A Successful Dall Sheep Hunt In the Alaskan Wilderness

This hunt was the most challenging and rewarding adventure I’ve experienced in Alaska. My friend Hunter and I hunted a mountain range I had dreamt of exploring since striking out on last year’s hunt. Dreaming of new possibilities of rams, I yearned to be deep within those faraway mountains. Through meticulous planning, preparation, and hours spent daydreaming of sheep, we set out on an unforgettable hunt.

Sheep hunts are not for the faint of heart, especially one of this nature. I had wondered if I would do this hunt solo. I didn’t know many people who could undertake a trip like this. The ones I did were busy with other engagements or were out of state making it hard to travel up. There was nothing I wanted more than a ram. If going solo was the only option, so be it. Yet, I didn’t look forward to it being that way. Eventually, I had a friend committed and felt good about having him come along. Unfortunately, military duties cut off the possibility of him coming along. I was back to planning a solo hunt. By chance, I met Hunter while ice fishing with a mutual friend. It didn’t take long for hunting to come up in conversation. He told me of his walk-in, backpack archery moose hunt from the year prior. He took a 55″ bull that decided to dive into a river just before it died. Eventually floating into a deep hole and lodging against a log jam. He got the bull out and said he’d do it again. That was just the type of mindset and touch of crazy that I was looking for. An hour after meeting him I asked if he’d do a sheep hunt with me. He thought I wasn’t serious so kind’ve shrugged it off. A few months later I got on him again, realizing I was dead serious, he decided to dive headfirst into sheep obsession with me.

The area I planned to hunt is vast and remote. Miles of flats extend out around the range. Glacier-ridden peaks stretching into the sky dominate the core area. We wanted to hunt in the middle of the vast range, surrounded by sheep habitat. To get there we had to first travel through, then past mountains that likely held legal rams. It was a risk we were willing to take.

Day 1 Aug 7th
After packing deep into the backcountry, and nearing our hunt location, we learned we would not have the mountains to ourselves. We came to a man behind a rifle set on a tripod out front of a tent. “Buddy isn’t feeling good, we might hunt up the drainage, not sure. 2 groups have headed up already, busy this year” was what he had to say. Somewhat disappointed by the news, we hiked up the creek that would eventually lead us to the top of our drainage of choice. The long day of hiking on the back end of a night drive after work with no sleep had worn us down. About 5 miles from our planned hunting location, the decision to call it a day was made. Camp was set, a meal was quickly made, and we fell asleep quickly.

Day 2 Aug 8th
In the morning we broke camp and set up the creekbed in our crocs. Water was high and crossings were frequent. The weather was a comfortable sunny and 72. We plowed through the creek often staying right in it as it flowed from edge to edge. We soon entered a canyon and the creek bed narrowed. First to spots 50 ft wide, then 30ft. About 2.5 miles up and almost through the canyon stretch we hit a spot where it narrowed to about 5ft. Water plunged through here looking to be 3-4ft deep. We stripped down and I rounded the corner into the deep pool. It was over my waist and the cold mountain water took my breath away. Getting up through the fast-flowing water was nearly impossible with the 60lb pack and 4×4 crocs. It was a struggle but we were able to get up through over the smoothed bedrock. At this point, we thought we had made it through the worst of it. 200yds later we came to another similar spot but with water likely over our heads.

At an apparent roadblock, I dropped my pack and looked at the steep edge. I figured I could climb it so I gave it a go. I climbed up over the pool barely making it as the gravel and loose rocks gave way. I tried my best to take my mind off the basketball-sized rocks crashing 20 feet down into the creek. I bear-crawled with everything I had to get up the slope. Once up I realized I wouldn’t be going back down, at least not without getting hurt. A route forward was found and we decided to hoist the bags and gear up the side of the rock face using Paracord. This process took over an hour as I couldn’t lift the bags with all the contents in them. Finally, all the gear was up and Hunter would need to climb the precarious face. I anchored the rope and made handholds for him. Watching his climb was scarier than when I did it. When he made it up we both took a bit to regroup and calm our nerves.

The rest of the hike up was simple and we found a great place to pitch camp. 3 rams and 12 ewes and lambs were spotted. The rams were at best 3/4 curl so while promising to see, were not close to being legal to harvest. The upper drainage had 5 mini drainages coming together. 6500-7000ft mts rimmed the 2.5 mi wide basin all around us. It was a great spot to set base camp for a few days.

Day 3 Aug 9th
The day started as a rainy mess with low cloud cover. Around midday Hunter spotted 2 other hunters coming up the creek bed. We chatted and they let us know they were headed through the saddle above us and into the next drainage. We did not envy them for hiking that far through the downpouring rain. That evening the weather cleared and we were able to glass our area from a surrounding bluff. It is amazing how the hills come to life in the evenings when sheep get up from their day beds to feed for a few hours. We spotted more ewes and a few young rams. Having not spotted a legal sheep we decided that the next day, opening day, would be spent up on the rim. Here we would be able to glass for miles around.

Day 4 Aug 10th opener
We woke early and climbed up into our basin. 3 new rams come across the mountainside behind camp. Medium-sized, we peered at them only briefly. Once the thermals were headed downhill we climbed up a saddle and got on the rim of the basin. We could see into 3 nearby drainages from this vantage point. The day was spent up there glassing. 7 rams were spotted and one ewe. 6 rams were together and one looked heavy and promising. Unfortunately, they were about 4 miles away in a straight line. After looking at the map there was no way to get to their drainage. The mountains peak out at 7-7500 ft and are rimmed by 500-1000ft cliffs. We side-hilled back over to where we had climbed up earlier. I started expanding my search for sheep, peering into bowls and mountains multiple drainages away. On the furthest mountain I could see, back in the original creek we used to access the area, 2 sheep fed across the green slopes. I looked through the spotter with the zoom set at 60x. Blurry as it was, I was able to see horns as they swayed their heads. Their heads looked cut off from their bodies. I looked at the maps and measured the distance. 7 miles away I was able to make out the horn and after watching closely it seemed at least one was likely full curl. We both agreed that at this distance to see that much horn it was worth making a move. We were both amped up and the decision was made to get to these rams. We dropped from the saddle at about 8 pm and made our way to camp.

Day 5 Aug 11th
The next morning, we broke camp again, hoisted our heavy packs, and started our hike at 6:30 am. The route chosen would take us all day, 14miles of hard hiking awaited us. We climbed into the next drainage via a gradual saddle, hooked up another drainage, and spotted a young ram by himself. We kept moving finally coming to what we had deemed to be our biggest obstacle of the day, a near vertical 500ft saddle that would get us into the long drainage leading out to the mountain with the rams. We climbed straight up 300 ft through loose rock. From here we sidehilled while staying on a few sheep tracks. This area had very little caribou travel and few sheep seemed to use this saddle to travel through. Therefore, we did not have a game trail to follow as we made our ascent. After spending 45 minutes climbing we got on the top of the knife edge saddle. The other side was steeper and narrower.

We glassed for a bit and had a quick lunch before deciding to start our descent. A 500 ft drop consisting of loose rock and dirt made for a precarious situation. I led as we started down. The first 75ft were slow and quite sketchy. We hit a sheep trail and followed it down and across another 50ft. From here the hill got soft and I was able to head straight down while digging in my heels and using trekking poles to hold back my weight from toppling me forward. The ground was so soft the next 300ft vertical feet felt as if we were skiing in powder. Digging in our heels and making tight turns to keep our drop at a controllable pace. We got water at the bottom from a steady trickle flowing from the rocks. About 1/2 mi down 3 rams were spotted across the basin near the top of the highest peak. After about an hour of judging them, it was determined the biggest of the 3 was somewhat close but neither was he fully curled or broomed. It was now 6:30 pm and time was not on our side. The going was easy though as we headed down the creek bottom. A ram was spotted on the mountain we were headed to from this high drainage. We still could not make out his true size as we were 3 miles away and the lighting was not ideal.

The creekbed soon filled with water and we were about 1.25 miles from the bottom when we came to a canyon with a 25ft waterfall. There was no way down. Looking out and down the drainage we discovered cliffs and more waterfalls. Hunter gave me a look that I couldn’t meet, the only option was to climb up and out. The hillside was incredibly steep and filled with alders. Looking downstream we could see the creek had turned into a worse canyon than the one we were trying to avoid by taking this long route out and around. We gained 500 ft of elevation through the alders and then tried our best to sidehill through the mess. It was impossibly hard going. Visibility was about 10 yards through the thick brush. The hillside felt 45 degrees at least. It was 8:30 pm and we were out of options and running out of daylight. We pushed, crawled, and rolled our way across that mountainside from hell for the next 2.5 hours. It was the hardest mile I have ever encountered and it came on the back end of a rugged 13-mile trek. We were pushing both of our bodies to the limits as we eventually, miraculously, stumbled out onto the gravel creekbed below the mountain with the target rams.

This moment of breaking out of the brush onto the open creekbed was only momentarily triumphant. Directly across the creek sat a pitched tent. This was incredibly demoralizing. We figured these hunters already knew about the rams and were in the process of hunting them. It was 11 pm, we had been hiking for close to 17 hours. Beyond exhaustion, we only made it out of view before pitching our tent. I could not imagine setting up directly across from the other hunters. As it was, I felt bad camping so close to them.

Day 6 Aug 12th
We slept until 10 am and got up to find somewhat patchy clouds and sprinkling rain. Visibility was poor and not improving. We figured it was going to be a much-needed weather day. We went up the creekbed to talk with the other hunters. They were sitting at the tent looking through their spotter away from the mountain with the rams. When talking with them It did not sound like they knew about the rams, but then again would they have let on if they did? We didn’t. In any case, they did not seem upset we had moved in close to them. After telling them of our plans to probably climb up during the next weather window they told us good luck. We glassed for a bit but couldn’t see what we needed to from the creek bed. We retired to the tent to wait out the clouds and rain. Mid afternoon two hunters came hiking up by. Headed up the drainage in Crocs and shorts, I figured they had no idea they were walking straight past and underneath potentially 2 good rams. I wondered if they found it odd that 2 groups were camped so close together. Did they think us lazy and figured they’d outwalk and outwork us by heading further in? I didn’t get a chance to get out to chat. As they passed they called out “Howdy neighbors!”. Were they hunting the same mountain as us? Night finally came and we went to sleep unsure of what the morning would bring.

Day 7 Aug 13th
We woke early before the sun rose. The skies were clear, the rain and clouds had passed. It was a good weather window and with other groups in the area, we wanted to push up the mountain quickly. I was stiff from laying in the tent for over 24 hours. While my sleeping pad is quite forgiving, my neck and back were tight from not moving around. We got our packs ready and headed down the creek bed toward the mouth of the canyon that would lead us up into the bowl where the rams had last been. We took our boots off and crossed the creek. The water was cold, and the crisp morning air did little to warm us as we dried off on the far side. We filled our water bottles, unsure if there would be any up-the-side drainage we were headed into. It would be a short hike, we were hopeful we’d have eyes on the rams by mid-morning. We started up the draw and a few hundred yards up we found a trickle of flowing water. We continued up the tight draw over the wet rocks. About 1/3 mi up we started to hear a few rocks falling up ahead. Having heard this before and it is a result of sheep kicking down loose stones we took notice. We continued along first hopeful it was sheep then deciding maybe a bear or other animal since we were not yet above the brush line. We were fairly close when we saw the next rock come down. Maybe within 50 yards, a few more rocks came sliding down. There were quite a bit of rocks piled up in the creek, the right side of the canyon was giving way. We could see that about 300 feet up the dirt was exposed. This was where the rocks had come from. We were deciding if we wanted to try sneaking past this point, turn around, or go up one side through the alders. Falling rocks are a serious hazard in the mountains. We wanted to think about our next move and not let the idea of 2 legal rams cloud our judgment. At this moment the face gave way and a major rockslide began. The noise was deafening as car-sized boulders came crashing from hundreds of feet above. “We gatta turn back now, no way of knowing if the whole thing is going to go!” Not sure who said this first but we were both thinking it!

We turned and scrambled down the rocks as fast as we could. The sound of crushing boulders behind us fueled our mad dash. I came to a small drop and hurried my steps. Slipping at the top, I landed flat-footed after a 4-foot drop. This along with the 30lbs on my back resulted in instant lower back pain. “Ah shit,” I thought, I had thrown it out. I pushed through the pain knowing adrenaline was going to keep me going just a little longer. I stumbled along another 30 yards and went to the side of the canyon behind a large boulder. Within seconds my back tightened and the pain set in with each movement. Being days of traversing mountains and rivers away from civilization, I instantly wondered if this was going to be a problem. At the very least, I knew I wouldn’t be able to climb that day. I started stretching it out the best I could, I didn’t want to let the muscles get too tight. The rocks continued to come down.

I could tell Hunter was concerned, I tried reassuring him I’d be good, just needed time.
“Talk me through this man, how bad is it, what can I do for ya?”

“I’ve got painkillers in my pack, I’ve just got to keep stretching it out and need time…I’ve done it before a lot worse, and was walking later that day”

I continued to stretch out my back and after an hour tried getting up and walking. Each step sent a shooting pain and I wasn’t able to keep my balance. I decided since it was still before noon I’d give it as much time as needed then make my way the 1/2 mi back to the tent. Hunter was understandably getting antsy and asked if I minded if he went up a little shoot in the alders to get to the rim of the canyon. I told him to go for it and go get eyes on those sheep! He climbed up and out of sight, I half expected to hear a shot, we were still confident the rams were just over the rise. He came back down 2 hours or so later and reported the target rams had not been spotted. He had spotted a few ewes and small rams in the surrounding mountains.

A few hours after this I was up on my feet and determined to head downhill. I stubbornly wouldn’t give up my pack, even though this likely would have been the smart move. Tweaking my back worse would likely end our hunt or worse. As it was, I was unsure what the next day would bring. We both knew our hunt might have ended just as we were making our move. All the hard work to get here and maybe it would all be for naught. I went to sleep that night in a restless state, sore, tight, and frustrated.

Day 8 Aug 14
I woke to my alarm which was set before daybreak. I sat up gingerly, fearing the pain I thought for sure would signal the end of my sheep-hunting dreams for this season. I was beyond elated when it was just a dull pain and limited stiffness compared to the evening before. I reached down and touched my toes. I then turned to my side to get breakfast going. All went well and I didn’t feel anything too concerning. I knew I’d be able to continue pushing for the rams we hoped were still there. Hunter got up and asked nervously how I was doing. “Heck ya” was his response when I said today was the day we’d double up on rams.

We repeated our route down to the draw opening but soon hung left and began climbing to the ridge line. It was steep and through the brush, but only a short push. Within an hour or so we were at the top. Two white dots were visible over a mile away across the basin. One look through the binos confirmed it was almost certainly the rams we had been working so hard to get to. I set up the spotter and we started to judge them. They were above us by roughly 500-1000ft of elevation, the angle making it hard to judge the curls. The bigger of the two was likely legal. His horns were heavy and while we couldn’t make out the tips at that distance, we could see almost a distinct full curl. They were headed up the mountain side giving us a look at only their right horns. The other ram was obviously younger. Smaller body size and thinner horns. His curl was less than the other ram as well. We watched for over an hour but never got a good view of their left horns or a perfect one of their right side either. They fed uphill until they crested the top and were gone. We started to go over our options. One was likely legal, maybe both. We were on the opposite side of the basin with a nasty knife-edge traverse above us to gain the peak of the mountain. We could drop down and up the other side of the canyon, but the mountainside was choked with brush and this approach would take all day. It would also give us a blind approach to the rams, likely setting us up to spook them. We were unsure it was safe to drop down into the basin from the ridge due to its steepness. This again would put us in a blind approach and could lead to getting busted. We decided to wait until the evening and hope they fed back over the top.

It was a slow few hours through the mid part of the day. We glassed the other sheep in view, ate berries, and snacked on our lunches. I was starting to doubt our chances. We realistically had 1 more day to hunt after this. If the rams didn’t feed back over to a place we could get within range we’d likely have to make a serious, bold push the following day. It was a minimum of two days’ travel back to Fairbanks. We both had work obligations starting the morning after we planned on getting back. It was what it was, things would have to fall into place if we were going to make a kill.

Around 2 pm Hunter suggested we move up the ridge line a few hundred yards just to see if we could realistically continue upwards. It looked like real nasty cliffs above on our side. I agreed it’d be a good idea and hoisted the pack back on. We climbed a few hundred feet of elevation and were moving just below the crest of the ridge top when Hunter said, “Are those sheep RIGHT THERE!?”

I instantly spotted them as well, yes, sheep within 500 yards. They were bedded up in the cliffs slightly below us and on our side of the mountain. We dropped back, dropped the packs, and crawled up. “Ram, ram, ram, ram…that one has to be full curl…holy shit….ok that other one might be too…there’s another one up above…one more below…get the spotter.” The spotter came out and it took about 3 seconds to confirm one of the rams was full curl. His heavy right horn came right up and past his base. The other side was broomed. I started looking through the rest of the band. One more was close. I didn’t have a great angle and could only see his left side. Hunter was super excited of course and wanted to look through the spotter. I hadn’t had a good look at them all and couldn’t make sure any more were legal. After some begging I finally let him look. One spotter to share can be a pain…it might be worth bringing an extra although the weight is a killer. He thought they were both legal but I hadn’t had a good enough look to confirm it for myself. I knew he was likely not 8 years old based on the amount of mass compared to the other ram. There was zero chance to age these sheep, their annuli were invisible at this distance. We went back and forth on the spotter for a while and then we decided to move up closer. We ducked below the horizon and made our way up the ridge line. We came to a good spot and crested over ever so slightly. 356yds on the rangefinder. We had practiced out to 425 just days before the trip and felt anything within this range without strong winds was fair game. Hunter got set up and I continued to try judging the other ram that hadn’t moved to provide a different angle.

We had decided before the hunt that whoever spotted the sheep first had dibs. It seemed whoever was walking in front of the other saw the sheep a split second before the other so I’m not sure if we will stick to this moving forward. We both want a chance to kill, and I don’t want to try out walking my partner so I have a better chance at that.

Hunter decided when the ram stood it was going to get a bullet. I agreed with that plan although I feared I wouldn’t get a chance to judge “my” sheep. After a while, they started to stand up and I knew the time was coming. I got on my rifle as well and then they were all on their feet. The ram I had been watching turned and I saw the other horn at the perfect angle through the riflescope. Damn, it looked full curl to me!

“Dude let me have one more look on the spotter I just saw a full curl on his other horn”

“Ok, well shoot him right after I dump mine”

“I want to get a look through the spotter, I don’t want to get this wrong.”

“I’m telling ya, the side we were looking at all along was legal, if his other side is better then there’s no doubt. I’ve got to shoot they are starting to walk.”

Stress was at an all-time high. The moment had come, it was time to take the shot. Fear of the second ram not being legal held my trigger finger. Shooting before being absolutely 100% certain is simply not something I ethically can accept from myself. If I were to take a ram as well, the final judgment would have to come after the band had one less member.

With a crack from the 6.5 Creedmoor, Hunter’s ram shuddered. He took a step and wobbled. I answered the classic question “Did I hit him!?” Yes, for sure, he is going down. He took an off-balance sideways step and fell off the little bench they had been bedded on. He fell about 10 ft, hit a ledge, and catapulted far enough away from the mountainside to free fall 100ft. He hadn’t come to a stop on the floor of the basin 800ft below before I was telling Hunter to get on the spotter and give me the final judgment. The 5 other rams stood and watched as their leader disappeared. They had looked to him for guidance in the mountains. Leading them to feeding grounds and safe bedding areas. They were confused as to why he had fallen. They began to mill about, some feeding, others walking around. The one I wanted was still looking downhill having moved slightly further away. Hunter got on the spotter and said, “Yes, as I have said before, he is legal.”
“No doubt?” I asked
“No, take him”
I fired my 300win mag aimed slightly down the ribcage with a perfect quartering away angle. The impact blew the ram off his feet, he crumbled and began his fall/slide down the mountainside. The amount of dust kicked up was a sight to see. Both from the two dead rams and the rockslide 1/2 mi away that had continued through the night and current day.

Wow, what a feeling it was to have killed our first rams. I couldn’t believe it. It didn’t feel real. We had busted our asses to get to this point. We had made the stalk on these rams without even knowing they were there. The two original rams that we had been after were old news, we had just killed a double, and they lay dead just 50 yards from each other far below us. We both celebrated the moment and quickly composed ourselves for the drop off the ridge top. Hunter looked through his binos and said that his ram only had one horn. I laughed and called bullshit. Nope, he was right, a horn had blown completely off its core on impact. Luckily, he glassed it up lying on the rocks 50ft above the fallen ram.

We headed down the mountainside, quickly but carefully. We had to drop around 800 ft of elevation straight down from the rim. It was sketchy. We knew we had a tough go of it shooting them there, but also knew it had to be done. We reached our rams and the whoops and hoops and hollers ran out of us. My ram was full curl by angle, meeting its base, and the stick test on both horns. He was a few inches past his base. Not exactly a big ram but not a squeaker either. I was beyond happy with him. “Give me a Hellya bud!!!” Hunter hollered over. I’d be surprised if the other groups spread throughout the mountains didn’t hear us up there. Hunter’s ram was heavy with a beautiful intact right horn that was a few inches past full curl as well. His broomed side added character in my mind, a piece of rock was embedded within the horn where it had hit on impact. I drug my sheep down next to his and reality sets in. We had just doubled up on two nice rams. Both were our firsts, with this being only my second and Hunter’s first year hunting sheep. We had both moved from out of state less than 3 years prior, and we now found ourselves deep in the Alaskan wilderness standing over two beautiful rams.

We posed for pictures with the rams until we were each satisfied with them. I’ve learned you can never take too many trophy pictures. I look at them often and it preserves the memory for years to come.

We set out first gutting and then skinning each sheep. We quartered them out and placed the meat in game bags. I boned out the rib meat but left the four quarters on the bone to save some time. It was in the evening and we figured we’d be pushing it to reach the tent before dark. First, we tried packing the entire sheep from the kill site. We didn’t make it far before deciding it wouldn’t be possible to make the steep climb up out of the basin. The rockslide continued to come down and there was no way to side hill past.

We dropped about half of the meat and the heads in a tight spot in the cobble rocks. We half buried the meat and horns then covered it with my raincoat. I hoped the scent on the coat would deter any critters, and also hide it from the birds. It was hard to leave the meat and heads there, but we’d be back the next morning to retrieve it. We hoisted the heavy packs and headed straight up the mountainside. That climb was one of the toughest I’ve experienced. We dug our toes into the gravel and leaned into our trekking poles. I’m not sure how heavy the packs were. I had taken the quarters and backstraps. Hunter had exactly half his meat. Either way, it was pushing my physical limits. We pushed ourselves upwards, straining under the heavy packs. My legs shook and my back ached. We had no other option but to continue upward. Each look down reminded us of the importance of concentrating on every step. A slip here would have us looking like Hunter’s one-horned wonder of a ram. We eventually got to the top of the ridge and let out a sigh of relief. It was getting late and the sun was going down. We hurried down as quickly as we could. The last 100 feet of hillside were the roughest of the whole trip for me. My legs and back were giving out and I was losing all my balance. I let myself slide down through the rocks and alders, letting the weight of my pack push me downhill. Hunter encouraged me to keep moving and soon we had crossed the creek. We slugged through the alders and eventually got to the tent. What a great feeling it was to drop those packs.

Celebration was in store for that evening. I had dreamt of having fresh sheep ribs over an open flame for some time. We sparked up a fire and set about gathering wood. The fire turned to a blaze and we soon began to have a solid bed of coals. The perfect log to roast the ribs sat along the treeline. It had a notch in it to lay each end of the ribs across over the coals. I had been carrying a few lbs of salt with me for my cape, some was spared for seasoning the ribs. I also had a small container of seasonings specifically for this potential meal. We laid the ribs over the log and watched as the flames lapped the underside. The fat began to sizzle and drip. We turned it over a few times and got it cooked the best we could. We were eager to eat as we hadn’t had anything since before spotting the rams. Satisfied it was cooked enough, we tore into the ribs. It was delicious, and not just because we had been eating from a bag the past 8 days. The fat had a good flavor like beef does. The meat was distinct from other game. Uniquely sheep. Due to the nature of the kitchen, some meat was cooked well done and other bits were raw. We ate it all, the entire rack disappeared in no time. We looked, sounded, and felt like cavemen as we devoured our kill. Stomachs were full, and fat covered our hands and our week-old scruff. I did my best to wash the congealing fat off in the cold creek that would soon lull us off to sleep.

Day 9 Aug 15
We awoke around 8 am and boned out the quarters. I threw the bones and scraps into the creek in hopes of leaving minimal scent for bears and other critters. Once boned out we hung our meat bags in the alders for the day. We had to repeat the climb and descent down to the rest of the meat and horns. This took a few hours and soon we were climbing back out of the bowl. Once again, we found ourselves in a sketchy situation. We used a boot-wide drainage crevice to gain traction as we climbed. I’d wedge my toes in, bring the trekking poles up, and take another step. Repeating this process we climbed the 800ft to the top of the ridge.

Making our way down I spotted two hunters sitting near the crest we were following. My first thought was, ah shit they are going to know where we shot our rams! We headed over and the first words out of the fella’s mouth were “Heck ya boys, classic double, right onnn!” We chatted them up for a bit and soon discovered one had been hunting this drainage for 14 years. He knew all about this mountain, having taken several rams off it in years past. His hunting partner was on his first sheep hunt. They were both cool dudes and told us they’d catch up with us down at the tent that evening. They happened to be the two hunters who said “howdy neighbors” as they passed on day 7. They had backpocketed the band of 6 we shot our sheep from in favor of checking out some more ground. He later told us tales of prior hunting trips. One of a 42″ 7-year-old ram they had got. Another of one that got away, his brother had guessed at near 45″.

Later that evening they came up the creek as we sat around our fire. They congratulated us again and put a tape to our horns. 37″ and 36″ were the unofficial calculations. He asked what our plan was. We told him we planned to pack it all up and take it in one go. “Well boys, I’ve never carried a full sheep and camp, we always hunted for one. My brothers did once when they doubled, never did it again. Take er easy tomorrow.” We ate sheep meat again for dinner and retired fairly early in preparation for our death march in the morning.

Day 10 Aug 16
At this point, we woke up sore and worn out. We had been pushing hard day after day. I was thankful my back felt good, all things considered. We broke camp and somehow managed to fit everything into the packs. We looked at them with trepidation. They likely weighed over 140 lbs. The packs were specifically built for this purpose. Our pre-hunt prep had been focused on packing heavyweight. Yet, we both had doubts about what was in store. We set out and knew instantly it was going to be a slog. Every 500 yards or so we had to cross the waist-deep rushing creek. The crossings were difficult and took serious concentration. At this point, we kept the boots on and accepted the wet feet for the stability and grip the kenetreks offered. We’d push as far as possible and then find a log to collapse onto. We tried to not set the packs on the ground. From there we had to help each other stand up by lifting and pushing while the other gained his balance. We kept up with our hydration to avoid muscle cramping and debilitating fatigue. Midday we reached the mouth of the original drainage we had went up on day 2. We sat down up against a log and took a nap. I slept for a bit and wasn’t awake for more than a few minutes before I saw two hunters coming down the other creek. It was the two hunters we talked to on day 3. They came over and checked out our rams. We talked for a bit and decided to plan on catching up again that evening since we had similar camp locations in mind. We got back to work and were passed by the other hunters we had met the day prior. They told us that down where we all had planned on camping that evening there were some stashed beers we could all share around the campfire. This motivated us immensely, and we only rested twice more before reaching our goal for the day. It felt great to be done packing for the day. We headed down from our camp spot to where the other guys were set up. I pointed out to Hunter that I had been spot on when we discussed what beers they would have. One had brought Pabst blue ribbon and the other had IPA’s. We all enjoyed plenty of both.

The veteran sheep hunter showed us a meat pole he and “hippy Matt” had made almost a decade prior. He helped us hang our meat up high away from the reach of any bears. We were very grateful for the good company and the help. We offered to bring down a rack of ribs and plenty of steaks. It was a great feast to share with like-minded hunters. We all told hunting stories around the fire as we enjoyed our spoils. It was a wonderful, unique night. Sheep hunting can be competitive. Groups usually want to avoid each other and not give up too much intel. Legal rams are as rare as ever before. The price of gear and the effort to reach the hunting grounds has increased. It was a pleasure to share camp with these guys.

The two guys we met on day 3 told us of 2 rams that were shot out from underneath them. The first one they didn’t know was there on opening day, then again during a stalk a few days later. They said there were at least 2 other groups that were in the valley past where we camped until day 5. They were unsure where they planned to hunt next year. They had now hunted together 8 years in a row without shooting a ram. The fact neither they nor the other guys had killed made us feel extremely grateful for our good fortune. I’d rather be lucky than good any day. Regardless, standing around the campfire that night we knew we had accomplished something special. We had made a series of decisions that resulted in us both being successful. Our bodies had been pushed up against the breaking point. We had made a couple of daring moves that got us into position. The 14mi move on day 5 had set us up for the chance at a kill. A tenacious, go and get it, attitude we both have sealed the deal. We fell asleep late under clear skies, feeling like we were living in a dream.

The next two days were spent returning to Fairbanks. As remote as we were, it took all this time to first get out of the mountains and travel to the road we had arranged a ride at. These days were long and tiring but mostly uneventful. My good friend Matt and his wife picked us up and provided a shuttle back to my truck. The rides were spent chatting about the hunt amongst ourselves and anyone we could get ahold of on the phone. That day got up to 93 degrees. Matt had brought a cooler that fit the meat and ice. We were so thankful that he and his wife Stefanie were willing to help us out. We planned on stopping for dinner, but we were just ready to get home. I forced some cash on them and told them to treat themselves to a nice plate of food. We got to North Pole at 8 pm on the 18th and separated our meat from the cooler. The next morning we met up at fish and game with our skulls. For sheep, they need to be brought in to be “sealed”. The sealer checks the horns over, a harvest report is filled out, and the legality of the animal is confirmed. We had talked with Joe Want before the hunt and it was a joy to be able to bring in a pair of rams for him to seal.

The hunt had come to its conclusion after 12 days in the mountains. The horns were dropped off at the taxidermists’ shops and we each went back to normal everyday life. Yet, part of our minds remained out in those mountains. Every day I dream of hunting these incredible animals. Driving deep into the backcountry, letting our legs and aspirations push us further than what we know to be possible. Living a sliver of the mountain man life of old. Glassing the hills for the faint white dots spread out across the vast swath of wilderness. The feeling of the moment the ram is spotted, and the moment the trigger is pulled. I welcome the uncomfortable conditions, the exhaustion, and the pain. All this is what makes Dall sheep hunting the ultimate Alaskan adventure. How grateful we are to have experienced this, and hopeful we will have many more like it in the years to come.