall, though last year it was something like 150:1 odds and as you know there's no points system, but yes we still try!

We're going to do the 72nd Annual Sheep Count there in a couple weeks and we're hoping to see enough of a herd that the ministry keeps the LEH going. We'll see but during the season we saw very few ewes and lambs. The herd had another shot of some kind of flu lately so that's why the low numbers.

If you're ever back this way and feel like a coffee on the back deck, give me a shout.

Best to you.

Dwayne

Morning Dwayne,

Too much snow in the Okanagan!?? Thats almost hard to believe, though I know what you mean.

You’ll have to let me know how the count goes. It seems many herds in BC have been hammered by disease and traffic over the past couple years. Any talk on doing some controlled burns to open up some more habitat?

Appreciate the offer. I generally try to avoid the Okanagan(and coast) at all cost but perhaps a trip is due? A coffee would be great.

Take care, Nash

Been on a few sheep hunts in my life, enjoyed all of them.

First sheep hunt was a second choice ewe tag in Montana. Pretty easy deal, day hunt.



First sheep hunt for a ram I did in 1995, guided though. Found some luck and killed an awards book ram, Chugach. Checked lots of boxes, over 40 inches on the long horn, old ram, and spectacular country.



Next sheep hunt was helping a long time friend of mine with a ram in Montana. He drew an area I spent lots of hours in when I lived there. Hunted several days, finally located a small group of rams with 2 very good ones. One was an old broomed ram, that was 13 years old, and another unbroomed ram that was 10 years old. He picked the unbroomed ram, over 40 inches on the long horn, net scored 179 and change.




My Dad got lucky and snagged a ram permit in a very good unit in Montana. I spent about 12 days looking for rams for him, took lots of photos and he decided on this one:

Was just my Dad, Brother and I, over 40 on the long horn, net 183 and change all time record book ram:



I got incredibly lucky and drew a desert ram tag in AZ and spent about 14 days scouting immediately prior to the season. Found the ram I wanted and got him killed about the first 30 minutes of the season. Was solo for the scouting and had the help of a good friend the couple days before I killed this ram:



Latest sheep hunt was a couple years ago, drew Wyoming. Hunted a total of 26 days, some of them solo backpacking, some backpacking with a friend, and with another friend that has some awesome horses and a mule.

Looked over a ton of rams and shot this one with only 5 days left to hunt, really made the most of the tag, 9 year old ram.



I think I'll still draw another tag or two have a lot of points in a few states, considering booking one last sheep as well. But if none of that happens, I'm pretty happy with the hunts I've been able to do.

cwh2 -

Those are fanastic rams and great memories I am sure - very deserving. You are one of the good guys here - I will always be grateful for the advice you offered and even sending me boots to try when I was getting ready for my sheep hunt in 2015.

Some quick questions - what is your rifle of choice these days when sheep hunting? Is that a Kimber? And what is the story of the other set of Sheep horns? He looks really old and cool.

I'm like a blind artist with no arms. I can't draw sh*t.

elkrazy,
No problem man, glad it helped you out!

I was shooting a couple different Montanas, a 7WSM and then later a 280AI. I've had good luck with both of them, but I'm using a Fieldcraft in 6.5 Creedmoor now. That's the one in the picture.
The euro ram is a double broomer from the AK range. Here's what it looked like on the mountain.


Here's my buddy's ram from that same trip. 2014 was a good year!

Thanks for the wonderful pictures gents, keep them coming.

I just love the double broomers -- They just look like warriors. And ancient. Thanks for sharing.

The double broomer Smokepole got is also one of my favorites.

I just read back through smokepole's thread. Great ram, and a great description of the fun and the pain of sheep hunting.

This first one was a younger me back in 1999 with my first archery ram. He was 9 years old and scored in the low 160s.

Older me got lucky and drew another archery tag 23 years later and I got this ram last August again with archery tackle. He was 8 years old and low to mid 150s though heavily broomed all over lol.

Shot the first ram righthanded and after an issue with my right cornea, I started shooting lefthanded. Second ram went down shooting lefty.

Would love to some day kill a desert ram but sort of low odds of that happening. Some great rams and stories in this thread.

I swear I had that same pse, bit with different sights. I never did anything that cool with it though!

It was nice killing 2 rams. First one was $150 tag and last one was something like $317 tag. Had a few scouting expenses but about as cheap as a guy can kill a sheep really. Now if I beat 1:100 draw odds, my desert would also be $317.

Thanks Paul and Chris, and that's about the most succinct description I can think of, "the fun and the pain." That was before I got my ankle fixed so there was plenty of both. The surgeon said he removed four bone chips and also a big bone spur, I wish he'd saved those because I would have put them in a frame and hung 'em on the wall underneath the sheep mount.

I wrote a story on the hunt and submitted it to Gray's Sporting Journal. Their editor at the time was a guy named Jim Babb, he said he liked it but then he retired. About a year went by and I didn't hear back from them so I sent it to another magazine and they published it. Right after that Gray's new editor contacted me and said they wanted to publish it, but not if it already ran in another magazine. Too bad, it would've been cool to have had a story in Gray's.

Phil - do you have a copy of that article? I would love to read it

Chris and Phil -- how old are those double broomers?

I'll see if I still have the file.

I think mine is 9.
Here's the original story with photobucket nagging pics. https://www.24hourcampfire.com/ubbthreads/ubbthreads.php/topics/9183468/sheep-hunt-2014#Post9183468

Goat thread from the same year... so many words.
https://www.24hourcampfire.com/ubbthreads/ubbthreads.php/topics/9240613/goat#Post9240613

OK, here you go. Remember, you asked for it, LOL.

Alaska Sheep Hunt, 2015

“The one on the left, take the one on the left!” Andrew said, sotto voice. The band of white rams we’d
been shadowing for six days was suddenly spooked and on the move. They’d been leisurely grazing
their way down the grass-carpeted mountainside just a moment earlier, unaware of our presence. But a
stray updraft had carried our scent to them and they were headed back up the mountain in a hurry,
kicking rocks loose and putting distance between us. “Two-hundred and eighty yards” Andrew said,
relaying information from the rangefinder. It was almost dusk on the last day of the hunt and the rams
were about to disappear over a rocky rise. All of my months of preparation had come down to this.

I’d booked a walk-in hunt in the Chugach Mountains with master guide and outfitter Steve Johnson. I
first saw the Chugach from the window of an airplane in 1987. The craggy, glacier-carved peaks made a
lasting impression and I vowed to hunt them one day. Twenty-eight years later, I could finally justify the
expense of a guided sheep hunt. I wanted two things out of the hunt—a classic trophy as a reminder,
and a hunt that would test my limits. This hunt could give me both.

The trip started on Friday August 7 th with a jet boat ride down the Copper River to the Tonsina
Controlled Use Area. The Copper is a wide glacial river the color of mud. It’s full of sand bars, standing
waves, logs, and flotsam, all of which made the boat ride interesting. We hopped out onto a sand bar at
the mouth of a salmon creek that was littered with big piles of grizzly scat, which made the thick brush
surrounding us even more interesting.

The Tonsina is a walk-in only area. Getting into good sheep country requires a long hike through some
rough country, and the difficulty of access limits hunting pressure. The first leg of the hike was four
miles up a mountainside along an old overgrown trail through thick alders and devil’s club. It was one of
those places where you just put your head down and plow ahead until you hit an obstacle that requires
crawling under or climbing over.

We finally broke free of the brush around dinner time and set up our first camp at a spring. The alpine
tundra was carpeted with blueberries, and we ate our fill. They were so prolific that we thought we
might see some bears foraging toward evening, but no such luck.

We broke camp Saturday morning and hiked to the crest of a ridge that gave us our first good look into
sheep country and the next mountaintop, where we planned to set up camp for the opener. The only
problem was, a good ram was bedded in the crags below our objective and our route would take us into
full view of his perch. A great problem to have, but we didn’t want to spook him so we waited for him
to move off before we continued.

Sunday morning dawned sunny and mild. We took advantage of the weather, glassing from our
mountaintop, loafing in camp, and sorting through our gear in preparation for the opener. We tried to
locate the ram that had been bedded below camp but he’d moved. We hoped to find him at first light
Monday morning.

The rain started some time Sunday night, and was still going strong as we ate breakfast in our sleeping
bags. We were socked in with low clouds and fog, making it impossible to spot sheep so we stayed in
the tent, alternately dozing and telling stories. Spending the opener in the tent wasn’t part of our plan
but it gave us the opportunity to swap stories and get to know each other. Andrew was quiet and
unassuming, but once he opened up it was obvious that he’d packed more hunting and trapping into his
24 years than most do in a lifetime. His stories of calling in mountain lions in North Dakota and hunting
grizzlies in Alaska made the time fly.

The clouds had blown through and Monday morning dawned crisp and clear; right off the bat we
spotted a band of five rams on the next mountain, including one full curl ram. We high-tailed it back to
camp and packed up our gear to head over and set up within striking distance. The hike to the rams was
fairly steep and a few miles over boulders and loose rock. Our goal was to get in position for a stalk by
late afternoon, but my arthritic ankle slowed us down on the way over. I had to pick my way through
the jumbled talus and count on the pre-hunt cortisone injection and daily megadose of ibuprofen to
collectively work their magic. The ankle held up but by the time we got into position it was getting late
so we delayed the stalk until morning and hoped the rams wouldn’t stray too far.

We were up early Wednesday morning, gulping down our instant oatmeal so quickly I barely tasted it.
We set out across the ridge toward the rams, and on the way spotted a different band of three rams on
the next mountain. The band of three looked even more promising, with one ram very close to full curl,
one definitely full curl, and a big double-broomed ram that was clearly the boss. We were energized by
the sight of them and salivating at the prospect of having two bands of legal rams to pursue. Or so we
thought. As we worked our way down the ridge we soon discovered that our originally-targeted band
of five rams was nowhere to be found.

So our attention shifted to the band of three. We made our way over to the ridge where they were
bedded, another few miles in. We set up camp at the base of the ridge, had a snack, and laid plans to
finish the hunt.

The ridge was a classic arête, an ancient rocky palisade carved over millennia by two parallel glaciers,
one on each side. It was low but steep-sided with a series of craggy pinnacles strung out along its crest.
The rams were ensconced on the crown of a pinnacle; it was a perfect spot for them to pass the day.
They could see in every direction and it was impossible for predators of any stripe to get close. So our
plan was to set up at a distance and wait until evening to see if they would come down off the rock to
feed on the grassy slopes below. We used the jumbled truck-sized boulders and rock buttresses at the
base of the arête as cover, and worked our way to a rocky knob 800 yards short of the rams and settled
in. After a few hours they got up, stretched, and headed down the other side of the ridge to feed. This
was what we’d been hoping for, because once they abandoned their vantage point we were free to
make our move.

Andrew came up with a plan to climb up one of the talus chutes between the pinnacles, then move over
to the rock and finish the climb to the top. This would give us a commanding view and a decided
advantage over the rams since we’d be above them. We’d wait for them to feed out away from the
ridge into the open. If the plan worked the shot would be less than 250 yards.

The only glitch in the plan was that I have a fear of heights and no experience climbing crags. Andrew
had to cajole me up the rock, and as we were nearing the top I balked fifteen yards short because the
pitch was getting steeper and the footholds smaller. The climb would’ve been fairly routine for an
experienced sheep hunter, but for me it most definitely was not. I had to remind myself that I’d come
to the mountains of Alaska precisely to stretch my limits, but the thing is, stretching my limits sounded
much better from my easy chair than it did from the steep side of an arete. I finally got to the top using
hand holds. Now we just needed the rams to do their part and feed out into the open.

But the rams were having none of it and played hide-and-seek behind a rocky promontory as the
evening wore on. We’d catch a glimpse now and then, but couldn’t get a clear shot. We’d scrambled to
the top without our packs and extra clothes, and as the sun sank lower I was getting a chill from lying
against the rock. I could feel my legs stiffening, and was worried about the trip down because I knew it
would be harder than climbing up. Finally, I made the call to come down off the rock. I felt as though I
was letting Andrew down because the rams were still up, feeding, and vulnerable. To his credit he
didn’t show his disappointment; instead we focused on the plan for tomorrow as we walked back to
camp. The plan was to find the rams at first light and make a move on them if we could. If not, we’d
head back to our high camp to get more food and come back for another try.

We were up early Thursday morning only to find that the rams had moved up the ridge away from us,
toward the headwall. They were bedded where it would be hard for us to follow without being seen so
we reluctantly headed back to high camp to re-supply and plan our next move. The hike to high camp
included a 3,000-foot climb and consumed the rest of the day.

After a good night’s sleep, we climbed up to a vantage point so we could check on the rams. They had
continued moving up along the ridge and looked as though they might be moving over into the next
basin. If they held that course our plan was to drop down into the saddle they’d have to pass through
and cut them off. We watched and waited, but they were content to stay put so we were too, and
that’s how our Friday unfolded. Uneventful and a little frustrating, but there are worse ways to spend a
day than loafing on a mountaintop in the Alaskan backcountry, keeping tabs on three legal Dall rams.
As we ran out of daylight, the rams were still perched on their favorite ridge and we realized that come
morning, we’d have to fish or cut bait because the hike out to the river would take a few days and the
end of the hunt was looming.

Saturday morning found us back at the mountaintop vantage point, with full packs so we could chase
the rams. They’d left the ridge and wandered over to the next mountain, a few miles further in. We
wasted no time covering the ground between us and arrived at the base of their mountain in late
afternoon.

The rams were fairly high on the mountain, and Andrew surmised that they’d do one of two things come
evening—either feed down the grassy mountainside toward the valley floor, or stay up high and feed
across the mountain. We had a serious dilemma on our hands, because the two trajectories were far
apart and we had to commit to one of them and make a move to intercept the rams. If we guessed
wrong there would be no chance to recover and catch up with them. We talked it over, weighed the
pros and cons, and went back and forth on which plan was best. The success of the hunt rested on our
decision, because we’d have to start the hike out the following morning.

We finally decided to stay low and work our way up the valley, find a good hiding spot below the rams,
and count on them to repeat their pattern of feeding down toward the valley floor in the evening. We
settled in behind a small knob, watched, and waited; hoping we’d made the right call. I’m not sure how
long we waited, but I dozed off more than once and the dinner hour came and went. I was just about
to doze off again when Andrew whispered “there’s a ram,” which jolted me awake better than any
alarm clock ever has!

The rams were 700 yards away, a longer shot than I was comfortable with. We stayed hidden in hopes
they’d move closer, but they had plenty of feed and stayed put so we had to close the distance. There
was a series of dips and rises between us and the rams, and we inched our way forward, belly-crawling
over the rocks when we had to and scrambling on hands and knees when we could. Soon enough we
found ourselves peering over a grassy knob at 180 yards, with the rams slightly above us. I settled in
prone and got into a good shooting position, but the rams were still partially hidden. I could see parts of
the ram we were after but not enough to take the shot.

That’s when things took a turn for the worse. A stray updraft carried our scent to the rams and they
spooked, breaking the silence with a cascade of clattering rocks that tumbled down the mountain. They
were headed up the mountain away from us, but they were also out in the open now. Andrew had been
keeping tabs on these rams for six days and knew them like family; he wasted no time zeroing in on the
one we were after. They crested a rise at 280 yards and slowed to a walk. I had a solid rest on the
grassy knob; the crosshair settled, the trigger broke cleanly, and the ram faltered. I chambered another
round but Andrew said “don’t shoot, he’s going down.” Soon enough we saw his two understudies trot
up the mountain, turn and look back, then leave without him. Ram down!

I’m not sure who was more excited, but the race up to the ram wasn’t close with Andrew on 24 year-old
hill-hardened legs. We exchanged congratulations and admired the ram for longer than we should have,
given the disappearing light and work to be done. We took photos, the last ones in the dark, and
Andrew got busy caping the ram by headlamp. We broke the ram down into quarters, and found a
semi-flat spot to pitch the tarp. Neither of us wanted to look at a watch, but by the time we got settled
in camp and had a celebratory shot of whiskey, it was well past 2:00 AM.

We slept in the next morning, and then steeled ourselves for the three-day hike out. We weren’t
looking forward to it, with heavy packs and a 3,000 foot climb up a steep rocky ridge to start. But heavy
packs were what we came for so we buckled up and got to it. Andrew carried most of the weight, which
kept me from complaining about the weight of my pack. His ability to carry a load weighing well over
60% of his body weight up the mountain was remarkable. I think it was during one of our rest breaks
that I told him “remind me to never pick a fight with a sheep guide.”

The rain started that afternoon halfway up the mountain, and kept up for the remainder of the three-
day hike out. This was the part of the trip that really pushed me to my limits. Hiking in a cold wind-
driven rain up and down rocky ridges with a heavy pack is not something you can train for. I’m a
Colorado transplant and grew up hunting whitetails in the woods of Virginia. The steep rocky environs
of the Chugach Range were as foreign to me as the surface of the moon. I’d been on plenty of Colorado
backpack elk hunts, but elk don’t live up in the rocks. I was getting better at rock hopping as the trip
wore on but the rain-slickened rocks, soaked clothes, and sharp wind had upped the ante on me.
Andrew handled it as you would expect a sheep guide to, and I just tried to follow his lead, keep my
head down, and keep my legs moving.

Even with good rain gear, the wind-driven rain was bone-chilling. On the second day of the hike we
were climbing a steep wind-blasted ridge with a 1,200-foot elevation gain, and the going was so slow
that I wasn’t sure I could generate enough body heat to stay warm. The physiology of carrying heavy
loads up steep slopes dictates frequent rest stops to give fatigued muscles time to rid themselves of
lactic acid, but neither of us wanted to stop for long on that exposed ridge. When we did stop to rest, all
I could think about was getting started again so we could make it off the ridge and out of the wind.
After what seemed an eternity we made it up, over the top, and down off the ridge to a protected
campsite. Andrew had to set up camp with no help from me because at that point I was physically spent
and as useless as a screen door on a submarine. It was all I could do to stay upright.

From there it was just another long day hiking in the rain through the soaking-wet alder brush, which
was akin to walking through a car wash. The ram was aged at 10 years. The horns had lots of character,
broomed on both sides, measuring 14 ¾” at the bases. Not a “book ram,” but a trophy and a hunt I’ll
never forget. I hunted magnificent animals in amazing country, spent time with a remarkable young
guide, and pushed myself to the limits and then some. There is no better feeling.

Phil - that is an amazing story and well told. Thank you for sharing and it was a great read!! I remember seeing you off as you went down the river on the jet boat … what a trip.

Lucky to draw 6 Bighorn ram tags in CO and arrow two....1984 for a 165" and 1999 for 157" ram. Drew a NR NV Desert Bighorn tag the first year I put in...1991. Arrowed a broomed-way-back 10 yr old that didn't score much but was very cool old ram. All three rams DIY.

Moved from CO to BC and went on 8 backpack hunts over 6 years before I arrowed a dandy Stone in 2016 DIY. With 3 of the 4 (sub)species for a Grand Slam, I booked a guided Dall hunt in the NWT in 2017 and arrowed a nice broomed Dall. Since that time I helped a buddy arrow a real nice Stone in BC 200 yards from where I got mine a couple years prior.

Before anyone asks for photos...I don't post them on internet.