“Charlie, this time for real, let’s go a kill a sheep”.
I took a look where we had last seen the rams the night before with no sign of them. We gathered up our gear, soaked to the bone. Wet and cold, we’d need to start moving quickly to warm up. This wouldn’t be a problem as from here we’d have to climb.
We donned our packs and off we went, slowly climbing the shale to where we last had spotted the rams. As the night behind us was one we would never forget, soon we would find out that August 14th would prove to be a day we would also, as long as we lived, would be a day that we’d never forget.
With the location of the rams unknown, we climbed slowly. As new terrain appeared, we diligently looked for the sheep before moving further. With their excellent eyesight being their primary defense mechanism, spotting them before they see you is often the difference between winning and losing in the sheep game.
As we continued climbing higher, I told Charlie to hang tight as I climbed about 40 yards further in a spot with precarious footing. As my eyes crested the ridge I was climbing, there, a few hundred yards away I spotted our quarry. They were bedded, having likely just completed their morning feeding. They were on a ridge overlooking a large bowl. With a quick scan of the rangefinder, 330 yards, I knew as long as we played this right, we had them. I quickly made my way back down to Charlie and told him of our fortune.
We positioned ourselves behind a large rock outcropping. I had Charlie get set up on the sheep and to prepare for a shot. The wind was significant accompanied with sideways rain. The conditions weren’t ideal, but Charlie seemed prepared and comfortably with the distance. He checked the wind with his Kestrel and he dialed his scope taking account the angle of the shot, as the sheep were above us. I told him to get comfortable and put on whatever he needed too to stay warm, as we’d likely have a while to wait before the rams stood up. Shooting a bedded sheep at any considerable difference is never a good idea, so we’d wait for our target ram to stand up and give us a mostly broadside shot. This could be minutes, or this could be hours. We just had to make sure we were prepared when the opportunity presented itself.
As Charlie laid prone behind the rifle, I set up my spotting scope on the large ram. I attached my phone scope so I could view the sheep through the screen of my phone in a comfortable position, and if luck would have it, maybe get the shot on camera. Then, we waited.
Charlie laying prone behind the rifle
The wind and rain was bone chilling. I had donned my puffy pants and stayed warm with adrenaline, but I could tell Charlie was chilled. I kept asking if he was ok and needed anything, but although chilled to the bone, this was another moment he would be mentally tested. A half hour went by, then an hour, the ram’s comfortably chewing their cud up on the ridge. Patience. The waiting game. The chess match. Who would blink first?
The waiting game
Then, suddenly, an hour and a half or so after we laid eyes on them, the large ram showed movement. He was getting up, either to feed or simply change positions, but this might be our moment.
“Charlie, he’s up”.
I quickly hit record on my phone as Charlie settled in behind the scope. Charlie was prepared and didn’t require any coaching. He had physically prepared for the hunt with months of weight lifting and aerobic exercise. He had mentally prepared for the hunt and proved his worth the night before on our miserable siwash. And, he had prepared his shooting skills by attending a multi day shooting class followed by months of practice. Charlie was unquestionably the most prepared client I’ve ever had, and now it was time for him to perform.
“Make sure he’s broadside, and make sure you’re steady”. We had already talked through the shot before the ram stood up, so this was all I reiterated. Within 15 seconds of the ram standing up, a crack rang out amongst the gusts of wind. The ram immediately began to tumble, a sign the shot was true.
“Charlie, my man!” I exclaimed. Charlie kept his scope trained on the sheep as he expired. The only question now, would he hang up or tumble to the bottom of the mountain, potentially damaging the meat and cape. Again to our good fortune, the ram hung up and avoided the fall. The younger ram, perplexed at the commotion, stood up to observe his fallen partner. He was on his own now, but hopefully he’d learned enough from his older brethren to survive another brutal Alaskan winter.
The moment of truth
I patted Charlie on the back and we exchanged congratulations. It was a moment that I’ll never forget. While our work was far from done, the accomplishment of achieving our goal in the most trying of conditions was very rewarding. We gathered our gear and began to make our way up and over to the ram. We had to cross a steep chute of snow, whereas the footing was sufficient, but one slip and we’d be taking a quick trip to the bottom of the mountain.
We took our time getting to the ram, still invigorated with adrenaline and excitement of the mornings events. Upon reaching the ram, he was everything we hoped he was. Long horned, a beautiful flare, and one of the biggest bodied rams I have ever seen. We said a prayer and thanked the ram for giving us his life. Killing an animal, taking a life is never an act that should be taken lightly. To me, the wildlife we hunt are beautiful for the life they live, for how they live. The act of the kill is not something that is always enjoyable, but rather a necessary act to sustain my own life. I am thankful to that ram for giving himself to us, to providing us with food and a way of life. We gave our thanks and began the work. First, a few pictures were taken to memorialize the moment.
As we found the ram, high above the glacier
