I'm up way before the sun and ready to go. We assess the situation and decide to try to go right up the base of the valley he rolled into, since going down from the top is out of the question. He's in that hole somewhere.
The valley isn't bad with a small stream running through it. We make good time and when I spot him as I come around a corner my spirits are restored. We shot the rams at 4700 feet and found him at 3600 feet so he was a little rough for wear, but had both horns and we were able to salvage almost all the meat.
Here's where we found him.
I gut him there since he's a mess and drag him down hill a good 300 feet. That cleans him up some and gets us out of that tight spot with rocks dropping from above. His cape is ruined, but I'm fine with a Euro mount anyway since I already have a bigger one on the wall. He's over full curl at 35" with 13.75" bases, the unfortunate part is he was only 6.5 years old and would have probably been well over 40" in just a couple years. I wish I could have taken the larger ram in the 37-38" range but played the odds on not dropping one in the hole. It didn't work out, but I'd do the same thing next time.
Anyway, here he is.
So we get him cut up and head for camp. Ray capes his ram out and we prepare to pack up for the haul back to base.
One last pic before the real work begins.
We pack down to the river and have dinner. We hear shots and watch as the ram across the valley takes a roll. I should mention there were two planes in the valley harassing every band of rams for two days. Gutsy guys with their flying, but I don't agree with buzzing sheep to judge if they are legal. Luckily our band of rams had been bedded in the snow and went unnoticed by the cub caddets.
So we pack up our 110+lb packs and start our slow grind back up river, making about 2 miles before darkness overtakes us. The next morning we are back grinding away at 7am, but at 9 I spot a plane in the bushes and we figure that must be the lower landing strip. We drop packs and Ray uses his sat phone, so he can keep in contact with his boat and wife who is 9 months pregnant, to call the pilot. He says maybe, but call back in 4 hours. I'm feeling good and the weather report is looking iffy so I volunteer to hump up to the upper stip to get our base camp.
It takes less than an hour to make the 2+ miles to base and I load up the pack and strap the bear box on the back of my pack. The 75lb load feels good because I know my cigars, a six pack of beer, a bottle of Johnnie Walker and Glenmorangie are pushing me along down valley. Of course we were on our last day of food too so the resupply was necessary...

2 hours and 4.5 miles wasn't much of a price to pay to enjoy a little civilization again. Here I am feeling pretty good about myself...
Little did I know at this point that the weather was coming and Ray's flight out was going to be the last run until the following afternoon. I did meet up with the two guys who took the ram the night before though, about a 31 incher with 12" bases, we weren't sure so it was nice to see him on the ground for future reference. These guys pissed us off during our trip by buzzing the groups of rams, but in person they seemed decent, just different ethical standards than we held I guess. They flew up to the other landing strip and I hunkered in for the night. Things turned bad and I got cold and wet, but the weather broke the next morning and it was just a matter of drying out and waiting for the fog to clear back at the airport so the pilot could take off.
I made it out Saturday afternoon around 3:30, we got an early ferry into Kodiak and I'll be packaging meat tomorrow morning.
F&G tallied our rams as follows. Ray's ram was 9.5 years old with 34 3/4" on the longest horn 34 1/2 on the shortest, both bases were 12.5"
My ram went 6.5 years old with both horns right at35" and one base at 13.5" and the other at 13.75"
Total miles travelled was around 34 in 7 days, which only averages out to around a little less than 5 miles a day. Maybe I'm getting smarter in my old age or just got lucky....
