Hunting has been a core element in my life ever since my dad packed me into the duck blind at a very young age. I passed hunter safety at 8 and started hunting small game immediately. As I grew as a hunter, I gravitated to different species and more difficult hunts, something I think we all do. Naturally, that led me to sheep hunting. To me, sheep hunting is unlike any other kind of hunting. From the moment you sign the booking form and write the first check, sheep hunting becomes an all-consuming adventure. Those 10 days are all you think about. Sheep dominate every conversation and almost every thought.
My second sheep hunt started with a call to Austin at Huntin’ Fool and his recommendation of Alaska Dall Sheep Guides. I’m not sure the all-consuming part had ever let go after a failed sheep hunt in the NWT, but I can assure you that it kicked into high gear when I signed Mont Mahoney’s hunt contract.
This hunt started off with the usual flights to Alaska and then the ever-decreasing size of airplanes to get everyone out into the bush. Once I arrived in Farewell, I learned that not only was my guide not here yet, but everyone but me knew who their guides were. Along with that, their guides were already out in the field scouting. In crept doubt. I know what a flight home with no sheep is like, and it’s awful. All the hunters went out that day, but I stayed on the dirt runway with Mont.
The next morning, Mont flew me into my remote base camp with the hopes my guide and packer would show up sometime that day. As I was napping in the rare fall sunshine, a Maule finally came into the valley and proceeded to hit the runway a little hard, tearing off the rear wheel of the plane. At least my guys were here. In true Alaska fashion, the pilot just threw the wheel in the back and powered up, lifting the back of the plane off the ground and he was gone. My guide and the packer, his nephew, wandered over for introductions and a few stories. My guide was Brian Rhead, and his nephew was Chayse Kidd. I had no idea who Brian Rhead was, but having him as my guide was divine intervention mixed with some great planning by Austin. Had I known of Brian and his passion for sheep hunting and his never say die attitude, all doubt would have dissipated at this point for sure.
The next morning, we had one last good breakfast of real food, packed our gear, and took off. The first day was full of hiking, including multiple river crossings and one mountain pass. That evening, we set our spike camp in one of the most beautiful valleys I have ever seen. It had it all – waterfalls, glaciers, meadows, and majestic mountains. The only thing we had not seen was sheep. We began glassing, and I turned up some sheep. Out came the spotter, but they were just some lambs and ewes. Time to go for a short hike to scout some sheep country. The spotter got set up again to pick apart some white spots on a green mountainside.
“Rams. I’ve got rams,” Brian said. My dreams hung on a thread as he said, “Too little, not sure, and too little... Holy crap! Legal ram, and he is big!” The not sure ram had just turned his head, revealing both horns way past full curl. Brian was pumped, and his energy was infectious. I looked into the lens and about fell over. I was looking at a ram dreams are made of. This ram had it all with mass, length, and beauty. Best of all, tomorrow was opening day and we now had a plan.
The adrenaline and anticipation made the hiking seem easy. We constantly checked on the rams to make sure they were still there, and to my amazement, they were. As we sat down to put our ice cleats on, I was starting to feel the nerves. The absolute beauty of walking on a glacier was overshadowed by the enormity of being this close to a life goal, taking a Dall ram and finishing my super 10. Once we crossed the glacier, the only thing left between us and the rams was a horrible hillside of loose shale and boulders. We clawed, slipped, and slid our way to “the rock.” As we got set up, the rams were at 700 yards and moving. I had the ram in the crosshairs at about 890 yards, but after some quick discussion, we decided that was not a first day shot. Worst case scenario, we would catch him here again tomorrow. Much to our disbelief, he continued over the top and out of our lives. Now the doubt and second guessing really began to creep in. That was one long walk back to our tents.
We badly needed a plan B. While we had seen some rams that might be legal, they were far, far away. According to Brian, he felt this was the same twister from last year and he had disappeared then as well. With this ram in mind, Brian had done some off-season e-scouting, which had given him some idea of where the ram might have gone. He believed that we could hike to the next valley and go up until we got clear around the mountain and hopefully the ram would be there.
The next morning, I started out with much lower spirits than the day before. All I could see were the crosshairs resting behind my dream ram’s shoulder and deciding not to shoot. After many miles of hiking through typical sheep country, we found ourselves fighting brush and pushing up some serious elevation in an effort to get into the backside of that mountain. Not one sheep had been spotted all day. I knew the sheep had vacated this drainage for good.
It was afternoon when we stopped to have a snack past the last of anything that looked remotely inhabitable. Brian stood up and said, “We have come this far, we might as well go the last 300 yards.” About 400 yards into a 300-yard hike, Chayse began to wave at us with a ton of whispered excitement. Somehow, someway he had looked at just the right moment and caught sight of the ram. Apparently, the big guy had stood to adjust his position or grab a bite on a tiny patch of green next to his lair. He was alone and on a shelf at the top of a nasty avalanche shoot. The side of the cliff leading to him was so steep that it appeared polished. It was for sure unclimbable. That didn’t even matter. We had found the same ram after all.
A hasty huddle ensued to figure out an approach, and we dropped down to go back up and around. Moving painfully slow and constantly checking to see if he was watching us, we made it to about 1,200 yards. We dropped gear and crept and crawled. At 900 yards, we were in the open. Brian had given me a quick lesson two days ago, and I had complete confidence in his rifle and in him as a guide. I got settled in behind the rifle, and the ram appeared huge in the scope. The fog began to roll in, and Brian and I discussed the shot. I wanted him to stand. Brian said, “You have about five minutes with this fog. It’s now or never. Are you steady?”
It was evident the ram wasn’t going to stand tonight, so bang! The bullet hit dead center but inches low. The ram stood, confused. Chayse was calling the shots, and Brian was coaching me. I ended up shooting a number of times, praying in between each one. “Hit!” Chayse called out. The ram stood still. This shot rolled him a long ways off the cliff and into the chute.
I rolled over onto my back, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, but thanking the Lord for His will. It was so steep that it took us four hours to climb to the ram. By the time we reached him, snow was falling steadily. He was hung up between a rock and a small snow patch and was pretty beat up from the fall. As with all hunts, the work started now.
What an incredible adventure this hunt was. This hunt certainly checked all the boxes, and I couldn’t be happier with the trophy ram I was blessed to harvest. As for the doubt, I can honestly say I met it head on and conquered it at every turn. Looks like it’s time to book the next sheep hunt. I’m hooked.
Login