In my experience, the trips that end up coming together in the final hour are the ones that tend to be the most memorable, and this Dall sheep hunt was no exception. With Cole owning and operating his own air taxi business, he’s faced with the same dilemma come every August. Does he carve out time for us to head out into the wild to share our favorite hunt together or does he take paying clients in hopes of cashing in and potentially forgoing any opportunities for us? With some “gentle” encouragement from me leading up to fall, it was just the push he needed.
Cole had dreamt about flying this area of the state ever since he began his journey in aviation. At a young age, Cole experienced his first dose of Super Cub flying from the backseat of an Alaskan legend’s plane, Mike Meekens. Season after season, Cole would tag along on backcountry flyout trips with his dad and Mike, and it didn’t take much, Cole was hooked on flying.
It was also on these trips that he would learn that hunting is about more than the harvest of an animal and instead about the experience of being in the remote wilderness of Alaska. This big dream as a kid would eventually evolve into a lifelong pursuit and career path for Cole. It gives those of us who are close to Cole so much pride to witness him living out his dream of flying a Super Cub in Alaska.
As we began our journey north, watching him navigate through some of Alaska’s wildest terrain will forever be imbedded in my memories. It was so special to be a part of. We both had hunted around this area of the state but never together and never at the lengths we were about to embark on. I was wheels-on-the-ground hauling gear, fuel, and tools, and Cole was eyes in the sky. After finally rendezvousing four days after I left home, it was clear we both had a few white-knuckle moments. Between 180 mph ground speeds in a Cub and me navigating through some of the most treacherous roads in the state, things were feeling western, and we hadn’t even started the hunt yet.
After leaving the plane with 10 days’ worth of food on our backs, it felt good to stretch the legs and let the excitement really begin. We were in an area that had so much terrain to glass. It was a few days into our drainage-hopping adventure when we stopped for some much-needed snacks, stretching, and glassing. Just when I thought I couldn’t have picked through one particular face any more meticulously, I slowly came to a stop on the most magnificent perfect profile I’d ever seen. I continued to stare for what felt like minutes before confirming my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. Without taking eyes off, I said, “Cole, scope”.
I took a few more moments to get reference of the area before swapping out binos for a spotting scope. In the most perfect bedded, left-sided profile position, all we could see was mass, broomed mass. I’m not sure if at this point we were both trying to keep our cool or refrain from “putting the cart before the horse” as Cole likes to say, but I was about to explode from excitement.
It was still early enough in the day to come up with a solid plan. We played leapfrog with one pair of wiggies across multiple braids of a river, waist deep in some spots, until finally making it up to a flatish bench to set up camp and drop any unnecessary gear.
After about a two and a half-hour hike straight up, we made it up near where I had spotted the sheep earlier in the day. With plenty of cover, we inched around car-sized rocks to get a better visual in hopes of seeing him in the same spot. No surprise, he wasn’t there. In front of us, we had two chutes with a small spine between. It was so steep, but it gave us a great visual straight up and down. We thought, “He’s still gotta be in here somewhere.” A quick regroup, layers, snack, and rifles in hand, we set up shop. It wasn’t more than 10 minutes later when Cole and I saw the same thing at the same time – a big white butt and mass from behind. He was casually feeding away from us just on the other side of where he had been bedded earlier. Our eyes were wide with excitement. After a quick range, it was decided that we could cut the distance traversing down a chute we had no business being in.
We then found ourselves in the bed where the ram had been only hours earlier, looking across at this lone old soldier. We likely let our excitement get the best of us, but when you’re looking at a ram like this, you lose all sense of calm, I don’t care how cool you are. Cole shot first, and I followed up. We both lay there in shock until Cole came over and tackled me. After finally getting to our feet, we gazed roughly 250 yards across at a motionless great white Dall, in pure disbelief of what had just happened.
This was my sixth season sheep hunting, and while I’ve been on a handful of successful ones, I’ve never punched a tag. After this ram, I’m not sure if I ever will, and I am OK with that. This sheep ruined us in the best way. It exceeded any expectations we could have possibly dreamt up of a Dall sheep we could take together, but ultimately, it was Cole’s dream Dall and I am elated for him.
After getting a good visual reference of where he was, we reversed course to grab packs and start up the next drainage to get hands on him. After the 45-minute down and back up traverse, we closed the distance. As we approached, reality finally settled in and we realized what we had in front of us. He had maybe one and a half front teeth left, bases and mass like we’d never seen, and we guessed him to be 14, maybe 15 years old. These are the rams you dream of but never see. It gives me goosebumps reliving it. These are the rams we need to hold out for. Yes, this hunt had a successful harvest, but to be in that country with the people you care about is the real reward. If I had to change anything about how this hunt went, it just wasn’t long enough.
We both feel so privileged, honored, and grateful to have harvested such a majestic ol’ bruiser together. No guides, no team of people, no pre-scouting. Just us. This sheep is one that will surely impact the trajectory of both our sheep hunting futures.
This poem by Lew Bradley in the “Rampage” series depicts everything we are as sheep hunters. It’s too good not to share.
ODE OF THE SHEEP HUNTER
Sheep hunters are a different breed
Punishing their bodies seems to be their creed.
Desire and passion fuel their drive
Knowledge and skill allows them to stay alive.
Calculating, organized and planned to a tee
Equipped with gear to handle any situation there may be.
Packing loads ghastly heavy
Requiring determination and savvy.
Hardened bodies tempered and mentally tough
Committed to the challenge no matter how rough.
Motivated and all consumed
Seeking excitement where dangers loom.
A lonely foreboding environment, harsh and unforgiving
Contrasted by beauty, grandeur, and natures harmonious living.
Freedom, solitude, and part of the mountainous environment
Sacrifice, hard work, and discomfort in fighting the elements.
Mentally, physically, and spiritually well conditioned
Prepared for any imposition.
Risk takers at heart
Yet common sense and survival set them apart.
Hardcore fanatic, some would say
But it’s more love and devotion in every way.
Serious sheep hunters will not be denied
If you ever went into battle, they are who you want at your side.
No fuss, no muss, focused, and dependable
From their ranks, an Elite Force you could assemble.
Patriotic and devoted to country
Addicted to the high, wild, and free .
All they want is to be left alone
In search of masters of the mountain in the Ram Zone.
The profile of a sheep hunter, the most demanding hunting of all
Returning season after season, following the call that comes each fall.
It’s in his blood to find one last magnificent ram, heavy with horn
Just one more hunt before he’s too old and worn.
Adventure and the challenge says it all
A die-hard addiction in pursuit of the Majestic Dall.
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