bridger
05-03-2009, 06:53 PM
The Bullet Proof Ram
It was cold for August, even in the high country, and a heavy layer of frost covered the meadow as I stepped out of the tent. Listening carefully, I could hear horse bells the sound every horseman loves to hear in the early morning light.
Dawn in a high country sheep camp is special. The first thing you notice is the silence, broken only by the occasional mountain blue bird or the faint tinkling of horse bells. The air is clean and crisp, the setting peaceful. This was such a morning, and as I dug my spotting scope out of my pack, I thought about how fortunate I was to be sheep hunting with my family and best friend Jon Johnson in some of the greatest hunting country in North America. This was a special trip. Special in that it was the first time both of our boys were old enough to handle the rigors of an extended hunting trip. Although Dan had gone with me the year before this was Wanda and Doug’s first trip to the mountains. Our first family sheep trip.
I walked out into the meadow and began glassing the mountain across the river. Too early I thought; not enough light to see into all the nooks and crannies that rams love so much. I could hear Jon and the boys in their tent getting dressed as I continued to glass the mountain. Suddenly movement near the top of the ridge caught my eye. Tilting the spotting scope up a little, I caught my breath as a full curl ram walked out of the shadows into plain view. Few things give a sheep hunter an adrenaline rush like finding a big ram. As the light increased more rams appeared, slowly working their way to the top of the ridge. I counted fourteen in all; twelve of them were full curl.
“Hey, Guys, I see a bunch of rams across the river!” I literally shouted. “Get out here and have a look.”
“They’re beautiful,” Wanda exclaimed, as she watched the first stone rams she had ever seen feeding along the skyline.
Jon who is a sheep hunter’s sheep hunter is a great judge of sheep heads. “Two of those rams are 40 inches and maybe bigger,” Jon said as we watched them disappear over the skyline. “We need to get serious about this bunch.”
Although the rams were now out of sight, we knew that the back side of this mountain was a long south-facing grassy slope where the rams went to feed. In two or three hours they would make their way back to the north side and bed in the ledges for the day. Then we could plan a stalk and take our chances of getting on the rams. Dan and Doug went down river to wrangle the horses, and while Wanda started breakfast, Jon and I got organized.
Soon the first ram reappeared on the skyline feeding his way back to the bedding areas. An hour later the rams were all bedded down and set for the day. They were concentrated on a long narrow hog’s back about two hundred yards below the ridge top. We marked their general location by a large rock on the skyline. The mountain sloped gradually down the back side. The front side was very steep and rough, an ideal ram mountain. If the rams stayed where they were, we would have a good chance of getting in position above them.
We had packed up and left the Alaska Highway three days before, and after an easy but busy first day, we hit the river at the end of the second day. We were riding down a side creek and although still a mile away we could hear the river roaring .Jon and I had crossed the river in this spot several times over the years and I wasn’t overly concerned. I failed, however, to take into account that Wanda and the boys were about to make their first major river crossing and that the sound of the roaring river was causing them some concern. We reached the river, and although it was high I didn’t think the horses would have to swim. I checked the packs, and I could see the concern on Wanda’s face. That’s when I made a decision without thinking the situation clear through. “Jon and I’ll take the pack horses across; then I’ll come back for you and the boys,” I said, thinking that would be a good idea. When Jon and I got across, I looked back and realized instantly that I had failed to take into account the effect on their saddle horses. Afraid they were being left behind, two of the horses panicked and pulled away and crossed the river on their own. Catching them up I went back across the river and got Wanda and the boys. As we started across I reminded them not to look at the water, but instead to focus on the far bank or a tree. Looking at the water when fording a river can cause you to get vertigo and actually fall off your horse mid stream. We crossed without incident and soon had camp set up; ready for opening morning.
http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/data/500/medium/family_at_duffield_creek.jpeg (http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/showphoto.php?photo=13914&size=big&cat=500&ppuser=10914)
On the Trail
It was cold for August, even in the high country, and a heavy layer of frost covered the meadow as I stepped out of the tent. Listening carefully, I could hear horse bells the sound every horseman loves to hear in the early morning light.
Dawn in a high country sheep camp is special. The first thing you notice is the silence, broken only by the occasional mountain blue bird or the faint tinkling of horse bells. The air is clean and crisp, the setting peaceful. This was such a morning, and as I dug my spotting scope out of my pack, I thought about how fortunate I was to be sheep hunting with my family and best friend Jon Johnson in some of the greatest hunting country in North America. This was a special trip. Special in that it was the first time both of our boys were old enough to handle the rigors of an extended hunting trip. Although Dan had gone with me the year before this was Wanda and Doug’s first trip to the mountains. Our first family sheep trip.
I walked out into the meadow and began glassing the mountain across the river. Too early I thought; not enough light to see into all the nooks and crannies that rams love so much. I could hear Jon and the boys in their tent getting dressed as I continued to glass the mountain. Suddenly movement near the top of the ridge caught my eye. Tilting the spotting scope up a little, I caught my breath as a full curl ram walked out of the shadows into plain view. Few things give a sheep hunter an adrenaline rush like finding a big ram. As the light increased more rams appeared, slowly working their way to the top of the ridge. I counted fourteen in all; twelve of them were full curl.
“Hey, Guys, I see a bunch of rams across the river!” I literally shouted. “Get out here and have a look.”
“They’re beautiful,” Wanda exclaimed, as she watched the first stone rams she had ever seen feeding along the skyline.
Jon who is a sheep hunter’s sheep hunter is a great judge of sheep heads. “Two of those rams are 40 inches and maybe bigger,” Jon said as we watched them disappear over the skyline. “We need to get serious about this bunch.”
Although the rams were now out of sight, we knew that the back side of this mountain was a long south-facing grassy slope where the rams went to feed. In two or three hours they would make their way back to the north side and bed in the ledges for the day. Then we could plan a stalk and take our chances of getting on the rams. Dan and Doug went down river to wrangle the horses, and while Wanda started breakfast, Jon and I got organized.
Soon the first ram reappeared on the skyline feeding his way back to the bedding areas. An hour later the rams were all bedded down and set for the day. They were concentrated on a long narrow hog’s back about two hundred yards below the ridge top. We marked their general location by a large rock on the skyline. The mountain sloped gradually down the back side. The front side was very steep and rough, an ideal ram mountain. If the rams stayed where they were, we would have a good chance of getting in position above them.
We had packed up and left the Alaska Highway three days before, and after an easy but busy first day, we hit the river at the end of the second day. We were riding down a side creek and although still a mile away we could hear the river roaring .Jon and I had crossed the river in this spot several times over the years and I wasn’t overly concerned. I failed, however, to take into account that Wanda and the boys were about to make their first major river crossing and that the sound of the roaring river was causing them some concern. We reached the river, and although it was high I didn’t think the horses would have to swim. I checked the packs, and I could see the concern on Wanda’s face. That’s when I made a decision without thinking the situation clear through. “Jon and I’ll take the pack horses across; then I’ll come back for you and the boys,” I said, thinking that would be a good idea. When Jon and I got across, I looked back and realized instantly that I had failed to take into account the effect on their saddle horses. Afraid they were being left behind, two of the horses panicked and pulled away and crossed the river on their own. Catching them up I went back across the river and got Wanda and the boys. As we started across I reminded them not to look at the water, but instead to focus on the far bank or a tree. Looking at the water when fording a river can cause you to get vertigo and actually fall off your horse mid stream. We crossed without incident and soon had camp set up; ready for opening morning.
http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/data/500/medium/family_at_duffield_creek.jpeg (http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/showphoto.php?photo=13914&size=big&cat=500&ppuser=10914)
On the Trail