I lay on the ridge with my eye glued to the spotter, watching the bedded Dall ram about 400 yards away. He was lying with his right side to me and I could see a broomed off horn, occasionally he would show his left and a tantalizing glimpse of a full curl. Or was it?
It was opening day of the Yukon sheep season and my wife, Helen, and I had flown into an area to hunt Dall sheep. Well, she was hunting Dalls, I wasn’t a resident so I was along for the ride or, as I told my hunting friends, I was “camp bitch” on this adventure.
We have been hunting Stones in BC for the last few years until she moved to Whitehorse for a job, so Dalls were the subject of interest this year. Helen has taken a couple of mountain goats but a ram has eluded her so far. Maybe this year…
Did I mention she only hunts with a muzzleloader?
She had elected to put a stalk on him regardless of size and I periodically looked up from the spotter and grabbed my binos to track her progress. We had prearranged signals to indicate legal, not legal, or “I have no idea”.
She crept within 125 yards and I still had not had a clear look at the good side. From Hel’s position she couldn’t tell if he made the required full curl or not.
Finally I saw his nostrils twitch as the breeze swirled in the bowl and suddenly he bolted. I stood up, sky lined, to indicate he was gone and Helen started the long climb back up the slope towards me.
Not a bad start to the 10 or so days we planned to be in there.
That evening, after finding a suitable camping spot, we went for a quick walk and managed to find and sneak up a band of 4 rams, one of which was a tight curl that made the grade but Hel decided to pass on him.
The next afternoon found us high on a rocky hillside, glassing a distant ridge. “There’s 3, no, 4 sheep on the end of the ridge” Hel said. I swung my glasses over to where she described their location. I found them and dug out the spotter. I watched them for a few minutes then mentioned that there was at least one worth going for. I watched the rams for a few more seconds and when I looked up Hel was packing up her kit. “I guess we’re going after them then”. It was 3:30 PM.
The wind and the terrain dictated a very lengthy detour and it was 8:00 PM by the time we had closed the distance to a little over 250 yards. With no cover left and a very stiff cross wind we lay in the rocks and watched the sheep until they went and bedded on the other side of the shallow valley and up on the side of the mountain we had left from hours before. He was a good ram, nice mass and horns sweeping well above the bridge of his nose on both sides.
We stumbled into camp at 1:30 AM and then spent the next 3 days looking for him. Never did see that ram again.
One thing about coming “home” that late is that you don’t sleep though scenes like this.
It was opening day of the Yukon sheep season and my wife, Helen, and I had flown into an area to hunt Dall sheep. Well, she was hunting Dalls, I wasn’t a resident so I was along for the ride or, as I told my hunting friends, I was “camp bitch” on this adventure.
We have been hunting Stones in BC for the last few years until she moved to Whitehorse for a job, so Dalls were the subject of interest this year. Helen has taken a couple of mountain goats but a ram has eluded her so far. Maybe this year…
Did I mention she only hunts with a muzzleloader?
She had elected to put a stalk on him regardless of size and I periodically looked up from the spotter and grabbed my binos to track her progress. We had prearranged signals to indicate legal, not legal, or “I have no idea”.
She crept within 125 yards and I still had not had a clear look at the good side. From Hel’s position she couldn’t tell if he made the required full curl or not.
Finally I saw his nostrils twitch as the breeze swirled in the bowl and suddenly he bolted. I stood up, sky lined, to indicate he was gone and Helen started the long climb back up the slope towards me.
Not a bad start to the 10 or so days we planned to be in there.
That evening, after finding a suitable camping spot, we went for a quick walk and managed to find and sneak up a band of 4 rams, one of which was a tight curl that made the grade but Hel decided to pass on him.
The next afternoon found us high on a rocky hillside, glassing a distant ridge. “There’s 3, no, 4 sheep on the end of the ridge” Hel said. I swung my glasses over to where she described their location. I found them and dug out the spotter. I watched them for a few minutes then mentioned that there was at least one worth going for. I watched the rams for a few more seconds and when I looked up Hel was packing up her kit. “I guess we’re going after them then”. It was 3:30 PM.
The wind and the terrain dictated a very lengthy detour and it was 8:00 PM by the time we had closed the distance to a little over 250 yards. With no cover left and a very stiff cross wind we lay in the rocks and watched the sheep until they went and bedded on the other side of the shallow valley and up on the side of the mountain we had left from hours before. He was a good ram, nice mass and horns sweeping well above the bridge of his nose on both sides.
We stumbled into camp at 1:30 AM and then spent the next 3 days looking for him. Never did see that ram again.
One thing about coming “home” that late is that you don’t sleep though scenes like this.
