1/4 Slam

I'd like to fancy myself among the ranks of the extreme sheep hunters of the world. You know, guys that years ago passed the laudable goal of collecting North America's "grand slam" of big horn sheep and have moved on toward collecting more exotic sheep around the world, like Northern Asia's Marco Polo, the various urals of the middle east and the capra species that dot the far reaches of almost every continent. I'd like to consider myself as equal to those hunters, but I can't. I'm not saying I couldn't learn to push myself beyond the limits of human physical capacity like those guys do, to risk life and limb for in the pursuit of sharp-eyed game that is infinitely more well equipped to be climbing among the cliffs, shale rock and unsure scree fields of the highest elevations. I don't place myself in those ranks because I at least understand that membership in that fraternity is earned through the experience of doing and the actual proof that one has the fortitude and mental toughness to actually play that demanding and dangerous game. I don't consider my limited experience with sheep hunting to yet be sufficient for me, in any fashion, to attempt any claim to a part of sheep hunting's elite.

Tracy Truman, who I met in 1993, is a sheep hunting fanatic. He is a certified 3/4 slammer, which means he has collected three of the four required sheep to compete his North American Grand Slam. Tracy has the desert bighorn, the dall, the stone and only lacks the rocky mountain bighorn to complete that feat.

In 2005 a contact of Tracy's presented him with an opportunity to hunt dall sheep in the Chugath Range of southwestern Alaska. Since there were two spots available, Tracy invited me to come along as a second hunter. Though I've since assisted with one successful desert bighorn hunt, this was to be my first experience with hunting any of North America's sheep.

Tracy and I traveled to Anchorage around the August 20th season opener. Our understanding of the plan, as explained by the broker, was for each of us to be hunting with separate guides in different areas, one of whom was the bush plane pilot. Unfortunately, we quickly realized that the main outfitter and pilot was much more interested in flying the plane around, looking at game and getting home to hang out in the evenings with his truck driving girlfriend, destructive dogs and hairless ferret than getting dirty hunting sheep.

The pilot's lack of enthusiam was initially irrelevant, because the weather was not cooperating - the low hanging clouds and drizzle were keeping us out of the super cub bush plane. Those conditions always make bush flying infeasible and prohibitively dangerous. Good bush pilots universally refuse to fly in those conditions regardless of the effect on potential success of the hunt. Because the only viable method of accessing most prime hunting areas is via bush plane, weather watching is an integral part of Alaskan hunting.
We ended up spending one night on the barren floor of Rich Moran's (the quide) new apartment. Dee (the pilot and would be hunting guide) was able to get Rich and I out on the third day from the Palmer, Alaska airport about 35 miles into the Chugath Range. Actually, he got Rich into a small line cabin about 10 miles below a rock bowl where Rich and Dee had seen a dall ram from the air several days before. By the time Dee got back to Palmer to pick me up and fly me in to meet Rich, the weather was socking in again. It was touch and go whether or not we would be able to land on the tundra next to the line shack. In fact, Dee and I circled blindly for several minutes over the area where Dee knew the line shack was, while Rich called on the radio from the ground trying to convince Dee that it was safe to bust blindly through the clouds and land under the 200 foot ceiling. Dee seriously contemplated aborting the attempt and returning to Palmer for the night, but we found a hole in the clouds and were able to snake through for a landing.

Rich and I stayed the night in a community line shack which had long ago been pulled into the area during the winter with a snow cat. Over the years scores of hunters had bivouaced at the shack and when passing through had left a veritable smorgasbord of preserved food stuffs and reading materials. I commandeered a Louis L'Amour for the trip and grabbed a package of albacore tuna on the trip out to supplement the Mountain House freeze dried I had been eating for several days.

The next morning Rich and I shouldered our packs, which contained sufficient supplies for 5 days afield, and headed up the drainage. The tussock we pretty bad, but the trip in was manageable. We were in to a camping area in about 5 hours and we were barely able to get camp set up before the impending rain started in. The weather didn't let up all afternoon or through the night. I was glad to have my ill-gotten Louis L'Amour so that lying side-by-side in a small pup tent for 24 hours was bearable. It was midday the following when we finally were able to head up the far side of the drainage for a vantage point to glass back over to where the sheep had been spotted. Once up, we spotted the sheep right where we expected it to be. With the long Alaskan days, we had enough daylight left to tackle an attempt to head through the valley and up the far slope for a closer look. The climbing on the sheep side of the valley was much more challenging than the side from which we had glassed. It was primarily rocky cliffs with loose shale and deep stream gorges.

We were able to get within 200 yards of the sheep and spent nearly two hours glassing the him while he alternated between lying in the rocks and feeding on the sparse grass shoots which protrude sporadically from the scree. Neither of us could decide whether the ram was a shooter or not, he'd turn one way and it would appear his horn dropped low (meaning a larger ram) and another way, it would appear he did not have the length. Since it was early in the hunt, we decided to leave him and look for something that was more obviously a keeper.

Sheep was between the thin snow line and snow covered mountain

The next morning we headed up an adjacent drainage and over a saddle to the next valley. One thing a new Alaskan hunter quickly learns is that distance is relative. Typically, what looks to be a mile is five. We spent all day getting onto this saddle and glassing the opposite valley. There were several small caribou and one lone dall ewe on the far side of the valley (about 8 miles), but nothing else. We were unable to locate anything either in that valley or in the one in which we were camped.

A couple of satellite calls to Tracy's cell revealed not only that Tracy was still in Anchorage staying miserably with hairless ferret and truck driving girlfriend, but also made it painfully obvious that Dee had no intention of going hunting. Until I was done and Rich available to hunt with Tracy, Tracy would not be able to step foot in sheep habitat in a trip he had arranged. He was getting a bunch of time in the super cub (which is an incredible experience in itself), but had yet to go hunting. He was definitely going stir-crazy. These factors, along with the paucity of sheep, made my decision to go after the initial ram fairly easy.

Rich and I hotfooted it (to the extent one can in this terrain) down the drainage, past the tent and up the far cliff and scree fields. With the use of spotting scope, we were able to confirm from the far drainage, many miles away, that the sheep was still there. He was feeding in the scree fields in a series of small 40 foot hills set close together like the ridges on a giant potato chip. The ridges are made through the decades by the progression and retreat of the ice glacier, which pushes loose rock in front of it and deposits it in long, cigar-shaped hills as it warms and retreats. These structures are call "glacial drumlins."

We knew the sheep was in these drumlins, but had no idea which one he was in. Consequently, we would move cautiously to the top of each one and peer over slowly. We'd done this several times before Rich finally peeked his head over one, and could see him two over. He was about 60 yards, and Rich told me initially to peek over and shoot him. Then, on second thought, he asked whether I wanted to get into bow shooting range. We decided to give our advance one more ridge. When we peeked over that one we were 18 yards. Rich said, "hold up let me look at him again." As Rich took that last look the sheep saw him and took off on a dead run, I shot him on the run at about 60 yards.

By the time we were done with pictures, skinning, boning and packing the meat, the rain was coming down and it was getting dark. We were about a mile and a half from the tent and uphill in the scree. It was a miserable walk down with a pack full of meat. Rich had the hide, cape and a little meat. I had the remaining meat and my hunting gear.

We ate a quick dinner at the tent and crawled into our bags. We both slept hard, and the morning dawned clear and sunny. There were the old tracks of a super cub landing right by the tent in some year prior, so we called Dee and asked him to attempt a similar maneuver. We didn't relish the thought of the 10 mile hump back to the shack with the added load of sheep. Try as we might, Dee was not willing to attempt a landing there. We ended up spending most of the day trudging back to the line shack. Dee picked us up there in the late afternoon.

I grabbed some silver fishing before leaving for home

Tracy was finally able to get out with Rich, not Dee, the next day. It was my turn to spend time in the messy duplex with the truck driver and ferret. I only made it two days, and as soon as I got my sheep checked in with Alaska Game and Fish, I had Dee take me to Anchorage International for an early trip home.

Before I left Dee and I flew over the area Tracy and Rich were hunting. As we flew over Rich came on the radio telling us to bug out. It was obvious they were eyeing a sheep. It turns out Tracy's perseverance was rewarded with a very old and large ram. I didn't hear about it until I was home.

In any event, I'm a true 1/4 slammer now. Not much to be proud of, but three more and I'll join at least one elite club.