Late Season Sheep Hunting

Late-season sheep hunting at its best...... -20 temperatures, a blizzard that dropped over a foot of snow, dehydration, lack of food and good times with a good buddy . No rams but did see a few. Dropped 9 pounds in four days. Had one hell of a scary trip out in some country that is best only accessed in the summer. One more kick at the cat tomorrow and the 2013 sheep season is a wrap.

Gana River Dall Sheep

No Country For Old Men

By T.J. Schwanky

 

There comes a point in everyone’s life when they have to come to terms with their own mortality. For many, this epiphany comes with the loss of a close loved one and for others, a bad accident or other near-death experience brings with it the realization that they won’t live forever. And, as I sat in the rocky creek bottom, sweat stinging my eyes, I too was beginning to realize that I was old. I was hunting the Mackenzie Mountains for Dall sheep with Gana River Outfitters and it was day 5 or 6, I don’t remember exactly but I was exhausted. We’d covered well over 40 miles already, including moving camp three times and the 80 pound pack was taking its toll. We were in the process of yet another big move with full packs, hoping that a look over the 3,000 foot ridge to the north would yield the ever elusive rams we sought. Trevor Shulist, my guide, mumbled something about setting the record for the most miles that he’d ever covered on a backpack hunt. It was a record I was pleased not to hold but it seemed the sheep had other plans.

I was half way through my 50th year of life, with 26 of those years spent chasing sheep in the mountains of Alberta, British Columbia and the Yukon. I’d been fortunate to take a handful of rams during those years and I’d been along on another dozen or so successful kills. The mountains had been good to me but then again, time has a way of erasing the hardships. My Stone ram had come on day 18 of a 14-day hunt but I didn’t remember it as being that bad. I’d suffered severe frostbite on my feet on a bighorn hunt in Alberta but my feet only bothered me when it got cold outside. It really wasn’t that bad. But, this hunt seemed different. I was physically drained and mentally exhausted. I was feeling old.  I was feeling wore out. Trevor made a move to get up. I grunted as I brought the big pack to my shoulder. I felt as if I were just entering a 12-step program for addiction as I mumbled to myself, “One step at a time.”

Perhaps the words were somewhat prophetic. Sheep hunting is an addiction to me. I wondered how much longer my body would allow me to pursue my passion. Turning 50 is not all it’s cracked up to be. You are too young to get a discount at the buffets in Vegas, there is no monthly government check and not everything works like it used to. Foreplay begins with a glass of water and a blue pill and somehow polyester pants and shoes with Velcro laces seem fashionable. I pulled the waistband of my pants a little closer to my armpits and trudged on.

Backpack sheep hunts are an endeavour for the young. Old bodies aren’t meant to carry big loads for days on end. They are better suited to a stroll around the golf course or sitting on a lawn chair waiting for a fish to take a bait.  “Watch out,” Trevor called back to me over the sound of another 700 pound rock sliding out from beneath his feet. I could see he wasn’t impressed. There didn’t appear to be a solid piece of footing on the entire mountainside.

It was late afternoon when we reached the base of the ridge. Black clouds building in the west threatened of impending rain. Trevor and I hurried to set our tents up. Flat spots on the rocky creek bottom were at a premium so we settled for “not too rocky” in our choice of locations. The first raindrops of the trip began to fall. “You want anything to eat?” Trevor asked.

“Not really but we better.” I knew we would be stuck in our tents for a long time if the storm settled in. A crack of thunder from the west reconfirmed my thoughts.

It’s funny but I never really tire of eating meals from a foil pouch. Some years I’m sure I ingest 50 or 60 of them over the course of the season but I treat each one as a gourmet dining experience. Food is definitely a necessity on a backpack trip and I long ago learned that your body cannot afford to skip one. Food was the last thing on my mind at that moment but my body needed fuel and I dug through the nylon bag, examining each package as carefully as I’d study the menu at a fancy French restaurant. “Lasagne tonight,” I proclaimed. Trevor laughed.

The rain was falling at a steady pace now. I lapped up my lasagne and crawled into the confines of my tent. Little did I know that it would become home for the next 18 hours. The rain continued throughout the night and the occasional clap of thunder and blinding flash of lightning was a stark reminder that we were at the mercy of the elements; and time was running out on the hunt. I huddled in my down sleeping bag and said a silent prayer that the morning would bring improved weather. It did not!

It wasn’t until around three in the afternoon that the weather broke enough for us to emerge from our tents. We discussed our options and seeing as it was light until midnight, we decided to head north over a high ridge and see where our travels took us. It was all unexplored territory but with only a couple days remaining, it was the only country left to look at. While neither of us said it, we both knew that it could be a long time until we saw our cozy little camp again.

Our journey took us up and over three ridges and several miles to the north before we finally spotted some rams. There were seven of them but all appeared to be fairly young. They were spread out across a grassy ridge and we both agreed that it was quite possible that additional rams remained unseen. Getting closer for a better look, however, was out of the question. There was absolutely no way to approach unseen. We hadn’t come this far to screw it up now. There were two additional basins to the east still to check out so we decided that was our best option. We both agreed the rams we were looking at weren’t likely to go far.

We had to side hill our way around a mountain to reach the next basin. Walking on the steep, unstable slopes had become routine and one barely even noticed when a rock of several hundred pounds would slip out beneath your feet. It was one foot after the other on a slope covered in 200-pound marbles. I was almost surprised every time my foot came to rest on a rock that didn’t move. It was nearly 11:00 pm when we reached a shale saddle on the far side of the mountain. Trevor picked up several rams in his binoculars right away. I quickly found them in mine too. There were five in total and they were rapidly disappearing from sight. One of the rams looked mature but that was all either of us could tell. It was going to take another three hour journey around yet another unstable mountain to get a better look at them.

With twilight nearly upon us, neither Trevor nor I were keen on following the rams nor were we keen on making the four-hour journey back to camp. We looked around for a soft spot in the rocks and resigned ourselves to a long cold night on the mountain. Neither of us had our sleeping bags so we donned every piece of clothing we had with us and bedded down on the cold ground beneath a tarp. I’ve never had a good night’s sleep on one of these impromptu camping adventures and this night was to be no different and somewhere around 4:00 am, we were both shivering so bad that we knew we had to get up. I facetiously asked Trevor if he’d slept well. “I did not!” was all he replied.

After some calisthenics and hot tea, we loaded up our gear and started around the next mountain for a look into the basin where the rams had headed the evening before. The journey took a couple hours but we soon found ourselves overlooking seven rams, about 500 yards below. One ram was definitely worth a closer look and we soon had the spotting scope set up. Trevor took the first look and I could tell it was not what he was hoping to see. “Here you take a look,” he said while passing me the spotting scope.

As I focused on the ram, I could see that he was easily full curl and likely stretched the tape to 36 inches. “Eight?” I whispered.

“Yup”

It was a ram that I’d have not given a second glance on day two or three of the hunt but here it was day seven and we had a two day pack out. Basically we had one more day to hunt. “What do you think?” I asked Trevor?

“Your call but just answer yourself one question….is that the ram you came all the way up here to kill?”

I handed the scope back to Trevor. “Let’s go see if we can find those rams we saw yesterday.”

It was late in the afternoon on day seven before we were finally looking at the object of our quest; a big, old Dall sheep ram. My Zeiss binoculars read 479 yards. I’d been shooting out to 600 yards all summer and as I settled the 500 yard crosshair low on the ram’s shoulder, I couldn’t believe how good everything felt. The crosshair was rock solid on the perfectly broadside ram. The world around me disappeared. I caressed the trigger with my index finger, knowing that a scant two pounds of pressure would cause it to unleash the firing pin and set in motion a series of events that would be catastrophic for one of us. If my aim was true, the results of the 140-grain bullet striking the ram’s shoulder would be devastating. If my aim wasn’t true, the past seven days of blood and sweat would have been in vain. I felt as though the weight of the world rested on my shoulders and I’d placed it there.

Trevor’s voice snapped me out of my trance. “Wadda ya think? Trevor asked.

What did I think indeed. After some 26 years of hunting sheep and nearly four decades of chasing big game, I’ve come to understand that not only is it important to learn when to take the shot, it’s equally, if not more important to know when not to take the shot. My mind had been like a computer from the first moment we spotted the ram, computing the angle, distance, wind speed and host of other variables. If there is one thing that long-range shooting has taught me, it’s to be patient and to assess all of the variables. A stiff breeze caressed the back of my neck. “I think we should wait,” I responded.

While I was well practiced at the range, there were two things working against me: the wind and the severe angle of the shot, both of which can drastically affect your point of impact. There were three rams in total and they were right in the middle of a basin that more closely resembled the dark side of the moon than quality sheep range. There were a few scattered patches of grass here and there but both Trevor and I felt the rams had to move. And, no matter which direction they went, it put us in a position for a better shot.

While we were content to wait, time was running out quickly. Trevor and I sat on the Dall rams for the remainder of the day and they never left the safety of the basin. I put the crosshairs on the big boy several times but I just had a nagging feeling that I should wait. So just before dark we elected to make the long descent to camp. Neither of us was in any condition to spend another night on the mountain but the prospect of another long climb back to the basin in the morning didn’t thrill us either. Common sense finally overruled desire and we descended to the tents several thousand feet below. It was a restless night in the tent as I constantly second guessed my decision.

We were up early the next morning and overlooking the basin once again. The rams had moved closer to the ridge on the east side of the basin so we decided to make our way around the mountain and hopefully intercept them as they ascended the ridge. It took us nearly three hours to reach the ridge above them and much to our relief, they were still in the bottom, right at the base of the ridge. The rangefinder now read 391 yards. I was feeling much more confident. We assessed the situation and decided to make our way down the ridge as far as we could without being detected.

It was a couple hours later when the largest ram, the object of our attention, started to climb the ridge. He was coming up further to the north than we had anticipated but we were pinned down and just had to let things play out. I kept track of the ram through the binoculars. He was 371 yards when I felt the wind brush the back of my neck. The ram came to attention a few seconds later. Steadying the rifle on a rock, I found the ram in the scope and placed the 350 yards crosshair high on his shoulder. While not shooting had been the right decision till now, the time had come to shoot or the ram would be gone. At the report of the 270WSM, the ram literally flipped over in the air and landed with all four feet pointing skyward.

Sitting in the comfort of my office chair writing this story, I have to admit that the hunt really wasn’t that bad. Sure, it took us two days to get the ram and camp down to the river bottom where Bill could pick us up with the Super Cub and sure Trevor strained his back so badly on the pack out that he was forced to miss the next hunt because he basically couldn’t walk but honestly it wasn’t that bad...not for a young guy like me anyhow. It’s funny how time has a way of taking the harsh realities of hunts gone by and leaving only those fond memories in the grey recesses of our minds. I’m already planning this season’s backpack adventures. The polyester pants and Velcro shoes are just going to have to wait and I’ve never really liked golf anyhow.

 

 

The author hunted Dall sheep in 2010 with Gana River Outfitters, www.ganariver.com. He used a Rocky Mountain Rifle Thinhorn chambered in 270WSM and topped with a Zeiss 4.5-14x44 Conquest scope with Rapid Z 800 reticle. He was shooting Winchester Supreme ammunition with 140-grain Accubond bullets. He also used a set of Zeiss 10x45 Victory binoculars with integrated rangefinder

 

Tough as Nails

Well, we were supposed to be goat hunting this week but Vanessa took a very innocent looking fall on the way into goat camp and ended up breaking both her radius and ulna on her left arm. She was wearing a 55 pound pack at the time which likely caused the break. We fashioned a splint out of some branches and a tensor, made a sling out of one of my shirts and loaded her up with Tylenol before beginning the long journey out. We had a 2.5 hike through some very steep and very nasty terrain, then a one-hour quad ride on a very rough and sketchy trail, then 16 kms in the truck on a rough logging trail and finally a three hour drive on pavement to the hospital. She was one tough cookie and took it all in stride.

It just goes to show, however, that one needs to be prepared for the worst when out hunting because things can.....and will go wrong. Knowledge of first aid is critical, as is having the right gear with you paramount. It's a very bad injury that will require surgery but as always, it could have been worse.

Hunt report from Azerbaijan

Hunt: Tur in Azerbaijan
Dates: Sept 5-11, 2013
Outfitter: Bryan Martin, Asian Mountain Outfitters
Gear: RMR 270WSM, 130 grain GMX, Zeiss 4.5-14x44 with Rapid Z 800

We flew to Baku via Frankfurt and all flights were good other than when we arrived in Baku, our guns didn't. We spent one night in Baku and then drove 5 hours to Sheki the following morning where we stayed at a small guest house. Mirbala made arrangements to have our guns delivered the following day. They arrived around 10:00am and we made plans to head to the mountains. I was hunting with my buddy Pat in one camp and the other two hunters would be heading for another camp.

Our journey began in the back of an old Russian truck that took us two hours up a rough creek bed where our guides were waiting with four horses. We loaded the horses and made the four hour trek up to base camp at 8,000 feet. It was comprised of several small nylon tents and a permanent rock structure which served as both kitchen and dining area. We got settled in that afternoon and prepared for our hunt the following day.

We all left camp together at around 7:30am and climbed to around 12,000 feet, where we ridge walked about five or six miles in search of tur. Around noon we found a band of good looking rams but they were in some very nasty terrain. We played cat and mouse with them for most of the afternoon but were unable to get close enough for a shot. Late in the afternoon, the rams moved into a canyon and our guides figured we could get above them and hopefully get a shot. After some very scary traversing of a ridge, we got above the tur but they were over 500 yards and the shot was about 60 degrees downhill. Our guides were confident that even if we missed the shot that the tur would run uphill. Pat graciously offered me the shot at the huge ram that was likely in the 38" range. I ended up holding for 350 yards and hit just slightly low, sending the tur fleeing, not uphill but for the opposite side of the valley. Our day was over. We arrived back in camp long after dark and after a quick supper fell fast to sleep.

The following morning the wind had shifted and our guides seemed very concerned that the weather was about to change so we elected to split up, with me heading back where we had been the previous day and Pat heading to another mountain range the opposite direction.

It was around noon when we spotted a group of tur on a distant mountain and my guides figured they were worth checking out. There were about a dozen and all were quite young save for one very old broomed ram. They were is some nasty cliffs and approaching them was going to be impossible, until the fog rolled in that is. We took advantage of the cover and dropped about 1,500 feet elevation at a very rapid pace, stopping to hide only when the fog disappeared. Amazingly, we got within range of the rams without being detected and I was offered an easy broadside shot at the biggest ram. I put him down almost instantly with the 130 grain bullet.

I was determined to get to my downed trophy so for the next hour we cut out foot holds in the shale, scaled waterfalls and moved across cliffs. One slip meant a nasty fall of about 2,000 feet and certain death. We got within about 50 yards of the downed ram and it seemed there was no way to get closer. My guides told me to stay put while the checked out a route. For the next hour they tried several different approaches. It was the most careful and nervous I'd seen them on the entire trip. Finally they told me that it was just too dangerous and that I should stay put. It was definitely a bitter sweet moment. I had my trophy of my dreams but I could not get to it and they were right, the chance of me slipping and falling to my death was real. I wedged myself behind a rock on the cliff and waited for them to return with my tur.

We took some photos with the head after climbing out of the canyon and then started the long journey back to camp. We arrived about 11:00pm and were shocked to see Pat had not returned. I waited until about midnight and then went to bed, figuring they'd be spending the night on the mountain but around 3:00am, I could hear Pat yelling outside. He too had been successful on a great ram.

The weather came in the next day so we just hung around camp and admired our trophies. The following day we descended to the river valley in the rain where the old Russian truck took us back to the guest house. We headed back to Baku the following day and spent a couple days touring before heading home.

This trip is definitely not for the faint of heart although drives can be organized for those not able to traverse some of the steeper country. One of the other hunters with us was 66 and he took a nice ram on a driven hunt but is was no walk in the park either. This is without a doubt one of the greatest hunting adventures there is. I have to give credit to Bryan as this hunt is one of the most organized I've ever been on and there wasn't a single time where things didn't go as promised. The people were absolutely wonderful and very knowledgeable and the food was really good. We had a cook in camp that prepared hot food both for breakfast and dinner every day. The gear was good too and we each had our own tent and the horses were incredibly tough. This hunt truly is a bargain in the world of sheep/goat hunting and I'd highly recommend it!

My tur was broomed and measured 32" and is 9.5 years old.

Tur-iffic Hunr

Just got back to Baku after one of the toughest hunts of my life. I'll share more details later but it was a great adventure!

Posted with Blogsy

Interesting thoughts on wolves

James Swan | August 14, 2013

All across North America, efforts are underway to restore wolf populations. Much of the press has painted a rosy picture of co-existing with wolves. For another opinion, I talked with ethologist Dr. Valerius Geist. Val has published 17 books on wildlife and large mammals (humans included) and served 27 years as a professor at the University of Calgary.

During some 50 years in the field, he had observed wolves on many occasions. “My early experiences with mainland wolves indicated that they were inquisitive, intelligent, but shy and cautious. During my academic career and four years into retirement I thought of wolves as harmless, echoing the words of many North American colleagues. I was wrong!”

He changed his mind when he retired to Vancouver Island in 1995, where he and his wife found themselves living with wolves as neighbors. He relayed some of his first-hand experience with them to me:

"The meadows and forests near our home contained about 120 blacktail deer and half a dozen large male black bears. In winter came some 60 to 80 trumpeter swans, large flocks of Canada geese, widgeons, mallards, and green-winged teal. Pheasants and ruffed grouse were not uncommon. In the fall of 1995 I saw one track of a lone wolf. Then in January 1999 my son and I tracked a pair of wolves in the snow. A pack arrived that summer. Within three months not a deer was to be seen, or tracked, in these meadows–even during the rut. We saw deer at night huddling against barns and houses, where deer had not been seen previously. For the first time deer moved into our garden and around our house. The damage to our fruit trees and roses skyrocketed. The trumpeter swans left. The tame geese and ducks avoided the outer meadows and lived only close to the barns. Pheasants and ruffed grouse vanished. The landscape looked empty, as if vacuumed of wildlife."

Eventually the wolves became even more of a problem. Geist explains: “These wolves progressively became bolder, seeking out human habitation, killing and maiming pets and livestock, and inspecting and confronting humans. No attacks on humans materialized by ‘our’ wolves after they began approaching us, for they were shot. A predator control officer trapped others.”

After the first “misbehavin’ pack” was eliminated, a second one moved into the area a couple years later, and a similar pattern unfolded. Geist found the behavior of both packs followed a similar seven-stage habituation pattern when wild food runs out and they are close to people.

1. Within the pack’s territory prey becomes scarce not only due to increased predation on native prey animals, but also by the prey evacuating home ranges en masse. Wolves increasingly visit garbage dumps at night.

2. Wolves in search of food begin to approach human habitations at night. Their presence is announced by frequent and loud barking of farm dogs.

3. The wolves appear in daylight and at some distance observe people doing their daily chores.

4. Small-bodied livestock and pets are attacked close to buildings, even during the day. The wolves preferentially pick on dogs and follow them right up to the verandas of homes. People out with dogs find themselves defending their dogs against wolves.

5. The wolves explore large livestock, leading to docked tails, slit ears, and hocks. Livestock may bolt through fences running for safety. Wolves become more brazen and cattle or horses may be killed close to houses and barns. Wolves may follow riders and surround them. They may mount verandas and look into windows.

6. Wolves turn their attention to people and approach, initially merely examining them closely. They may make hesitant, almost playful attacks, biting and tearing clothing, nipping at limbs and torso. They withdraw when confronted. They defend kills by moving towards people and growling and barking at them from 10 to 20 paces away.

7. Wolves attack people. These initial attacks are clumsy, as the wolves have not yet learned how to take down the new prey efficiently. Persons attacked can often escape because of the clumsiness of the attacks. A mature, courageous man may beat off or strangle an attacking wolf. However, against a wolf pack there is no defense.

Val met Dr. Robert Timm at the University of California at Davis, who has been studying coyotes targeting children in urban parks that act in virtually the same manner.

Geist’s habituation model has been translated into Swedish, Finnish, and German. It has become known in Finland as “Seven Steps to Heaven.”

“A century ago North America’s wildlife was largely decimated and that it took a lot of effort to bring wildlife back. When predators are scarce, and herbivores are abundant, wolves are well-fed. Consequently they are very large in body size, but also very shy of people. Wolves are seen rarely under such conditions, fostering the romantic image of wolves prevalent in North America today. However, when herbivore numbers decline while wolf numbers rise, we expect wolves to disperse and begin exploring for new prey. That’s when trouble begins,” Geist says.

Former Alaska wildlife biologist Mark McNay and others have established that there have been wolf attacks on people in Canada, historical and recent. On November 8, 2005, a 22-year-old geological engineering student at the University of Waterloo, Kenton Joel Carnegie, was killed by four wolves at Points North Landing in northern Saskatchewan. This was the first direct human fatality from a healthy wolf attack in North America in recent times to receive an investigation. Geist was an expert witness in the inquisition. Val says that the four wolves that attacked Carnegie had long been observed by others, were garbage-fed, and four days earlier attacked two employees of the camp who beat back the wolves.

Candice Berner, a 32-year-old school teacher, was killed on March 8, 2010 by wolves in the village of Chignik Lake on the Alaska Peninsula. These wolves were also habituated to garbage.

Val says that wolves learn differently than dogs:

"They learn by observing, and they also are insight learners. They can solve problems by observing, such as how to unlock a gate. In some studies of captive wolves researchers have found that wolves and coyotes not only learn to open their own cages, but those of others. With these intelligence traits wolves also develop an ability to assess the vulnerability of prey. For example, the sight of a human, walking boldly and carrying a firearm, will give them enough information to know that the potential prey is not vulnerable."

How did North American scientists ever conclude that wolves were no threat to people? Geist responds:

"They were unaware that starting in the 1800s, tens of thousands of trappers in Canada and Alaska were killing every wolf they could, legally and illegally, while predator control officers also removed wolves. Aerial poisoning and shooting campaigns were carried out and wolves were free to be killed by anybody. Little wonder wolves were scarce, very shy, attacks on people unheard of, livestock losses minimal, and wolf-borne diseases virtually escaped notice. In the absence of personal experience, they chose to disregard the accumulated experience of others from Asia and Europe."

I asked Val to look into his crystal ball and predict what he saw as the future fate of wolves for North America.

He said that wolves throughout North America will come into contact with millions of coyotes and feral dogs–the numbers of which are much higher than any previous time in history. The wolves will kill some of the dogs and coyotes, but others will breed resulting in hybrids. In short, pure-bred wolves in the wild will become a thing of the past.

His second prediction was on hydatid disease:

"The most important thing about the fate of wolves is hydatid disease. The threat scenario involves ranch dogs feasting on gut piles left by hunters or winter-killed elk and deer whose lungs and liver are infected with hydatid cysts. Deer and elk infected with cysts try to crowd in on private ranches trying to get away from wolves. A ranch dog gulping down the cysts will have mature tape worms in his gut within seven weeks or so and will then pass the deadly eggs in the ranch yard, kennel, veranda, and so on. People will bring infective eggs on their shoes into the house. Carpets and furniture will soon be hosting live, infective hydatid eggs. Children will be specially affected. Cysts take about a decade to mature. I will take at least another decade for cysts to grow to orange or grapefruit size in people. Nobody is facing up to the disease threat."

He added, “I do not think wolves have a happy future in the Lower 48.”

Copyright © 2013 OutdoorHub

BC mountain goat hunt

Check out the photos from our recent mountain goat hunt in British Columbia https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=667430399&sk=photos&collection_token=667430399%3A2305272732%3A69&set=a.10152453756815400.1073741827.667430399&type=3