Sheep hunts are not for the faint of heart, especially one of this nature. This hunt was the most challenging and rewarding adventure I’ve experienced in Alaska. My friend, Hunter, and I hunted a mountain range I had dreamt of exploring since striking out during my 2023 hunt. Dreaming of new possibilities of rams, I yearned to be deep within those faraway mountains. After meticulous planning, preparation, and hours spent daydreaming of sheep, we set out on an unforgettable hunt.
We drove through the night and reached the trailhead at daybreak. Shouldering the heavy packs, we set out on the two-day walk to our hunting area. Pushing deep into the mountains, we headed up a creek that quickly turned into a gorge. About a mile upstream, the creek necked down to five feet wide and was belly button deep. We stripped off our pants and headed into the torrent of water. It took all of our concentration to keep our balance. Thinking we were through the worst of it, we soon discovered a bigger dilemma. Upstream, the creek necked down again. This time, the water was over our heads. With no other choice, I scrambled up the nearby rock face only to find that I couldn’t come back down safely. There was a clear route forward from here, so we decided to rope all the gear up the side of the 20-foot cliff. Once the gear was up, I held my breath as Hunter made the precarious climb. Safely scaling the face, we were on our way. A few miles further and we had reached our planned hunting area. We found a suitable campsite that evening under three sublegal rams. Across the valley, 12 ewes and lambs fed. Things were looking up.
We awoke to low clouds and rain. In the evening, the skies cleared, and from a nearby knoll, we spotted sheep spread out throughout the stunning landscape. With no legal sheep located, we decided that on opening day we would climb high onto a surrounding ridgetop. Here, we would have a commanding view of the mountain range.
We climbed up to the top of the 7,000-foot ridge early the next morning. We watched as new rams entered the valley, but these were deemed sublegal. Looking further, we spotted more sheep, including one that looked to be very heavy and perhaps full curl. This particular band of rams was four miles away and three drainages over. The cliffs separating us gave us no opportunity to pursue them. The day wore on, and soon, it was evening. The alpine glow illuminated the mountainsides, and sheep began to appear, grazing on the grassy slopes. Far away on a distant mountain, I glassed two rams. As they swayed their heads back and forth, I saw heavy sets of horns. I looked on onX and drew a line to the mountain. It was seven miles away as the crow flies. I knew in my heart at least one of these rams was legal. The decision was made that we would make the 14.5-mile hike to get to these rams.
The fifth day of our hunt was grueling. The long approach consisted of two climbs up through saddles, the second being 500 feet straight up and down through shale. It tested our endurance and dedication. New rams were spotted, and we took the time to judge them. The biggest was just short of full curl. We had hoped this long route would bypass obstacles like the ones we had in the first gorge; however, we soon came to the top of a 40-foot waterfall at the top of a deep canyon. With no choice but to sidehill, we climbed up through the alders. It sucked, plain and simple. We were already exhausted, yet we now had to belly crawl and roll the last mile through the thickest alders I’d ever seen. Finally, miraculously, we broke out onto the creek across from the rams at 11 p.m.
We got an early start in the morning and headed up the small creek bottom that would lead us into the bowl containing the rams. As we heard the first rock come down from the canyon walls above us, we wondered if the rams or another animal had kicked them down. We continued until we were close to the falling debris. As we were deciding whether to continue past, a major rockslide began. Fearing we would be in its path, we took off running down the creek. I slipped at the top of a four-foot drop and landed flat-footed. I instantly felt a shooting pain in my lower back. With only adrenaline spurring me on, I made it another 30 yards and held up behind a ledge. We laid up in the canyon for most of the day until I was able to stumble back to the tent. That evening, I was unsure if I’d be able to make a climb for the rams. I couldn’t believe we had come so close but a stupid mistake might have cost us our hunt.
The morning after, having stretched well the evening before and taking a copious amount of painkillers, my back felt okay. It was sore, but the shooting pain was gone. With the rockslide still ongoing, we had to climb the ridge across from where we hoped the rams were. Gaining the ridge, we discovered them on the far side of the bowl. The bigger of the two had a full curl, the second did not. We watched as they fed up and over the far ridge. It was likely they would be back in the evening. After a few hours of waiting, Hunter suggested we head up the ridgeline to gain a better position. We had only made it a few hundred feet when Hunter said, “Are those sheep right there?” Bedded only 450 yards away on the cliffs below us were six rams. Within an instant of looking through my spotter, I saw that one was full curl. We could only see one horn of the next biggest, and it was right at full curl. We moved up as close as we could. From 350 yards, we were in range and Hunter set up on the bigger ram. He had spotted them first, and that granted him the first shot. I hadn’t seen the other horn of the second ram when the big one started walking away. It was a hard decision, but I had come to grips with not shooting him. That horn looked legal, but being close, my ethics held my trigger finger. Right before Hunter shot the ram, the one I was eyeing stood and showed his other horn. Through my riflescope, I saw a clear full curl. Hunter’s shot rang out, and his ram fell off the cliff. Hitting a ledge, it catapulted away from the mountainside, free-falling and blowing a horn off its core on impact. I waited as my ram presented a good shot, and I sent a bullet speeding toward him. The hit crumbled him, and he fell to the bottom of the bowl just 50 yards from Hunter’s ram.
It was an indescribable moment. We both had our first rams down. We had doubled after a grueling journey. We made it down the mountain and put hands on our rams. Hunter found the horn that had blown off, and we pulled mine down to his. While taking pictures, reality set in. We had just achieved our dream of hunting Dall sheep in Alaska. We were green sheep hunters who had only been in Alaska for a handful of years, yet here we were standing over these magnificent animals.
It took that evening and the next day to get the meat and heads to camp, and two more after that to get out of the mountains. We enjoyed ribs and steak over our campfire, the first real food after eating out of bags for eight days. We took the rams out in one trip. Every step hurt, but this was the burden we had hoped for leading up to the hunt. Hunter weighed his pack when he got home, and it weighed 142 lbs.
The hunt had come to its conclusion after 12 days in the mountains. We each went back to everyday life, yet part of our minds remained in those mountains. Every day, we dream of hunting these incredible animals. We dream of letting our legs and aspirations push us further than what we know to be possible. We dream of living a sliver of the mountain man life of old, glassing the hills for the faint white dots spread out across the vast swath of wilderness. We dream of the rush of emotions when the ram is spotted and the moment the trigger is pulled. We welcome the uncomfortable conditions, the exhaustion, and the pain. All of this is what makes Dall sheep hunting the ultimate Alaskan adventure.