Ovis, I'm guessing the other "Jose" in your life feels the same way...
Does This Sheep Make My Butt Look Big?
- Thread starter Ovis
- Start date
Ovis, I'm guessing the other "Jose" in your life feels the same way...
Day 1
Aug 7 / Day 1:
Greg and I arrive into Fairbanks about 4 am. We ease the truck into the Walmart parking lot and crash for a few hours. We awake, grab a few last minute items, then some grease and we are off to Wright Air.
No doubt sheep season has arrived. Many a hunter trying to get out, though the weather is not the greatest in the Brooks. We weather delay a few hours. Finally, the pilot informs us we will buzz up to Fort Yukon and hold there until the weather clears out.
Here we are shuffling around gear from one plane to the next as the air service figures out what they want to do.
Fairbanks
Greg crashes shortly after we are airborne.
The not so picturesque village of Fort Yukon
Once on the ground we unload the Cessna Caravan we rode in on and load the cargo into three other planes. I'm feeling as if I should be on payroll.
Trying to overcome the boredom of waiting for the weather to lift through the pass.
While we play the waiting game we decide to walk into town. No doubt the village is small and poverty is high. There is a single grocery store we stop into for a sammy. No luck finding one, but we did manage to find a dozen eggs for $6.50 and a gallon of milk for $12.00. No wonder these people are so poor. We ask the cashier about a place to grab a bite. She points down the road. We find a small coffee shack. Greg orders a bagel, I opt out. While waiting for it we meet one of the young locals. His name is Joe. The conversation that ensued between the three of us is one of those that you just had to be there to experience. Greg, nor I understood a thing this drunk kid was saying other than the "Sheenjek" River and "5 gallons of fuel" his cousin used to hunt the Sheenjek, but it was nonetheless humorous to us and these words became random jokes throughout the hunt. Again...you had to be there.
It is getting late and the pilot decides we will relocate to another village for the night. The weather through the pass has still not broke. Arctic Village resides on the south side of the Brooks Range and it is rumored the locals there do not like the white man. I'm frightened and keep thinking about the movie Inglorious Bastards. Maybe these villagers want to scalp me...
Arctic Village serves as a staging area for the carrier we are using and another that operates out of Coldfoot, Alaska. Greg and I are the fifth and final hunting party to get dumped off.
Others that are there...
One pompous ass master guide
One over-weight Austrian man
Two brothers, a dentist and an orthopedic surgeon
Two younger guys who are getting dropped into the same air-strip by the other carrier
Once there we quickly claim an area to pitch camp for the night. We opt for a small office inside the Arctic Village Visitor Center. The brothers take the last small office and the Austrian man rolls his sleeping bag out in the main room. The other two parties had tents pitched outside.
The main part of town is located about a 1/4 mile from the air strip. We don't dare walk into town. I'm too scared. We decide to hang out int he visitor center and watch "Sheep in the Mist" and "White Sheep, Black Shale" on the tube. It doesn't take long for me to start wishing the guide would leave. He comments on ever sheep, ever cut of the films. Essentially anything those guys can do, he can do better. Reminds me of Moosie. Once the popcorn is all gone and the flicks are over we all retire. Or at least try to. Hubert, our Austrian friend suffers from sleep apnea. His gasping for air every four minutes is enough to wake the dead.
Aug 7 / Day 1:
Greg and I arrive into Fairbanks about 4 am. We ease the truck into the Walmart parking lot and crash for a few hours. We awake, grab a few last minute items, then some grease and we are off to Wright Air.
No doubt sheep season has arrived. Many a hunter trying to get out, though the weather is not the greatest in the Brooks. We weather delay a few hours. Finally, the pilot informs us we will buzz up to Fort Yukon and hold there until the weather clears out.
Here we are shuffling around gear from one plane to the next as the air service figures out what they want to do.
Fairbanks
Greg crashes shortly after we are airborne.
The not so picturesque village of Fort Yukon
Once on the ground we unload the Cessna Caravan we rode in on and load the cargo into three other planes. I'm feeling as if I should be on payroll.
Trying to overcome the boredom of waiting for the weather to lift through the pass.
While we play the waiting game we decide to walk into town. No doubt the village is small and poverty is high. There is a single grocery store we stop into for a sammy. No luck finding one, but we did manage to find a dozen eggs for $6.50 and a gallon of milk for $12.00. No wonder these people are so poor. We ask the cashier about a place to grab a bite. She points down the road. We find a small coffee shack. Greg orders a bagel, I opt out. While waiting for it we meet one of the young locals. His name is Joe. The conversation that ensued between the three of us is one of those that you just had to be there to experience. Greg, nor I understood a thing this drunk kid was saying other than the "Sheenjek" River and "5 gallons of fuel" his cousin used to hunt the Sheenjek, but it was nonetheless humorous to us and these words became random jokes throughout the hunt. Again...you had to be there.
It is getting late and the pilot decides we will relocate to another village for the night. The weather through the pass has still not broke. Arctic Village resides on the south side of the Brooks Range and it is rumored the locals there do not like the white man. I'm frightened and keep thinking about the movie Inglorious Bastards. Maybe these villagers want to scalp me...
Arctic Village serves as a staging area for the carrier we are using and another that operates out of Coldfoot, Alaska. Greg and I are the fifth and final hunting party to get dumped off.
Others that are there...
One pompous ass master guide
One over-weight Austrian man
Two brothers, a dentist and an orthopedic surgeon
Two younger guys who are getting dropped into the same air-strip by the other carrier
Once there we quickly claim an area to pitch camp for the night. We opt for a small office inside the Arctic Village Visitor Center. The brothers take the last small office and the Austrian man rolls his sleeping bag out in the main room. The other two parties had tents pitched outside.
The main part of town is located about a 1/4 mile from the air strip. We don't dare walk into town. I'm too scared. We decide to hang out int he visitor center and watch "Sheep in the Mist" and "White Sheep, Black Shale" on the tube. It doesn't take long for me to start wishing the guide would leave. He comments on ever sheep, ever cut of the films. Essentially anything those guys can do, he can do better. Reminds me of Moosie. Once the popcorn is all gone and the flicks are over we all retire. Or at least try to. Hubert, our Austrian friend suffers from sleep apnea. His gasping for air every four minutes is enough to wake the dead.
Day 2
Aug 8 / Day 2:
Morning arrives with Greg having a long discussion with Hubert about his sleep apnea. As it turns out, our Austrian friend lives alone in Sodoltna, had no clue. As an aside, his son, who is a male stripper (true story), can't make it hunting with his old man this year. So Hubert, the over-weight man is hunting sheep solo. Proves that sheep hunting is more mental stamina rather physical. Ahhhh shoot, I'm so screwed...I lack both.
By late morning / mid afternoon planes start arriving back at Arctic Village. The guide is the first to go (of course) and Greg and I are the second to go.
The Brooks are still layered with clouds at nearly all altitudes, but the lowest.
The Sheenjek River
The Southern Brooks...notice the trees. There are none on the north side.
We make it through the pass to the north side
As we approach the airstrip, two hunters are making their way up the headwaters the of the drainage we are hunting. We arrive at the airstrip to find a party of three laid out along the nearby gravel. Turns out they are waiting for one other hunter to come in before they all get relocated with a Super Cub to a much smaller strip. Greg and I sort through our gear one last time, load up our guns and hit the ground running.
Wasn't long before we were kicking off boots to cross some of the smaller creeks
We don't pack far this day, about 2.5 miles from the airstrip before we stake down the tent for the night. Already we have seen a few rams, lots of lambs and ewes and a few caribou. "Sheenjek!"
Aug 8 / Day 2:
Morning arrives with Greg having a long discussion with Hubert about his sleep apnea. As it turns out, our Austrian friend lives alone in Sodoltna, had no clue. As an aside, his son, who is a male stripper (true story), can't make it hunting with his old man this year. So Hubert, the over-weight man is hunting sheep solo. Proves that sheep hunting is more mental stamina rather physical. Ahhhh shoot, I'm so screwed...I lack both.
By late morning / mid afternoon planes start arriving back at Arctic Village. The guide is the first to go (of course) and Greg and I are the second to go.
The Brooks are still layered with clouds at nearly all altitudes, but the lowest.
The Sheenjek River
The Southern Brooks...notice the trees. There are none on the north side.
We make it through the pass to the north side
As we approach the airstrip, two hunters are making their way up the headwaters the of the drainage we are hunting. We arrive at the airstrip to find a party of three laid out along the nearby gravel. Turns out they are waiting for one other hunter to come in before they all get relocated with a Super Cub to a much smaller strip. Greg and I sort through our gear one last time, load up our guns and hit the ground running.
Wasn't long before we were kicking off boots to cross some of the smaller creeks
We don't pack far this day, about 2.5 miles from the airstrip before we stake down the tent for the night. Already we have seen a few rams, lots of lambs and ewes and a few caribou. "Sheenjek!"
where's the horns???
It's not even opening day yet. ;-)
Day 4 (Opening Day)
Aug 10 / Day 4:
Today is the first legal day of sheep season. The clear skies have disappeared and the wet gloomy days are back. Greg and I decide to move camp a few miles back. We pack and head up the creek.
Along the way we don't see many sheep, but we do kick up quite a few bou. Season is open (at 10 bulls per hunter) but Greg and I agree we will save the caribou hunting for the flats surrounding the airstrip and do so a few days prior to our scheduled pickup on the 19th.
Greg and I find a decent spot up on a saddle a 1000' above the creek bottom.
Aug 10 / Day 4:
Today is the first legal day of sheep season. The clear skies have disappeared and the wet gloomy days are back. Greg and I decide to move camp a few miles back. We pack and head up the creek.
Along the way we don't see many sheep, but we do kick up quite a few bou. Season is open (at 10 bulls per hunter) but Greg and I agree we will save the caribou hunting for the flats surrounding the airstrip and do so a few days prior to our scheduled pickup on the 19th.
Greg and I find a decent spot up on a saddle a 1000' above the creek bottom.
dmserpa
New member
Beautiful so far but don't stop now,,,do you have a guide? give us more details!!!!!!!!!!!
mconway951
Active member
Great looking pics so far keep em comin
Day 5
Aug 11 / Day 5:
Greg and I don't crawl out of the tent until after noon. The weather is once again ho-hum, the clouds very low and visibility is crap. We grab something hot to eat, descend the 1000' and start our way up the drainage. Not too far into our jaunt I notice four sheep low on the hill and further up the headwaters. We decide to get a closer look. Along the way my attention is diverted to a white splat on a nearby ridge. I point it out to Greg who throws his glass up at it. "Naw, a rock," he says. If I have ever had any doubt to what Greg has said, it was now. The dude is good, but I needed to verify. To hell it is I tell Greg, it's a sheep and a ram at that. Looks good to be a good one at that. Greg pulls out his spotter. The ram deserves an even closer look.
The rain is coming down now. I left my raingear at the tent. We drop our packs. The clouds are moving through with subtle breaks. Greg and I are co-elevated with the ram. He is sleeping, so we move straight for him. At 400 yards we break out the spotter again. His rings are easy to count...I got 9. He is fullcurl on his left side and appears to be broomed. His right...definitely broomed back beyond his lamb tip.
We assess the low clouds and fog. It is really pouring in now. Greg and I agree if we are going to make this happen, I need to act now. I small cloud pushes in between the ram and us. We move with haste. We get another break in the cloud, Greg throws the rangefinder up at him...340 yds! I drop in the prone position and pop the scope covers on the luepy. Max it out to 9-power. It's hard to get comfortable as the grade of this mountain just isn't right for this right hander. Greg, a lefty is got a solid bead on him. He wants to shoot with me...as not to scare the other rams in the valley. I love Greg to death, but I scoff at the idea. If I miss, and he hits him...well, I'm out a ram. And to be honest, I've been good to Greg, giving him animals I've passed on the last two trips. This ram is mine. I've wanted nothing more than a broomed ram, and this is my first time to get within shot distance on one. I'm situated with the shot and I'm racing the solid layer of clouds moving up in the drainage. We are about to be socked in. I'm worried my scope is about to go to shit with beads of rain building up on it. I take a deep breath and squeeze off the trigger. I hear the schwack a nano second after the shot sounds out. I also feel the cool sensation of liquid pour down off my right brow...I pat it with my sleeve, ahh damn...I scoped myself. Greg confirms I hit him, but he is still standing. I'm a little concerned, I can barely see this white critter through the haze of the cloud. I can't get comfortable in the prone position. I decide to sit up and shoot off my knee. I hit him lethally the second time.
Within seconds we are completely consumed within a cloud. It takes Greg and I a few minutes to locate the ram. Once we do, I am without my camera, the rain is coming down strong and lighting is next to nil. We take a few moments to admire him, then decide to gut him and then essentially encapsulate him with rocks. We did this to conceal him from predatory birds. This was a lesson Greg and I had learned when he shot his ram in 2003. The birds did a good job of plucking his cape before we could get to him the following morning. We light up the GPS to guide us back to our packs, then back to camp.
Aug 11 / Day 5:
Greg and I don't crawl out of the tent until after noon. The weather is once again ho-hum, the clouds very low and visibility is crap. We grab something hot to eat, descend the 1000' and start our way up the drainage. Not too far into our jaunt I notice four sheep low on the hill and further up the headwaters. We decide to get a closer look. Along the way my attention is diverted to a white splat on a nearby ridge. I point it out to Greg who throws his glass up at it. "Naw, a rock," he says. If I have ever had any doubt to what Greg has said, it was now. The dude is good, but I needed to verify. To hell it is I tell Greg, it's a sheep and a ram at that. Looks good to be a good one at that. Greg pulls out his spotter. The ram deserves an even closer look.
The rain is coming down now. I left my raingear at the tent. We drop our packs. The clouds are moving through with subtle breaks. Greg and I are co-elevated with the ram. He is sleeping, so we move straight for him. At 400 yards we break out the spotter again. His rings are easy to count...I got 9. He is fullcurl on his left side and appears to be broomed. His right...definitely broomed back beyond his lamb tip.
We assess the low clouds and fog. It is really pouring in now. Greg and I agree if we are going to make this happen, I need to act now. I small cloud pushes in between the ram and us. We move with haste. We get another break in the cloud, Greg throws the rangefinder up at him...340 yds! I drop in the prone position and pop the scope covers on the luepy. Max it out to 9-power. It's hard to get comfortable as the grade of this mountain just isn't right for this right hander. Greg, a lefty is got a solid bead on him. He wants to shoot with me...as not to scare the other rams in the valley. I love Greg to death, but I scoff at the idea. If I miss, and he hits him...well, I'm out a ram. And to be honest, I've been good to Greg, giving him animals I've passed on the last two trips. This ram is mine. I've wanted nothing more than a broomed ram, and this is my first time to get within shot distance on one. I'm situated with the shot and I'm racing the solid layer of clouds moving up in the drainage. We are about to be socked in. I'm worried my scope is about to go to shit with beads of rain building up on it. I take a deep breath and squeeze off the trigger. I hear the schwack a nano second after the shot sounds out. I also feel the cool sensation of liquid pour down off my right brow...I pat it with my sleeve, ahh damn...I scoped myself. Greg confirms I hit him, but he is still standing. I'm a little concerned, I can barely see this white critter through the haze of the cloud. I can't get comfortable in the prone position. I decide to sit up and shoot off my knee. I hit him lethally the second time.
Within seconds we are completely consumed within a cloud. It takes Greg and I a few minutes to locate the ram. Once we do, I am without my camera, the rain is coming down strong and lighting is next to nil. We take a few moments to admire him, then decide to gut him and then essentially encapsulate him with rocks. We did this to conceal him from predatory birds. This was a lesson Greg and I had learned when he shot his ram in 2003. The birds did a good job of plucking his cape before we could get to him the following morning. We light up the GPS to guide us back to our packs, then back to camp.
Day 6
Aug 12 / Day 6:
Today marks 10 years since "mama Ovis" passed away while Ovis was out at play in the sheep mountains. It's a constant reminder to me that I was too selfish to be home with her during her days of cancer, but I always feel at place when I am out doing the very thing I was doing when she left this world.
Greg and I wake to another decent day of weather. We grub up and make the short 1.4 mile trek to the ram. Half way there I turn to speak to Greg who was behind me and I notice a white blur coming down the mountain not far from our camp. I point it out to Greg who again glasses it, yep it's a sheep. He wants to continue on to my ram. I'm taken back. "You're not gonna pull the spotter out," I question. "Nahh," he says. I demand he breaks it out...he does. It's a fullcurl ram. Crap! We switch back and sidehill back towards him. The ram is dropping to the creek, we push it up and try a cutoff route. We aren't quick enough. I spot the ram spit out on the other side of the creek and make a quick ascent to the top of the mountain. We decide we can't get to him, so we turn back to my ram.
How many rams do you see?
This guy sat a few yards from my kill and was responsible for watching over my broomed ram. In all, Greg and I found 6 skulls and 5 horns. One horn Greg found was immaculate; 8 years and zero bite marks on it.
Here is Greg with my ram.
Then of course, yours truly.
Aug 12 / Day 6:
Today marks 10 years since "mama Ovis" passed away while Ovis was out at play in the sheep mountains. It's a constant reminder to me that I was too selfish to be home with her during her days of cancer, but I always feel at place when I am out doing the very thing I was doing when she left this world.
Greg and I wake to another decent day of weather. We grub up and make the short 1.4 mile trek to the ram. Half way there I turn to speak to Greg who was behind me and I notice a white blur coming down the mountain not far from our camp. I point it out to Greg who again glasses it, yep it's a sheep. He wants to continue on to my ram. I'm taken back. "You're not gonna pull the spotter out," I question. "Nahh," he says. I demand he breaks it out...he does. It's a fullcurl ram. Crap! We switch back and sidehill back towards him. The ram is dropping to the creek, we push it up and try a cutoff route. We aren't quick enough. I spot the ram spit out on the other side of the creek and make a quick ascent to the top of the mountain. We decide we can't get to him, so we turn back to my ram.
How many rams do you see?
This guy sat a few yards from my kill and was responsible for watching over my broomed ram. In all, Greg and I found 6 skulls and 5 horns. One horn Greg found was immaculate; 8 years and zero bite marks on it.
Here is Greg with my ram.
Then of course, yours truly.
JoseCuervo
New member
Well done, my friend.
Day 7 & 8
Aug 13 / Day 7:
Today is Friday the 13th. Rain rain go away...yatta yatta yatta. Hunkered down in the tent. Read "Of Mice and Men" and played a few rounds of rummy.
Aug 14 / Day 8:
Jumped out of the sleeping bag and started turning lips, eyes, mouth and ears on the sheep cape. Greg tells me he is going to go for a short hike up the opposite way from where I killed my ram and glass. I don't see him again until 7pm. Apparently he had to know what was over the next hill, and the next, etc.
Later in the evening I walk down the 1000' to the creek to check on my game meat. We hung the bags on some rocks over the creek to keep them away from the bears as well as cool. All is well...I cut a slab of backstrap off and hump back to the top of the saddle.
Along the way some sites...
Aug 13 / Day 7:
Today is Friday the 13th. Rain rain go away...yatta yatta yatta. Hunkered down in the tent. Read "Of Mice and Men" and played a few rounds of rummy.
Aug 14 / Day 8:
Jumped out of the sleeping bag and started turning lips, eyes, mouth and ears on the sheep cape. Greg tells me he is going to go for a short hike up the opposite way from where I killed my ram and glass. I don't see him again until 7pm. Apparently he had to know what was over the next hill, and the next, etc.
Later in the evening I walk down the 1000' to the creek to check on my game meat. We hung the bags on some rocks over the creek to keep them away from the bears as well as cool. All is well...I cut a slab of backstrap off and hump back to the top of the saddle.
Along the way some sites...
noharleyyet
Well-known member
Stellar reenactment Ovis, thanks much.
Day 9
Aug 15 / Day 9:
Greg and I head off to try and find him a ram. He wants to climb to the ridge top and walk all the way back to the headwaters. So we do. We find one ram that was close, but was shy of fullcurl and only 7 years old. No dice.
The scope eye is healing up well
Aug 15 / Day 9:
Greg and I head off to try and find him a ram. He wants to climb to the ridge top and walk all the way back to the headwaters. So we do. We find one ram that was close, but was shy of fullcurl and only 7 years old. No dice.
The scope eye is healing up well
sweetnectar
New member
I hope this never gets used the wrong way but I really like sheep. I really like your sheep. Thanks for posting the whole story.
