Full Curl
Member
I grew up hunting mule deer in Eastern Washington, dreaming of a sheep hunt I thought would never happen. In 2006 my wife and I moved to Anchorage, Alaska. As fall came around and the boys headed to mule deer camp back home, reality hit: I was in Alaska with all its opportunities and challenges. DIY sheep hunting took time to figure out. I was more lucky than skilled, going on 8 DIY sheep hunts over the years. This is the story of my ram.
After a long drive from Anchorage, we arrived at the trailhead late. Multiple vehicles at what we thought was remote country wasn't a good sign. Days before opening day and the place was packed. Last time we were there, it was just us and one other rig.
We started early hoping our route hadn't been taken, only to find solid evidence that at least 6 hunters had beaten us there. Frustrated, we backtracked and chose a different drainage we'd never researched. We climbed over 3500 vertical feet to our first camp. It wasn't as deep into sheep country as we'd hoped, and the detour had worn us out. That year was unseasonably hot and dry. We crashed hard and slept through our alarm, waking to too much light in the tent on opening morning.
Discouraged, I stepped out for the morning relief. Three white specks caught my eye. A quick glance through my binos and I whispered to my buddy, "Sheep. Three rams." We dressed, grabbed our gear and spent the next few hours glassing and moving into position.
By almost noon we were as close as we could get at 350 yards across a ravine. One was a full curl. My rifle swung his direction. The ranger finder read 352 yards. With cliffs around him and a ravine below, any wrong move would send him packing. I'd practiced at this distance, and felt confident enough to take the shot. Prone with a solid rest, I placed the reticule on his shoulder and sent the 225gr Nosler Accubond downrange. . (My Alaska rifle is a .338 WM, Rem 700 KS Custom SS)
The rams jumped. Two ran high and right, the shooter ran right. I threw a few warning shots then got serious. He started the Dead Ram Roll, tumbling out of sight. We strained to listen for the crash in the ravine below. Nothing. He was hung up somewhere above. RAM DOWN.
After a late breakfast, I grabbed my pack, stripped it down, verified my kill kit and camera were aboard, and set off to find him. We hiked up above the shot and dropped into the ravine. After some scrambling and rock climbing, we were on the other side. A few moments searching and there he was, lying in a grassy section above the cliff edge.
I was overwhelmed. My first shot hit him, though high and back. Shooting at a running animal you've chased so long is rough on the nerves. We dressed him and headed back to camp.
As I walked out of sheep country, I reflected on why I do this. The beauty and majesty of those mountains scream out the handiwork of a Creator. The quietness, the solitude, the struggle to survive there is peaceful, something one must experience to fully understand. It makes me realize how insignificant I am and how blessed to be there.
I have an unique opportunity in 2027 to hunt with a friend in the Yukon. Excited to get back into sheep country again!
After a long drive from Anchorage, we arrived at the trailhead late. Multiple vehicles at what we thought was remote country wasn't a good sign. Days before opening day and the place was packed. Last time we were there, it was just us and one other rig.
We started early hoping our route hadn't been taken, only to find solid evidence that at least 6 hunters had beaten us there. Frustrated, we backtracked and chose a different drainage we'd never researched. We climbed over 3500 vertical feet to our first camp. It wasn't as deep into sheep country as we'd hoped, and the detour had worn us out. That year was unseasonably hot and dry. We crashed hard and slept through our alarm, waking to too much light in the tent on opening morning.
Discouraged, I stepped out for the morning relief. Three white specks caught my eye. A quick glance through my binos and I whispered to my buddy, "Sheep. Three rams." We dressed, grabbed our gear and spent the next few hours glassing and moving into position.
By almost noon we were as close as we could get at 350 yards across a ravine. One was a full curl. My rifle swung his direction. The ranger finder read 352 yards. With cliffs around him and a ravine below, any wrong move would send him packing. I'd practiced at this distance, and felt confident enough to take the shot. Prone with a solid rest, I placed the reticule on his shoulder and sent the 225gr Nosler Accubond downrange. . (My Alaska rifle is a .338 WM, Rem 700 KS Custom SS)
The rams jumped. Two ran high and right, the shooter ran right. I threw a few warning shots then got serious. He started the Dead Ram Roll, tumbling out of sight. We strained to listen for the crash in the ravine below. Nothing. He was hung up somewhere above. RAM DOWN.
After a late breakfast, I grabbed my pack, stripped it down, verified my kill kit and camera were aboard, and set off to find him. We hiked up above the shot and dropped into the ravine. After some scrambling and rock climbing, we were on the other side. A few moments searching and there he was, lying in a grassy section above the cliff edge.
I was overwhelmed. My first shot hit him, though high and back. Shooting at a running animal you've chased so long is rough on the nerves. We dressed him and headed back to camp.
As I walked out of sheep country, I reflected on why I do this. The beauty and majesty of those mountains scream out the handiwork of a Creator. The quietness, the solitude, the struggle to survive there is peaceful, something one must experience to fully understand. It makes me realize how insignificant I am and how blessed to be there.
I have an unique opportunity in 2027 to hunt with a friend in the Yukon. Excited to get back into sheep country again!
