How does one start a story that was years in the making? I dreamed of sheep hunting with my kids long before I even met the woman who would be his mother, and when he was an infant, the sheep-themed baby clothes were not unintentional. Or did this story start when I first hunted this area - which happened to be the year when his mother finally took a sheep of her own after many years of trying? The past several years of hoping to get into the field, only for life to get in the way? I suppose we’ll start somewhere simpler - two and a half weeks ago as the first days of August approached.

My son is 17, and we’re fortunate that Alaska provides an incredible opportunity for our young hunters with an early youth season. They get a bit of a head start - an early 5 day season while the days are still long and the weather a bit more mild. We had been hoping to go on his first sheep hunt for the past several years, but those who know my story…well, life has had more than its share of challenges and unexpected detours. As this fall approached, my son made it clear that he really wanted to give a sheep hunt a real try. I had originally planned on taking him into a relatively mild area for his first experience. Of course, there is no such thing as an “easy” sheep hunt, but I didn’t want to break his spirit on his first attempt. That said, he is 17 and we only had one shot at this during the early season. He worked all summer as a commercial fisherman (setnetting in Bristol Bay and longlining for halibut and sablefish), so…I figured we should skip easing into it and go right to the varsity level terrain in an area that I knew well and which I expected might hold a legal ram.

On the morning of the 31st, I headed out with a heavy camp while my son drove part of the way to where we planned to hunt. After dropping camp at the strip, I flew an hour back to meet him. Weather almost prevented us from making it back to our base camp, but thankfully the clouds parted and we were able to make it to our destination. Immediately upon getting settled, my son pulled out his journal and began to write. He shared some of this with me later - it truly warmed my heart.



Based on the forecast, I expected to spend the next day in base camp trying to stay dry. The clouds lifted momentarily the next morning, though, and I quickly spotted five rams in the distance. They were several miles away, so I couldn’t tell whether they were legal. After waking my son, though, we decided that we would head that way for a closer look. The weather promised to be wet for another day or so, but our spirits were high and we had reason for hope!



The rain held off…for about 45 minutes. We thankfully made it through the worst of the brush before it became wet, but soon we pulled on our raingear. My son thought we had a chance at making a play on those rams that same day, but I knew this country from previous experience - it takes far longer to go anywhere than one might expect due to all of the ravines, creek crossings, and elevation gain and loss. As such, I made sure that we were in no hurry. Short naps were certainly in order on occasion. My son thought he was tired then, but he had no idea of what was to come.



After several miles of hiking and no small amount of elevation gain, we came to the same place I had camped with his mother several years ago.

And then the rain came. And came…and came. What was a relatively light shower became a downpour, and it lasted for hours. We quickly set up camp and hunkered down. While we hoped to spend the afternoon looking for sheep, staying dry became the priority.



A few hours later, the rain finally broke. While we hadn’t seen the rams since 7am that morning, we were still hopeful. Thankfully, a bit later the clouds across the valley lifted just enough to reveal a few white dots.



My son immediately asked if we could go, but I knew how rough the hike ahead was. While it didn’t look too far in a straight line, the truth is that there are no straight lines in this country. We’d have to descend and re-climb several ravines between here and there, cross several creeks - despite his youthful energy, I knew the best thing we could do was to sit and watch.

So…what did my kid do? Push-ups, of course. Despite my encouragement to save his energy, he decided it was time for a workout.



Our spike camp was completely surrounded by pikas. I love these little critters. Ground squirrels sometimes drive me crazy (mostly because they love to chew through dry bags and get into food if given the chance), but I just love pikas.

On a related note, the beauty of the alpine never ceases to amaze me. I love that wildflowers and colorful insects manage to eke out an existence in such a harsh landscape.







Just before we turned in for the night, a lone ram made an appearance on a sheer cliff right above camp. He was a young guy - just over half curl - but it was fun to watch him as our day came to a close.

As we settled into our tent for an early night, I told my son that I’d set the alarm for 5am. He replied by asking if we could shoot for 4am instead. Ha! You’ve got it, kid.

While we didn’t wake to frost, there was new snow on the mountains above us. And about 20 minutes after leaving camp, we had to ford our first glacier stream of the day. Nice warm way to start day two of the hunt!





Not to belabor the point too much, but again, there were a lot of ravines and creeks to cross. This was yet another chasm that we had to navigate. We honestly weren’t sure we’d be able to get where we were hoping to go, but thankfully we picked some lucky routes that allowed us through (because some of the country was definitely impassable).



We left camp right before 5am. As 9am approached, we had spotted the five rams and were getting close. One of them was legal (with another being possibly so), and it seemed like we had a solid approach on them. By the time we got to about 450 yards from them, though, they fed into an open area that was…well, wide open. My son had shown himself to be a good shot on previous hunts - he had taken a couple caribou, a moose, and a black bear in previous years and never needed more than a single shot to do so. Still, this was a range that was beyond anything he had practiced, and we’ve always talked about only taking shots that we know we can make. While some consider sheep hunting to be a long range game, I’ve found in my own experience that patience often pays off with close opportunities. So…while I was concerned that my decision might cost my son an opportunity, we decided to back out of the area a bit and wait.

And nap. Because by this point, the difficulty of the endeavor was starting to settle in, and the rare beams of sunlight felt pretty damn nice.

As we waited, the sheep moved down a ravine and crossed to another hillside further away. A hillside we had been on several hours earlier, of course. I don’t think they ever spotted us, but a couple of the rams seemed to be on alert. Whether our scent or something else, I’m not sure - but their movements didn’t seem random.

A couple hours later we decided to try moving in their direction in a very roundabout way. As we did, though, four of the five started heading back to where they had been previously. We quickly regrouped, retraced our steps for a third time, and soon we were on the flank of the mountain doing a dance with a partner that we couldn’t see. We knew they were likely just over the next rise, but when they’d come into view was impossible to know. Crawling forward on our belly one moment, hustling the next when there was cover, we whispered back and forth while keeping our eyes peeled for the slightest hint of white.

Soon I could make out the very top of horns. Lifting my head just a few inches off the ground to peer over the rocks, I could clearly see four rams within 100 yards. And at least two of them were looking straight at me. The next few seconds passed quickly, yet replay in slow motion in my mind. My son set his rifle against his pack for a rest as the band of rams started walking uphill. I whispered to him that the lead ram was the legal one and encouraged him to take the shot when he stopped walking. As if on cue, the ram stopped perfectly broadside and gave my son the opportunity he needed.



His first shot was a bit far back, but it hit the ram solidly and took him off his feet. A followup shot led to a quick kill.



To say that my son was overwhelmed with emotion would be an understatement. Joy, relief, and so many feelings all came over both of us. We had talked about this possibility for years, and to do this together…it was such a joy!

We spent the next couple hours skinning, quartering, and deboning the sheep in preparation for the pack out. Sheep meat really is the best there is!

The pack out begins! Again, there are no easy sheep hunts, but this was a pretty tough introduction to packing meat out for my kid. The rock was loose and the footing uncertain. And when we had to climb back up the other side (of several of these!), each step sapped our strength as the ground gave way beneath us.





It took us seven hours to get back to camp that night. The last push to camp involved a glacial creek crossing, a 500’ climb up a rocky hillside in fading light, and another 200’ decent on slippery, moss-covered rocks. Twice. I insisted that we split it into two loads to prevent injury, so every crappy trip had to be done twice.

We settled into camp as darkness fell, happy to have found success, yet knowing that we had much further to go. We were still several miles from the strip, and with the added weight of camp, there was no way to avoid shuttling loads yet again.

We slept in a bit, but by 9am we were going again, climbing the 200’ out of camp before sidehilling a long ways. Step after step, slippery rock after moss-covered hummock we kept at it. I was once told by an old fisherman that happiness is a heavy pack, and while I hold that to be true, there were definitely moments that challenged that notion. But there were also beautiful moments of quiet reflection.



When we made it back to our base camp with the first load, we put a few drinks in the river to cool. It was a mental struggle to leave the comforts of camp for yet another load, but it sure was nice knowing that we’d come back to a cool beverage and dry socks! This is the last creek crossing with only a couple hundred yards to go after 18 hours of packing meat over two days.



It’s hard to put into words how much this experience mattered. It’s not the sheep itself - honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if we came home with only memories. My son has been doing hard things this summer and over this past year. He’s been pushing himself and trying new things again and again. On this hunt he walked right to the edge of his breaking point multiple times, and each time he found himself to be stronger and more resilient than he realized. He’s becoming quite a remarkable young man, and damn, I am so glad that I get to experience moments like this with him.

There’s not too many days that I can be certain I’ll remember years from now. But I’ll remember these days for the rest of my life.

An incredible trip report, you have a talent well beyond just "stick & rudder" skills.

Awesome story!! That's one very lucky young man. He will grow up to have stories to tell that's for sure. I think the bond between father and son are greatly increased by such adventures. Proud papa I'm sure.

Thoroughly enjoyed your excellent write-up. Thanks for sharing it with us!

-DP

What a great experience! So glad you had it and shared it.

Pete

Great trip report, and beautiful ram.
Congrats to your son.
I'm curious what rifle & caliber were used?

Nice one, Brian. Great pics.

You've been posting great hunting TRs for 10 years now....I went back and reviewed them today. Your family has come a long way -Z

This is incredible. Thanks for sharing!

What a great report and photos. Thanks for sharing this. Time goes fast. I remember the camping trips with my Dad like they were yesterday. It's the greatest gift you can give.

Nice work! Thanks for sharing the story, definitely a neat experience.

Awesome trip! Great details too. Thanks for sharing.

What a great experience - these memories last a lifetime! Thanks for sharing all the details.

Zzz wrote:Nice one, Brian. Great pics.

You've been posting great hunting TRs for 10 years now....I went back and reviewed them today. Your family has come a long way -Z

This made me happy to read. We've been through some storms - storms that no kid should ever have to withstand - but indeed we have come a long way. Thanks for the note.

hotrod180 wrote:Great trip report, and beautiful ram.
Congrats to your son.
I'm curious what rifle & caliber were used?

Up to this point my son has done all of his hunting with a youth Remington model 700 chambered in 7mm-08. For this hunt he used the first rifle I bought when I turned 18 - a Ruger m77 30-06 with the old paddle stock. I have several other rifles in the safe, but almost always reach for this one - it shoots where I point it and is light enough to carry for days. I'll likely buy him his own when he turns 18, though he can choose the particulars.