Mountain Hunter Magazine - Winter 2013

BRITISH COLUMBIA, NORTHWEST TERRITORIES, NUNAVUT, YUKON TERRITORY WINTER 2013

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FEATURE STORIES

Romancing the Moose Two Spent Cartridges

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Contents

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Winter 2013

Articles, photos, editorial submissions, comments and letters to the editor should be sent to: MOUNTAIN HUNTER: c/o GOABC, #103 – 19140 28th Avenue Surrey, British Columbia Canada V3S 6M3 Tel: (604) 541-6332 Fax: (604) 541-6339 E-mail: info@goabc.org www.MountainHunter.com

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features

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MARK WERNER President BRIAN GLAICAR First Vice-President MICHAEL SCHNEIDER Second Vice-President DIXIE HAMMETT Past-President REG COLLINGWOOD Director DAVID BERANEK Director AARON FREDLUND Director SHANE BLACK Director

LOCAL PRESIDENTS:

LEIF OLSEN Northern (Peace)

STUART MAITLAND Cariboo/Chilcotin

CLINT LARSON Northwest (Skeena)

DARREN DELUCA Vancouver Island

KEN WATSON North Central (Omineca)

BRUCE AMBLER Thompson

MARC HUBBARD Okanagan STEVEN LEUENBERGER Southern (Kootenay)

STAFF: SCOTT ELLIS JEANA LES JENNIFER JOHNSON

Executive Director Policy & Communications Assistant Office Manager

Mountain Hunter is the official publication of the Guide Outfitters Association of British Columbia (GOABC), Association of Mackenzie Mountains Outfitters, & Yukon Outfitters Association. All rights reserved. Articles and advertising in Mountain Hunter do not necessarily reflect the view or directions of the GOABC. The GOABC reserves to the right to refuse any advertisements.

Designed in Canada by Red Apple Creative www.redapplecreative.com Printed in the United States of America

by Forum Communication Printing - Fargo, North Dakota

BACKGROUND PHOTO BY STEVE KRULL, ISTOCKPHOTO.COM

HAROLD GRINDE President

KELLY HOUGEN Past-President WERNER ASCHBACHER Secretary

DAN REYNOLDS President

TIM MERVYN Past-President

Babine Guide & Outfitters..............................37 Baldy Mountain Outfitters..............................35 BC Guided Hunting.........................................IBC BC Safaris..............................................................34 BC Trophy Mountain Outfitters....................23 Bearcat Outfitters..............................................35 Bear Paw Guide & Outfitters..........................13 Beaverfoot Outfitting.......................................14 Besa River Outfitters.........................................37 Big 9 Outfitters...................................................47 Big Country Outfitters ....................................23 Bonnet Plume Outfitters.................................13 Boone & Crockett Club....................................13 44 Bugle Basin Outfitters......................................35 Canada North Outfitting.................................25 Cariboo Mountain Outfitters.........................36 Claw Mountain Outfitters...............................12 Dallas Safari Club...............................................47 Muncho Lake Moose Hunts 8

Double Eagle Guides........................................21 Blaine Weber Elk Valley Bighorn..............................................14 Eureka Peak Lodge...........................................35 Task Force McMann: Findlay Creek Outfitters..................................14 Operation Lynx 16 Gana River Outfitters........................................52 John J. McDaniel Grand Slam Club/Ovis.....................................53 Grouse River Outfitters....................................22 Gundahoo River Outfitters.............................23 California Dreaming 24 Gunson Guiding & Outfitting........................12 Daryll Hosker InReach.................................................................12 Lehigh Valley SCI...............................................36 Two Spent Cartridges 38 Little Dease Ventures...................................OBC Scott Ungar Mackenzie Mountain Outfitters...................21 McCowan’s Sporting Properties..................15 Romancing the Moose 48 McGregor River Outfitters..............................52 Patrick Vaughn Mervyn’s Yukon Outfitting.............................36 Okanagan Outfitters.........................................25 On the Cover Pelly Lake Wilderness Outfitters..................21 Ram Creek Outfitters........................................14 Daryll Hosker on a California bighorn sheep hunt Ram Head Outfitters.........................................14 with Marc Hubbard of Okanagan Guide Outfitters.

Ram Head Outfitters (plane for sale)..........25 Redstone Trophy Hunts..................................37 Rocky Mountain High Outfitter & Guides..... 56 Safari Club International (SCI)..................... IFC Scoop Lake Outfitters......................................34 GOABC PRESIDENT’S CORNER 2 Shadow Mountain Outfitters........................52 Sikanni River Outfitters....................................36 NEWS & VIEWS 4, 5 Silent Mountain Outiftters.............................47 SITKA......................................................................15 PREFERRED CONSERVATION Sonny’s Guiding Service.................................23 PARTNERS 7 South Nahanni Outfitters...............................34 Sports Afield..........................................................3 CONSERVATION MATTERS™ 28 Trijicon Accupoint Riflescopes.......................6 Tuchodi River Outfitters..................................37 GUIDES GALLERY 26, 27, 32, 33 Vancouver Island Guide Outfitters..............51 IN MEMORY 54 Wild Sheep Foundation..................................46 Yukon Big Game Outfitters............................35

departments

CAMP COOK’S CORNER

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Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 1

GOABC

PRESIDENT’S CORNER Mark Werner

When it comes to our territories, most outfitters have the philosophy of “leave it better than you found it.” Discovering a vandalized remote cabin where your supplies have been pilfered and the firewood has been used leaves us feeling angry and disappointed. We generally don’t mind when resident hunters use our remote cabins, but we expect that they be treated with respect.

fun. The GOABC is a highly functional nonprofit organization with an active Board of Directors. Participation in the Board requires a huge sacrifice of time for developing a vision for the future, attending meetings with government, interfacing with membership, and providing oversight to the office. There have been times where I have wished my cell phone would just stop ringing.

This same principle applies to the association. After four years and eleven News and Views submissions, this is my final article as President of the GOABC. The association’s constitution stipulates that that a President can serve a maximum of two 2-year terms. So, come March 2014, I will step into the role of Past President, and someone else will take the reins to lead the GOABC. I know this is a critical time for our industry, and so I will continue to be involved in a lighter capacity on certain files, the Harvest Allocation Policy and industry’s Certainty Needs.

But at the end of the day, it has been worth it. Everything about this industry— the hunts, the hidden backcountry, and the assortment of characters—is oddly lovable. I truly believe there is nothing quite like guide outfitting. The magic of a happy client gives you passion to get through the harder seasons. As an outfitter, the best moments in camp are almost intoxicating. Similarly, with the GOABC, the moments when you see improvements for the industry are very rewarding.

Being on the GOABC Board of Directors is not a popularity contest or something you do to boost your ego. It’s not always

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We are looking for more leaders to step up from within the industry to offer their skills, time and insight into the future of the guide outfitting industry. Being on the Board is challenging, but there is a magic

about it too. I understand that sitting on the Board is not for everyone. You may not have the time or the interest, and that’s okay. We all do what we can do, and there are many ways to offer support—including volunteering your time, getting involved on initiatives, or donating to the auction.

Most importantly, members need to support their leaders by getting informed on the issues that affect the guide outfitting industry in BC. It is fair to ask tough questions. Go to your regional meetings, read the newsletters, and come to the annual general meeting.

Thank you to all the members and partners who have supported the association during my past four years as President. In advance, I am happy to extend my warm wishes and support to the next President of GOABC. I hope that I have left the GOABC better than I found it.

Mark Werner President, GOABC TM

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NEWS & VIEWS I am fortunate to have a father and three brothers who all enjoy hunting, and each year we all go on a hunt together. These are always special trips. We lead fairly busy lives; each of us has a job and a family to take care of, so it’s always fun when we can spend a week to be together. Whenever I look at the mounts in my study, a flood of memories come rushing in. By my definition, I am a trophy hunter. I enjoy pursing a wide variety of game, I will pass on smaller animals in search of larger males and I will pay to have my trophies mounted for display.

Collecting mementos from your hunt is important, and everyone does it in different ways. Lots of people will take pictures to share with friends and family.

Others will collect trinkets from the mountains—unique rocks or perhaps a shed. Many of the hunters who submit stories to Mountain Hunter™ will get the articles professionally framed to display in their homes.

As the voice of the guide outfitting industry, I have been interviewed to defend trophy hunting. Anti-hunters will never accept what we do, but we need to think about the 70% “in the middle”—the people who care about wildlife but do not hunt. Being diligent and careful in taking

in our photos and videos is important to the larger non-hunting community.

Some people have asked me if going through the trouble to get good photos really matters. More and more, I am seeing how important this actually is.

This past year, the anti-hunting media was particularly vigilant in finding poor trophy shots to trigger the general public’s emotions. One distasteful hunting image led to a week’s worth of stories in the local newspaper, on the radio, and on TV. As a hunter, there are many ways that you can help support the future of hunting.

One thing you can do is make sure you take the time to get good, respectful photos. In the last issue of Mountain Hunter™, we included a section on Tips and Tricks for good photos. I encourage you to use this list as a reference. I know a professional photographer who will take more than 100 photos to make sure he gets one that is just right.

We all hunt for different reasons, but it is important to respect the motivations of other hunters. When I am doing interviews with the media, it always stings when I hear hunters turn on other hunters.

To support the future of hunting, we need to be united. Our message is lost if there is fragmentation within our sector. It doesn’t

matter if you’re a meat hunter or a trophy hunter. It doesn’t matter if it’s a Canadian moose, grizzly bear, whitetail deer, or a black rhino. At the end of the day, you’re a hunter and you’ve killed an animal.

Hunting is a part of our heritage and it plays an important role in wildlife management. We are true conservationists and we have a proud history to tell. This “we” does not differentiate between approaches to hunting. Maintaining our legacy, being sensitive to the non-hunting majority, and continued efficacy in conservation will determine the future of hunting. This is a battle we must fight together.

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Straight shooting and safe travels.

Scott Ellis Executive Director, GOABC

21st Annual Convention and Auction Fundraiser March 28-29, 2014, Kelowna, BC

• • • • •

HIGHLIGHTS

Over 20 hunts available Silent Auction Draws Fish & Game Banquet Gala Dinner

1.877.818.2688 info@goabc.org

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NEWS & VIEWS Another great season has come and gone for those of us who are blessed enough to be able to outfit in the Mackenzie Mountains of Canada’s Northwest Territories. Despite some fairly challenging weather during the 2013 season, our members have reported many happy clients going home with wonderful memories of their mountain hunting experience. And yes, of course, most clients also took home some wonderful trophies.

As a result of very minimal resident hunting pressure in this vast wilderness, success rates in the Mackenzie Mountains are normally very high and trophy quality is world class—this year was no exception.

On the down side, 2013 was likely the last year of operations for one of our members due to the expansion of the Nahanni National Park Reserve. We also have two other members who, within the next few years, will lose large portions of their areas to the park expansion. It has been very frustrating to see these perfectly viable and completely sustainable family businesses being forced to scale down, or close, when they could just as easily have remained operational with the park expansion. These businesses not only supply thousands of pounds of fresh meat to residents of local communities, they also support local airlines, hotels and supply centers, and offer employment opportunities to local residents. We are still hoping that sanity will somehow prevail and our members will be able keep doing what they do so well.

On the bright side, the government of the Northwest Territories has just passed a new Wildlife Act that should come into effect for the 2015 season. With the implementation of the new act in 2015, we will finally be able to offer hunts to clients as young as 12 years old—it has been a long time coming! So for those of you who have been waiting for your son or daughter to turn 16 so that they can come and hunt with you in the NWT, get your spot booked for 2015. And, if by chance you have not yet hunted with one of our members, you should give it a try—but be warned, hunting in the Mackenzie Mountains is addictive!

See you at the shows this winter!

Harold Grinde President, Association of Mackenzie Mountain Outfitters (AMMO)

Now that winter is in full swing, many of us buckle down in our offices to reflect on our past fall season and start working on another busy winter show season and, of course, trapping season.

The members of the Yukon Outfitters Association had another successful season thanks to unbelievable record-breaking mid-summer weather, hardworking crews, and a good mix of new and repeat hunting clients from Canada and around the world. I hope everyone enjoyed our Yukon hospitality during their visit.

This past year, our association celebrated its 50th anniversary; however, as many of you know, outfitting continues to be sustainable and has been a viable part of Yukon’s economy and rich history since the early 1900s. This year we continued our long-standing tradition of taking time out to host our annual Wild Game Round Up in Whitehorse where we celebrate our successes with stories, dancing and a wild game dinner with many of our community businesses and supporters in attendance.

Our Executive and members of our association work hard outside of season to ensure our industry has a voice with other developments and with the various government departments.

YOA members continue to go to endless numbers of meetings to listen, enlighten, and educate government on our industry, and ensure our businesses and hunting concessions are represented, protected, and maintain world-class quality product. I am sure many other regions and associations can relate to the ongoing efforts and challenges.

Finally, some fantastic news is that we are proud to relay that the new world record Yukon-Alaska Moose was taken this year with an official score of 263 1/8 taken on the Yukon River, YT. The trophy has to be panel scored in January 2014 in Reno, Nevada.

Take time to visit with our 16 members at the hunting shows we will be attending this season. Your support in buying Yukon hunts is appreciated.

Dan Reynolds, President Yukon Outfitters Association Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 > 5

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preferred conservation partners

The Wild Sheep Foundation’s Purpose is “To Put and Keep Sheep on the Mountain™” On November 18, 2013, the Arizona Game and Fish Depar tment successfully transplanted 31 desert bighorn sheep into the Pusch Ridge wilderness area. The Wild Sheep Foundation (WSF) has long-term interest in Arizona sheep populations and, together with the Arizona Desert Bighorn Sheep Society, we have been instrumental in raising funds to support this initiative.

This transplant has been a top funding priority for the WSF for several years. The WSF has auctioned the Arizona desert bighorn sheep license 29 times since 1984, generating more than $4,042,000 for the Arizona Game and Fish Department to invest into their bighorn sheep programs. In addition, we have provided $370,000 in project funding to Arizona bighorn sheep efforts, including $30,000 in new project funding on this Santa Catalina trap and transplant operation.

WSF is focused on our Purpose and focused on the Mission.

Join us January 22-25, 2014 at the Reno-Sparks Convention Center and Peppermill Resort, Spa & Casino for the 2014 “Sheep Show™” – THE premier wild sheep and mountain hunting convention in the world! ~ Gray Thornton, President/CEO The Dallas Safari Club (DSC) is excited about a unique hunting opportunity that will be on the auction at the 2014 DSC Convention, January 9-12, 2014.

The DSC has been selected by the Government of the Republic of Namibia to auction a special hunting permit for the black rhinoceros. John J. Jackson III of Conservation Force has been instrumental in facilitating this arrangement.

The black rhino has been listed as an endangered species since 1977, but there is agreement from scientists and international conservation organizations that limited hunting is sustainable.

The quarry for this hunt will be a mature male that has served its purpose in propagating the species. Older males can be territorial and aggressive, often charging and killing younger breeding bulls and cows. In this way, high numbers of older males can actually limit growth in a population.

There are 5 permits issued for black rhinos each year in Namibia, but this is the first time it will be put for auction outside of the country. The permit is expected to earn unprecedented revenue – up to a million dollars – and 100% of the proceeds from this sale will go towards anti-poaching and conservation efforts for the species. ~ Ben Carter, Executive Director

Right, Privilege, or Both? I’ve heard it both ways and with conviction. It is an important discussion to have. If we go strictly by definition, then hunting is a privilege because a privilege is something that can be taken away. A right on the other hand, cannot be lost.

In the United States the “right to keep and bear arms” is constitutionally assured. While many may need arms to hunt, hunting is not guaranteed under this document. Hunting is left uncovered as a privilege to be repeatedly earned—year after year—by those who hunt. In any democracy, privileges are maintained at the will or sufferance of the people at large.

In the final analysis, hunting is both. Individually and spiritually, hunting is a right. Societally, however, it is a privilege. If this is true, then the future of sport hunting depends on how hunting is viewed by the majority of the citizenry—most of who do not hunt and are easy prey for misinformation about hunting. It would be best then not to get too hung up on hunting being a right and dismissing the options of others. We’re outnumbered.

Hunt hard. Hunt safe. Hunt fair chase. ~ Keith Balfourd, Director of Marketing Hunting, and trophy hunting particular, is the greatest conservation tool. This has said by GSCO for years.

The Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation (RMEF) currently has a campaign known as “Hunting is Conservation.” This statement is absolutely true, and RMEF should be commended for this campaign. in

Considering that provable history back to 1991, GSCO for well over two decades has realized the importance of hunting as it relates to conservation, and has quietly attempted to educate others about this fact. We are well aware that state and provincial special tags raise a lot of conservation dollars, and we have always applauded that.

Of course, direct project dollars are also important; GSCO does that too. Furthermore, having volunteers doing on-theground conservation is wonderful, and we help out wherever possible. However, if you have to place a value on what really powers the ship—if you have to distill it down to the most important aspect—it has to be “hunting is the greatest conservation tool.” GSCO stands by that! ~ Dennis Campbell, Executive Director

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muncho lake moose hunt

by Blaine Weber

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t all started at the Safari Club International (SCI) Saskatchewan Rivers Chapter Banquet and Fundraiser on April 14th, 2012. After walking around and checking out the auction, I noticed a booth of a British Columbia outfitter that had bear, goat, Stone sheep, and moose hunts. Talking to Jake Gunson of Gunson Guiding and Outfitting, I learned that they had donated a moose hunt to be auctioned off later in the night.

My dad and I had been talking about going on a moose hunt and we thought this would be a great opportunity to go and also donate to SCI at the same time. Bids flew and the rest is history!

We booked the hunt from September 14 to 24, 2012.

We decided to drive to Muncho Lake in northern British Columbia and enjoy the scenery along the way. We drove to Edmonton, AB after I got off work on September 12th, stayed at a friendâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s house, and left early the next morning. After a total of about 17 hours of driving, we arrived in Muncho Lake. We were scheduled to fly into camp the next morning.

In the morning, we were met by Al Gunson to do a little paperwork and receive our tags. We then boarded a float plane READ MORE ON PAGE 10

Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013 < 9

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 9

and flew 20 minutes into one of their lakes. After landing, we were greeted by owner Jake Gunson, guide Barney Lutz, and wrangler Glen Gatin. Under British Columbian laws, you can’t hunt for six hours after flying, so we hung out and got the horses ready to head out the next morning. After an anxious sleep, we were excited to get going. The plan was to head to Tent Lake, where we would spike out for a few days. Jake estimated that it would be a 6-7 hour horse ride.

Glen introduced us to our horses: mine was named Snort, and Dad’s was named Alice. Snort turned out to be timid, to say the least, and Alice was a good calm horse.

The ride to the lake went smoothly and there was a lot of nice scenery. When we arrived, there were three cow moose standing in the water. We knew there had to be some bulls around, so we rode a little further and a small bull appeared.

Shortly after that, two more bulls walked out, both were bigger than the first and one was a possible shooter. But night fall came too quickly and the bulls disappeared into the bush.

After two nights and seeing only two more smaller bulls, we decided to ride over to Long Mountain. Jake said it would take another 6-7 hours of riding to get there.

I jumped onto Snort, but could immediately tell he was uncomfortable. Things escalated quickly: Snort took off running, straight into the trees. My cat-like reflexes kicked in, and I jumped off his back as he hit the trees. It was so thick that he only got about 20 yards into the trees. Once the episode was over, we headed out. The weather was getting warmer and the moose calling slowed down.

After hunting together for six days, Dad and I decided to split up. Dad went out with Barney, and Jake and I hiked out, calling along the way. Jake said we should check out an area that hadn’t been hunted in a long time. Along the way we found a great spot to call and decided to try the area again first thing the next morning. When we got back to camp that night, we were

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happy to see that Glen had cooked up some fresh lake trout for supper.

The next morning we hiked two hours to our “Honey Hole” in hopes of calling in my moose. It was now day eight and the pressure was on. After the first couple of calls we heard a bull answer. We sat glassing from our ridge, and then Jake said “There he is!” The bull was 90 yards below us and, after a quick second, we decided he was a shooter.

I would like to thank Jake, Barney, and Glen for a truly memorable hunt. I would recommend this hunt to anyone.

to have hit him once.” The thoughts raced through my head. We waited for an hour and went to look for blood. We found a few specks several feet from a dammed up creek that was three feet deep. There was only one thing to do: follow the moose. So we took off our boots, socks, and pants, and put them around our necks. The water was so cold it gave my legs pins and needles.

I loaded my Tika 7mm mag with a Barnes 165gr Triple Shock bullet. Boom! At the first shot, he started running. Boom! Still, the moose kept running. Boom! Boom!

Still moving!

After crossing the creek, I couldn’t put my boots and pants back on fast enough. My moose was 20 yards past the creek and less than 100 yards from my last shot. Turns out I hit him three times…that just goes to show how tough moose really are!

My heart began to sink. Had I just missed the chance of a lifetime? “No,” I thought to myself, “with all of those shots, I had

I was in awe at the size of both the moose’s body and antlers. Good thing I’d shot it in the morning, because that gave us all day to

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field dress him. After the work was done, we got back to camp before dark and spent the evening telling stories and looking at pictures on my camera.

We hunted the last two days but only saw smaller bulls, and Dad was holding out for a monster. At the end of ten days hunting, it was time to fly back to Muncho Lake.

We took all of the meat home except for one back strap, which we left for the next hunters and the Gunson crew.

I would like to thank Jake, Barney, and Glen for a truly memorable hunt. I would recommend this hunt to anyone.

EDITOR’S NOTE You can reach Gunson Guiding & Outfitting at 250.500.2717 or www.ggoutfitting.com

Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 11

BIG Canadian Moose ~2000 square miles of remote wilderness Boat and horseback hunts available Mountain Goat Mountain Caribou Stone Sheep Grizzly Bear Black Bear Jake & Cecilia Gunson Call: 250.500.2717 jake@ggoutfitting.com www.ggoutfitting.com

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Archery & Rifle Hunts • Backpack or Horseback Hunts and Excursions BIG GAME HUNTING, FRESH WATER FISHING & OUTDOOR ADVENTURES

Canadian Moose, Mountain Caribou, Mountain Goat, Stone’s Sheep, Grizzly Bear, Black Bear, Timber Wolf Arctic Greyling, Lake Trout, Rainbow Trout, Bull Trout, Dolly Varden, Burbot, Whitefish

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Contact: CHRIS & SHARRON McKINNON PO BOX 89 Calling Lake, AB T0G 0K0 (P) 780-331-2440 www.huntbpo.com chris@huntbpo.com

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Contact: CHRIS & SHARRON McKINNON PO BOX 89 Calling Lake, AB T0G 0K0 (P) 780-331-2440 www.huntmco.com chris@huntmco.com

Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 > 13

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FINDLAY CREEK OUTFITTERS

Elk, Mountain Goat, Grizzly Black Bear, Whitetail, Mule Deer, Cougar, Moose

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BOX 287, EDGEWATER, BC V0A 1E0 Phone: 250-341-1477 info@findlaycreekoutfitters.com

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Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 15

task force operation I

t had all the markings of a special ops mission. Task Force McMann set forth amidst the extraordinary setting of the pristine alpine landscape of western British Columbia. The “Friendly Forces” conducting this operation consisted of six specially selected, well-trained and extremely motivated canine hounds augmented by two experienced outdoorsmen: one Canadian, the other American. The lethal strike force set forth mid-February of 2013, in pursuit of the majestic lynx (aka the “opposing force” or “OPFOR” in military lingo). The four day hunting adventure would more closely resemble a sprint than a marathon when it was all said and done. Fast, furious and deadly.

The Patrol Leader (PL)—a professional guide, Doug McMann of Skinner Creek Hunts—led the way. We tracked, climbed, scouted, rode snowmobiles, and set traps for wolves. Those magnificent hounds, those glorious and fearless brutes, served as the Task Force avant-garde, a decisive component to mission success. Looking back on it now, I’m reminded of what it was like to lead a patrol of Army Rangers—just give them your intent, READ MORE ON PAGE 18

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m mann: lynx c

by John J McDaniel

t n i o J A l a i c e p S s n o i t Opera e r u t n Adve

Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013 < 17

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 16

some mission orders and then simply point ‘em in the right direction and “stand back brother”!

Speed, agility, precision, tenacity, physical fitness, and, of course violence of action… were descriptors that defined the mission I experienced “back then” while wearing my country’s uniform serving among a band of elite mission-focused men, the US Army Rangers. Now the alpine experience rekindled a flame within me, punctuated by an amazing sense of adventure and unique intensity enhanced by the magnitude of expanse and opportunity before me.

It doesn’t matter that I didn’t even pull a trigger this time. In retrospect, I’m proud of that fact. We exercised strict fire control measures and sound discipline with respect to “the harvest” in deference to sound conservation, selective game management and the high principles that go along with being a sportsman.

The experience serves to remind me, as it should those bothering to read this, that there’s no faking it out there. Good conservation and good hunts start and end with good discipline. Before we began, Doug and I discussed the characteristics of “the perfect tom”: a mature trophy cat, something on the order of 30 pounds or better; perhaps a six to nine year old male tom cat would do.

There was plenty of sign and not a day passed without laying witness to the fresh tracks that peppered the landscape: lynx, an occasional cougar, wolf, moose, deer, fisher, and of course about a bazillion rabbits all leaving evidence of a thriving and essentially unpressured and bountiful Canuck land.

Crisp, clean mornings preceded deafeningly silent and still afternoons in the enormous expansive wilderness, but were periodically interrupted by the high-pitched whine of our snow machines or the growl of our diesel engine or the report of hounds in hot pursuit.

In the distance, glorious mountaintops defined and shaped the Canadian skyline.

As we scouted the dense pine forests and aspen groves, Doug would periodically dismount to carefully examine a lynx track,

18 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

first visually with calibrated eyeballs and then, if the track appeared promising, he would place his hand in the print to gauge its relative freshness, I watched, asked questions, and learned what I could from the modern day mountain man.

With a promising track defined, one of appropriate size and freshness, Doug would launch the eager troops from the mobile command post (a.k.a. big box full of dogs), and the hunt was on!

I find it difficult to describe precisely what happens once those hounds hit the deck; to be sure, they dart from the box, stick their noses deep into a shallow lynx track, and immediately begin to bay, each reporting individually with a unique pitch and tone, then moving in the proper direction of the track. All seemingly choreographed and obvious behavior for the dogs. However, what’s not so obvious is how they do it… truly quite amazing. There are hundreds of years of genetic predisposition at play; prey drive so strong and intense that man struggles to find words to describe what just happened within that instant.

The hounds, the “SPECOPS” force, are capable of detecting tiny scent molecules,

often several hours, if not days, old. No human on this planet is capable of doing that, not even close.

On day two we turned the troops loose around 1600 hours, a little late in the day, with nightfall not far on our heels.

Lynx are smart and elusive little animals and this one proved not to disappoint. It took the hounds nearly three hours to tree the lynx, having covered something like ten miles during the pursuit. The PL decided it was best to return to the lodge in order to exchange the truck in favor of the snowmobiles given the distance and remote nature of where the lynx was headed. Later as we rambled cross-country aboard the sleds, I couldn’t help but wonder how long this mission would last and how it might end.

The troops had been deployed, they were “on mission,” deep in “enemy” territory among terrain dominated by predators— wolves, big cats and other nefarious OPFOR critters abound. We had to recover them, get the troops out and, with any luck, there’d be big tomcat at end game followed by extracting the team (then a nice warm meal and glass of Canadian whiskey!)

No man (or, in this case, hound) would be left behind. As we approached the objective, I wondered how long the dismounted movement might be. How close can we get these sleds to the dogs?

Neither one of us was really sure, especially not me. So we fired up the sleds and set out under the cover of darkness. The Extraction/Recovery Phase had begun. We were gettin’ the team out!

Heck, let’s be honest here: I was not in charge and had no idea where precisely we were…all I knew was that I was following the PL and wiz-banging through the dark mountain forest aboard a powerful snow machine that I was just beginning to get the feel for. At this stage, I was not even thinking about harvesting a cat, it was the farthest thing from my mind. I was focused on the mission, on the movement to link-up and extract our troops. Had to find out what was going on out there and get them back home safely…cat or no cat.

It was something like 2100 hours by the time we finally stopped and shut the machines down. With a moonless night CONTINUED ON PAGE 20 Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 19

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 19

surrounding us, a brief moment of total silence ensued once the engines settled down and then, almost as if on cue, the woods erupted with a howling report from the troops. They were within 200 meters of where we had stopped and baying at the top of their lungs in a lathered frenzy. “Thank God,” I thought to myself, they’re close, real close. I dismounted my sled and approached Doug, not saying anything at first, but I could see him grinning in the pale starlight, as he extended a friendly fist in my direction.

As our knuckles met, in cool-guy fist-bump fashion, I sighed in momentary relief as the old soldier in me had mentally prepared himself for a worst-casescenario...an all-nighter, bumping across unfamiliar mountains, through difficult terrain, on achy knees with sore back (did I say earlier that the engines were whining?). In the not-so-distant background reporting with every fiber they had, the hounds continued to sound off as if to say, “Over here! We got ’em over here!”

The troops had treed a nice tom, a trophy cat by any account, as glorious as glorious could be. And there he was, high in a fir tree. Of course, it was past shooting hours, so the PL accounted for and called off the troops.

The extraction was underway. We were “RTB-bound” code sign call for “Returning to Base.”

Similar scenarios repeated themselves for the next two days. It was fantastic to watch the “troops” work and spend some quality time with Doug and his wonderful family. Julie McMann, Doug’s bride, is an amazing hostess, talented chef, and very kind soul. She works very hard to teach English as a Second Language (ESL) during the summer months. Julie’s also a tremendous horsewoman. Their children, Colton and Courtney, are simply delightful, well-mannered, well-educated and definitely switched on.

I should probably tell you that this trip almost never happened. It was essentially unplanned and Lord knows I never would have asked, nor did I expect to be invited to their Canadian paradise, but I was. You see, Doug and I first met back in June of 2012, during a successful black bear hunt hosted by Skinner Creek Hunts in conjunction with the Wounded Warriors in Action Foundation (WWIA). We both enjoyed making a soldier’s dream bear hunt come true, as our combat wounded Purple Heart hero shot a trophy bear here in BC. As it turns out, the McManns figured, rightly so, that I needed a bit of a break—some time to “flush out my headgear” and “get right with the world” again. As much as I hate to admit it, they were right.

I can’t thank them enough for the experience they provided during this soul-cleansing retreat. As Doug drove me back to the airport in Williams Lake, we relived the 4 day hunt over and over again, grinning from ear to ear after having just conducted the perfect “Mancation” (short for “Man Vacation”). Both Doug and I have dedicated our lives to serving others, providing world-class outdoor sporting adventures, for our respective professions. We discussed plans for our next rendezvous, the next ridgeline, and the next Canadian mission extraordinaire. We parted ways with handshake and unspoken promise to “Charlie Mike” code short for “Continue Mission.”

EDITOR’S NOTE You can reach Skinner Creek Hunts at 250.476.1288 or www.skinnercreekhunts.com

20 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

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Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 > 21

22 > Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013

Hunt for:

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Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 23

california dreaming

by Daryll Hosker

A

t the Grand Slam Club/Ovis in 2012, Marc Hubbard of Okanagan Outfitters had one of his coveted California bighorn hunts at the auction.

I am resident of BC, but I haven’t had much luck drawing a tag for California bighorn. After unsuccessfully trying to draw a tag in a good area for 20 plus years, I decided to purchase his hunt. I had hunted cats with Marc and Marcella approximately 15 years previous and knew the kind of company they run.

Marc was fine with me showing up 3 days before the season opened so I could be part of the pre-scouting that they were doing. For 3 days we hiked into the area and watched two rams that were in and out of the timber all day; these rams are definitely timber rams, which is why so much pre-scouting is necessary.

24 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

As we were watching the rams at approximately 400 yards that day, Marc came along to check on us, he asked what my comfortable shooting distance was.

I half-jokingly replied, “100 yards,” and then explained that I was less comfortable at 200 even less at 300 and that if we couldn’t get any closer than 400, then we all might as well go to the house if that was the best we could hunt. We all laughed and carried on.

The day before the season opened guides Brent Ryll and Richard Foyston and I finally found the rams after not seeing much of them all day, so we sat on them until dark.

The next morning we were up at 2:30a.m. and started the hike in to where we had left them the night before. As we got closer, we could hear them feeding towards us, so Brent and I set up on a trail that he thought they would come up on. I turned my scope down to 4.5 because if they came up the trail

that we were on, they would be about 5 or 6 yards when we first saw them.

While I was waiting for them to come up, Brent whispered in my ear, “Slowly turn to my right and shoot!” The big ram was standing broadside and staring at us, only 8 yards away. I quickly took the shot and all of the rams, including the wounded one, took off running. We started following the blood trail and, after about 50 yards, we could see where he fallen down over a rock face and we knew it was over.

The ram was 8 years old, with 14 1/8” bases and 34” long. Again, I’d like to thank Marc Hubbard of Okanagan Outfitters and his experienced crew, Brent and Richard, for another fun hunt.

EDITOR’S NOTE You can reach Okanagan Outfitters at 250.493.6293 or okout@telus.net

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Submit your photos to admin@goabc.org with the outfitterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s name and the species, score, and harvested date of your animal.

26 > Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013

Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013 < 27

co About Shane

e of is considered on Shane Mahoney ies on it or th rnational au the leading inte nation bi m tion. A rare co wildlife conserva er he ph ntist and philoso of historian, scie ildlife issues perspective to w ue iq un a gs in br diences and inspired au ed at iv ot m s ha that e 10 Most amed one of th N . ld or w e th around ationists by adian Conserv Influential Can d nominated a Magazine an ad an C or do ut O or Life e Year by Outdo for Person of th erous m s received nu Magazine, he ha ice g the Public Serv awards includin government lence from the el xc E of d ar w A and d and Labrador of Newfoundlan e Year by of rvationist th se on C l na io at Intern and raised rnational. Born Safari Club Inte s writings d he brings to hi an dl un fo ew N in ent to rural ound commitm of pr a es ur ct le and natural stainable use of su e th d an s ie societ fish. ing wildlife and resources, includ

Thank you to Sports Afield for permission to reprint this article.

28 > Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013

When the buffalo went away the hearts of my people fell to the ground and they could not lift them up again. After this nothing happened...

T

Chief of the Crow Nation, Plenty Coups, 1928

he American buffalo (or bison, more technically) may have been, at one time, the single most abundant large wild mammal on earth. The historical references to their immense herds are difficult to comprehend; such is the scale of their numbers and the sheer improbable spectacle the authors of these reports try to convey. Perhaps these images are also difficult for us to understand because they inevitably inspire in the sensitive reader a feeling of great sadness that such a wondrous prospect must now be denied us all,

conservation matters

™

with Shane Mahoney

The American Buffalo and the Death of Freedom forever. When Colonel RI Ridge rode through a herd amassed along the Arkansas River in 1871, he later reported to the great American conservationist, William T. Hornaday, that the animals stretched unbroken over a land area of 25 miles wide and 50 miles long. Experts believe that somewhere between four and twelve million animals were moving together in that awe-inspiring assembly, filling the air with their noise and dust and making the earth tremble with their passage.

By 1884, thirteen years after Ridge’s encounter, the buffalo was close to extinction. In the fading thunder of its passage, there would be a brutal reckoning for the Plains Indians of North America and the loss of a unique ecological system that the massive migratory herds of buffalo had helped to create and maintain. In a perverse way, these imposing realities and the haunting images of skinned buffalo carcasses rotting in the sun as far as the eye could see helped foster what we might

term “The Great Awakening.” For out of this cultural mayhem and animal slaughter, the seeds of a conservation ethic arose that would eventually coalesce into the programs, institutions and policies that today we recognize as the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation. How can we make sense of this irony?

Indeed, how do we measure our own view of history when it often appears we are more alarmed at the loss of the buffalo than the human populations and READ MORE ON PAGE 30 Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 29

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 29

incredible societies that depended upon them? Yet, we must ask, who has ever again spoken as eloquently for the buffalo as the Plains Indians whose lives were entwined around them? In modern terms, is the whitetailed deer more important than the traditions and culture of the modern American hunter?

And, if the American hunter disappears, who will argue so strongly for the deer?

Surely the great lesson, so hard won, is that human traditions depend ultimately upon nature, just as do human economies and modern day nations.

Lying in the shadow of this revelation is a second lesson: that human cultures and traditions will be the driving force behind the conservation of nature.

For the indigenous peoples who pursued the great migratory herds such a dependency was not only recognized but glorified, in their customs, religion and entire way of life. Dependence on the natural world was not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength and wisdom. For so many of those nations, like the Blackfoot, the Dakota, the Comanche and the Crow, the Cheyenne and Tonkawa, the Gros Ventre, the

Wichita and Arapaho, and numerous others as well, life was a nomadic existence at the centre of which was the buffalo, irreplaceable and essential to their lives. True, the Plains Indians hunted other animals, but it was the buffalo that formed the linchpin of their survival, so much so that the elimination of the great beast was the most certain way of destroying these nations. These were warrior peoples who, like generations of Americans to follow, proved determined and capable in defending their way of life and the homelands they cherished. So it was necessary that a combination of white settlement, market hunting, railroad expansion, and military operations eventually, over a thirty year period and more, brought both the predictable buffalo and the elusive Plains Indians to their knees. In their passing, some measure of the world’s freedom disappeared.

In the loss of this great intimacy between man and nature, we have inherited one of the most agonizing lessons of our own history as North Americans. Somehow figures like President Ulysses Grant and General Philip Sheridan could enthusiastically recommend against on of British Columbia Buffalo Bill Cody’s (and The Guide Outfitters Associati damental shift among others’) attempts to save (GOABC) wants to start a fun all ut abo ing car to ng nti the buffalo. They did so hunters from caring about hu e car lers ang to pave the way for and tle cat ut abo wildlife. Ranchers care ir the ranchers and domestic ut abo e only car about fish, but hunters seem to livestock, and force tted to the responsible use sport. Hunters must be commi the once proud nate about preserving of wildlife resources and passio indigenous peoples The GOABC is a strong s. cie spe fe dli wil of into dependency ity ers div a rvation nse Co fe ldli Wi can eri Am of a woeful kind. rth supporter of the No be uld sho nce scie and And along the Model, which stipulates that law rs nte hu way, they assisted of ult res the is manage wildlife. This model the railroad barons . ion to conservat and anglers who were dedicated who disliked the es louder, it becomes As anti-hunting pressure becom troublesome buffalo e the

tinue and enhanc increasingly important to con ionist. legacy of the hunter conservat

30 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

which sometimes impeded the passage of trains or caused damage in collisions.

We are left wondering if there was not a better way.

What if we had listened to the rightly famous portrait artist George Catlin when he suggested in the 1830s that a great Nation’s Park for Buffalo and Native Americans be established in the still wild and expansive west? Perhaps today we would yet see vast herds moving across wide expanses; landscapes made most productive by working with what nature provided rather than what we forced upon it. Perhaps we would still marvel at those extraordinary peoples who were recognized (even by their enemies) as the greatest horsemen the world had ever known and whose ability to live within nature was extraordinary and beautiful in the truest sense of the words. Certainly changes would have come but they might have been more measured, more considerate of our inability to recreate what had emerged so naturally and which so naturally inspired those who might look upon it unfettered by greed and prejudice. So, regrettably for indigenous cultures and for the once-teeming buffalo, such ideas were to remain largely unknown until it was all but too late.

There are many lessons residing in this great misfortune; lessons we should ponder as we consider the future of our own wildlife treasures…and the treasured tradition of hunting. Is it necessary for us to lose something sacred before we can achieve something great?

There are always alternatives open to us as individuals and societies and we will be hard-pressed to find in history examples of where preserving nature has been the poorer choice. We may arrogantly assume we are less dependent on nature now than in the time of the Plains Indians, but we will still expect

the land to provide us fresh water and food and look to nature to maintain the intricate cycles necessary to sustain our lives and our economies. Bees may seem insignificant to buffalo, but will we pollinate our world by hand as these small creatures continue their drastic decline?

The reality is that without these systems left intact, wildlife will not be part of our future and so hunting itself will end. In the absence of these things, we will find this world less compatible to our nature and less inspiring to our cultures. Thus we will lose a sacred and irretrievable part of ourselves.

In such a world we will undoubtedly remark, as Chief Plenty Coups did so long ago, that something significant was lost from our lives and that our “hearts fell to the ground.” Even more tragically, however, we may also state that afterwards “nothing happened.”

Of course, if our wildlife abundance is squandered and our hunting tradition is lost, things will still happen. The question is, how meaningful will they be compared to the wondrous lives afield that we have known? Apparently they were not of much meaning to Plenty Coups.

Not one day should pass without us

fighting to preserve our wildlife legacy and our cherished traditions within it. For, like the Plains Indians, we too understand there is an unbroken line between our hunting enterprise and the wildlife we pursue, and that between them flow a shared, inseparable future. Let governments take the stands they might; let the captains of industry move as they wish. The history of North American achievement is written by the individual’s hand. Every hunter has a responsibility to this, our greatest challenge: keeping the wild others with us so we may preserve freedom and wildness in ourselves.

Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 31

32 > Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013

Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013 < 33

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34 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

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Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

> 35

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Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 37

two spent cartridges

by Scott Unger

38 > Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013

It was as if the creator himself had been angry that day and had gouged into the belly of the mountain with a mighty hand, crushing its contents and scattering them like broken glass on the valley floor below. My guide, Brain Hubschmidt, and I peered into the aftermath—giant jumbled boulders amongst scraggly patches of dwarf black spruce, building-sized columns and spires of lichen and grass-capped igneous rock, all framed by jagged cliffs and chutes that dropped off into the glacial stream far below.

If there is a sheep heaven, this might have been it. Yet, for some inexplicable reason—despite the grazed off slopes with their carpet of sheep pellets, despite the hundreds of beds and the hammered out trails that wove through the escarpments, despite the musky scent that lingered thick in the air—not a single sheep was to be seen. Not a ewe, not a lamb, and most importantly, not a single Stone ram was to be seen. Period.

READ MORE ON PAGE 40

Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 39

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 39

The worst part? It was already the last day of my much much-coveted Stone sheep hunt with Simpson Stone Sheep. Brian had saved this mountain for last. This was supposed to be our ace in the hole, our backup mountain: guaranteed rams up there, no doubt, no question. We had seen them from another mountain, all throughout the week. Yet there we were, peering into a moonscape so devoid of life it bordered on maddening.

It wasn’t as if we hadn’t seen our share of sheep over the previous twelve days. We had spotted at least six rams that were either legal or very close to legal, but we hadn’t spotted the “no-brainer” trophy ram that I had dreamed of. There was one dark old ram that I gladly would have shot, but he was very wise and, even at 400 yards, refused to give us any kind of quality opportunity and was quick to leave the scene with five satellite rams in tow.

I lowered my binoculars for a second and took a deep breath of resignation, “Well Brian, we did our best.” “Yeah, you guys worked hard,” Brian responded, “I wish the result had been a little different.”

Brian, not much for words, kept glassing.

We had worked hard. My good friend Kevin Rozdeba (who was running camera) and I, along with Brian and wrangler Bart Duhamel, had worked our butts off during the past two weeks, covering every mountain in this area, leaving no stone unturned.

We had lost two days to rain and fog, but otherwise hunted every minute of every day. We had been up close and personal with sheep, goats, giant bull moose and two record-class mountain caribou. We had averaged probably 12 miles per day on horseback and nearly the same on foot.

The horses had been good for us but, even with us alternating them every day, they were dog tired. This morning my steed had powered out climbing a steep hogsback, nearly flipping us both over backward, so I hiked the next couple miles to give him a break.

As I pondered what we could have done differently, I happened to glance down

40 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

to my boots. “Brian, check this out,” I whispered hoarsely. Raising one eyebrow, Brian glanced in my direction. Mere inches from my left foot were two spent cartridges laying side-by-side on a little shelf of rock. In disbelief, I slowly bent down and scooped them up. Just to find them was a fluke. My mind was racing. Someone had been here before us. Hell, someone had killed a ram from this very same perch. “300 WSM” I read—the very same cartridge I was shooting. I looked around as if someone was there still watching me.

Who had shot from here and when? I pondered. Good chance it was a younger generation of sheep hunter, given the recent introduction of the short mag.

The old schoolers would more likely have shot a 308, maybe a 280 Ackley improved, perhaps even a 7mm mag. Judging from the limited amount of tarnish on the brass, they had lain here for eight or nine years, maybe less. The cartridges had been placed on the rock, inches apart.

That’s one cool cat, I thought, shoots a trophy ram and still takes the time to gather his shells and leave his signature. Probably shot his ram right on that bench down there—lucky guy! I pictured an early forties

male, silver tinted hair and whisker—lean, fit, maybe clad in Scent-lok—too early for Sitka and Kenetreks. Take the shot, I can hear the guide whisper, take him now!

I jerk my head up and quickly scan the bowl through my binoculars, but it is empty... disturbingly empty.

Not getting my ram was a tough pill to swallow, heck it had only been a year since I had failed on a bighorn sheep hunt in southern BC; we had seen 36 different rams but not one legal one, some were so close to full curl it was heartbreaking. But, needless to say, this is and always will be hunting, and it is important to be graceful in defeat.

And sometimes keeping your chin up can result in rare opportunities—like, for instance, your outfitter offering you three extra days of hunting out of the goodness of their hearts. I never would have guessed it, but Frank and Cindy Simpson of Simpson Stone Sheep Ltd. did just that.

There was a three day gap between hunting parties, but the new guides were coming into the Windy Point base camp early, so Frank suggested that I stay and gamble everything on three days in a new area with the new guides. Both Kevin and Brian

Hubschmidt had to leave—Brian’s flight from Whitehorse to Calgary was booked, and Kevin’s son was leaving for college and he wanted to see him off. I almost declined Frank’s offer but, after being encouraged by both my wife and my father via satellite phone, we figured I’d gone too far to turn back now.

The next thing I knew, I was riding with gung-ho guides Arlon Minue and Logan Nelson up high into a very ominous range of snow-capped mountains. Our destination was a mountain called “Angel’s Peak.”

The horses plodded higher and higher through heavy skies and a steady downpour. We rode along on the rim of a cliff that dropped off 500 feet into a roaring river.

After three hours, we crossed the river and climbed up onto a bench. All of us, including the horses, were totally drenched.

Arlon wanted to climb as high as we could with the horses to get us as close as possible to sheep country. We soon left the treeline and rode steadily for another hour. Wet, cold, and hungry—there would be no fire CONTINUED ON PAGE 48 Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 41

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 41

tonight. I dwelled more than briefly on the thought of Cindy’s homemade cinnamon buns—melted brown sugar drizzled over gooey layers of sweet bread dough amply embedded with plump dark raisins— why didn’t we pack some? What were we thinking?

Then it became obvious that we would be riding no further. We were surrounded on three sides by impassable peaks shrouded in cloud and fog. Quickly and wordlessly we pitched two pup tents on the only piece of level ground we could find—beside an icy rushing stream. All the saddles and blankets were stacked on a flat rock and tarped to keep them from getting any wetter. Logan hobbled the five horses and cut them loose in a bowl to graze. Arlon boiled water for Mountain House as we quickly discussed our plan for morning.

All the while, the fog was dropping lower and lower.

42 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

Sleep consisted of bouts of shivering and reusing putrid sleeping bag air to stay warm, followed by fitful bouts of semiconsciousness. Needless to say, daylight could not come soon enough. At some point during the night the pattering on the tent walls diminished and, just as I had surmised, the rain had turned to snow.

Three inches of the white stuff blanketed the mountain and the fog was thicker than ever. Arlon and Logan quickly got the propane stove going and we wolfed down some more Mountain House and a few granola bars. Arlon surprised me by proposing we climb to the top of Angel’s Peak in the hope that the weather would break. I was desperately game to climb, but at the same time skeptical because at the moment you couldn’t see 20 yards ahead.

the wind. For the first time, I felt my age plus about another 40 years. After two hours of shivering and shaking, the fog hadn’t lifted a bit, so I told Arlon and Logan I wouldn’t hold it against them if we quit for the day.

We picked our way down slowly, Arlon leading and me in the rear. Arlon slipped and fell, Logan, nimble as a goat, also hit the ground, and just like teamwork—my feet shot out from under me and instantly I was down with a metallic thunk. “Noooo” I groaned. Arlon and Logan turned around to see me picking myself off of my rifle. I had landed so hard on it that I dented the tube around the ocular lens. Neither guide commented on the obvious. If my scope was busted, we were done, and unless the fog lifted there would be no way to check my alignment.

The jumbled rock was treacherous and the shale was slick, so it was nearly noon before we got to the top. All three of us huddled behind a large boulder trying to stay out of

Down at spike camp, we cooked up some beef stroganoff for the last time. I struggled for words. “Well gentlemen, it looks like we gambled and we lost. I’m sorry for putting

you guys through this torture before you next hunt kicks off.” Arlon and Logan both looked disappointed but Arlon rallied, “Hell, it doesn’t look good, but we’ve still got seven or eight hours to hunt tomorrow if this dang weather would just give us a break.”

“Yeah, but let’s face it, those last day success stories are rare, and I’m already into my second overtime,” I said. But as daylight grew dim, it was revealed that each of us had a story to tell about a last day hunt gone good. Arlon’s was a Dall sheep ram in the northernmost part of the Yukon, Logan’s was a bull elk right here in Frank’s area, and mine was about a bull moose in the Porcupine forest of Saskatchewan. It’s funny though, telling our stories helped keep that little flicker of hope burning.

I awoke on Day 16 to the clang of our single pot on the propane stove. It’s always the duty of the first man up to get the water boiling and this morning Logan was up first. “How’s it look out there?” I croaked from the confines of my mummy bag. “I think it might be breaking up top,” Logan offered in his slow, southern Alberta cowboy drawl. Crawling from my tent, I could hardly believe it: there were breaks in the clouds where we could see the first glimmers of daylight and the fog was going up instead of down. Arlon, all business, told us what we already knew, “Let’s hurry and get to the top for sunrise.”

“

Hell, it doesn’t look good, but we’ve still got seven or eight hours tomorrow if this dang weather would just give us a break.

”

I could not have imagined a more beautiful sunrise. The heavily snowcovered peaks glistened like diamonds in stark contrast to the lush reinvigorated green of the valleys below. Half a mile below us a tiny turquoise jewel of a glacial lake nestled in the bosom of Angel’s Peak and an adjoining mountain. But there would be no time for sightseeing today, if we were going to make this thing happen.

Both Logan and Arlon broke out their spotting scopes and started working real estate on a grid system. After an hour, the consensus was mutual, there was not a sheep to be seen.

We quickly decided to drop down to the little lake and climb the very steep shale

slope to the east so we could look into the next valley. The mid-morning sun dried our clothes, giving us new energy.

In another hour we were looking into a bowl so lush it looked as if it could pasture a hundred head of wild mustangs. We shredded that valley with our optics—to no avail. It was empty.

“Logan—what time is it?” I asked.

“Ten after twelve,” he answered as he grabbed the toilet paper out of his pack and headed back over the ridge. I knew we were supposed to be back at spike at 2:00 p.m., breaking camp and packing horses. We had a minimum four and a half hour ride back to Windy Point base camp. Arlon and Logan had multiple hunters flying in the next morning and I was supposed to be on that same flight out. But my two young guides were giving me every minute of hunting they could. Arlon looked up from his spotting scope “I can’t believe there’s no sheep here—this valley should be crawling with ’em.”

It’s over, I thought to myself. Just then, Logan returned from a ten minute hiatus and said four words that made my heart pound, “Three rams over there!”

“What?” I stammered in disbelief.

“Three rams, and one looks pretty good,” Logan stated matter-of-factly.

“Any legal?” I asked in further disbelief, not daring to get my hopes up.

“Might be one,” Logan replied grabbing his spotting scope, “we need to get on ’em, they’re on the move!”

I don’t know if three guys could move faster, but we had three sets of glasses on those rams in a minute. I don’t know where they had come from, but they were there, milling around about 2,500 feet lower than us and a good mile south. But what I could see in an instant, however, was that one ram was a beautiful, mature, thick-horned legal Stone ram! I have only seen two things more beautiful in my life, my wife on our wedding day and my newborn son in my arms.

“Well,” he said “we better get moving if CONTINUED ON PAGE 44 Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 43

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 43

you’re gonna catch that plane tomorrow.”

We quickly slid up and over our mountain and out of sight. Even with our thirty pound packs, we ran, side-hilling through the loose shale down to the boulder field below. Somehow we were still exposed to the rams when we came around the base of the mountain, so we worked our way right into the channel of the roaring creek.

The willows gave us cover and the rush of the water hid the noise of our approach. We were now 1,500 yards below the rams and closing in fast. They were up and feeding now and moving in a northerly direction.

Within one hour of the initial sighting, we were 660 yards below the rams. While

44 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

I have killed animals at that range before, this was a different setting. Watching the rams from our hiding spot, I’m pretty sure the swirling updrafts must’ve carried our scent up. They started acting really nervous and quickly turned back south, gaining elevation every minute. All we could do was wait until the rams disappeared around the mountain before we could make our move.

It was 3:00 p.m. when the rams disappeared from sight. We climbed as hard and as fast as our lungs and legs would carry us. Oddly enough, their tracks were quite visible in the shale and broken moss, and were accompanied by smoking fresh droppings.

In 20 minutes we were at the point where the rams had disappeared. We pushed as if our lives depended on it; if the rams got over the top, we’d never see them again.

I feared that the clattering shale and heavy breathing from our approach had blown the rams out. But suddenly Logan spotted a young ram rising from his bed near the top of the mountain. Its eyes were glued to ours. Everything seemed to go into slow motion. Logan threw his pack down in the shale and I wrestled mine off, pausing to wipe off the sweat that’d been pouring into my eyes.

I’d been waiting 16 days for this and it was hard to believe that it might actually

happen. My heart was pounding in my ears like a sledgehammer and my breath came in gasps. Arlon used his tripod like a bipod for the spot, jamming the legs into the shale—no time for fine adjustments now. The second 5 year old ram jumped up as I nestled my 300 Tikka into Logan’s pack. My rest was wobbly, but there was no time to create another.

And then, like a dream, my ram leapt up onto a big rock and turned broadside.

I will never forget his majestic, free, wild and prominent stance.

“Take him, take him now,” Arlon shoutwhispered in desperation. I squeezed and we heard that “whoomph” of a solid hit. I heard my brass hit the rocks. “Hit ’em again,” Arlon instructed. I squeezed again, and the ram

was down. Arlon and Logan started hootin’ and hollerin’ and slapping me on the back. I let them know the ram was was much theirs as mine. We did it. We did it!

The 9½ year old broomed ram tumbled a half mile down a steep chute, somehow managing to not break his horns. After 29 3/4 full days of sheep hunting, I finally had my third ram. Before I took the shot, we were all wondering whether or not my fall had damaged the scope. Fortunately, the only damage from my fall the day before was cosmetic.

We ended up riding out in the middle of the night under the light of a blue moon, crossing the river in total darkness at 2:00 a.m.

What an adventure! I felt we had accomplished something next to impossible.

Thanks to Frank and Cindy Simpson for their outstanding commitment to making their hunters’ dreams come true, and to Logan and Arlon for their desperate efforts to help me get that beautiful Stone on the last hour of the last day of our hunt.

And now, come to think of it, my two spent cartridges are still up there on the mountain….

EDITOR’S NOTE You can reach Simpson Stone Sheep Ltd. at 403.625.2150 or www.simpsonstonesheep.com

Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 > 45

46 > Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013

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Mountain Hunter â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Winter 2013 > 47

romancing the moose

by Patrick Vaughn

I

t was cold and snowing hard, and I could see the bull moose standing on a small knoll about 300 yards away. With the falling snow and early morning light he was just a black silhouette. The guide outfitter, Allan Tew, gave a long low cow call. The moose lowered his head, shook his antlers and began trotting in our direction...

I was hunting in British Columbia with Allan Tew, owner and operator of Chilanko Forks Outfitters. He operates a hunting concession about 120 miles west of Williams Lake, BC and has a wide assortment of big game animals in it. I’ve known Allan since 2005 and it was my third time hunting moose with him. He always provides a great camp, good food and a friendly atmosphere. Allan likes his clients to feel at home and tries to make you comfortable.

Allan’s clients come in on Sunday, hunt Monday through Friday and go home on Saturday.

If you arrive early on a Sunday, you may get an extra afternoon hunt in. That’s a good way to get to know your horse and how he’ll ride during the week of hunting.

On a side note, I have a little tradition with Allan’s horses. Until I’ve been there a day or so I almost always get my foot caught in the stirrup and fall on my rear. Like I told Allan the first time, “Well, I’m glad the ground was there to break my fall.” On Monday I went out and, as usual, I got my foot hung up and the horse sidestepped and down I went.

When we got back into camp that afternoon, I discovered my truck keys were missing.

I thought I had put them in my vest pocket, but they weren’t there. I didn’t panic immediately, first going through all my bags and clothes searching for the truck keys. The next morning I rode back to where I had fallen and searched that area again. Still no keys.

On Tuesday Allan and I rode out together and scouted and hunted all day and saw nothing but a few cows. I was beginning to think I’d forgotten to pack my good luck! After we rode in that evening, I decided to tear my stuff apart one last time for the keys. I searched my truck’s front seat top to bottom, looked underneath the seat then in the back seat. I was thinking “there’s no way the keys could be in the backseat” as I had looked thoroughly the day before.

And then it dawned on me: I hadn’t looked in my boots, so I grabbed them, shook them

48 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

and I was right…there was nothing there. However, as I started to set them down I saw a small glimmer of light on metal, “no way” I thought but, luckily enough, there were my keys. How they ended up on the floor in the back of my truck, I have no idea, but I didn’t care: my luck was turning for the better. I felt a ton of weight lift off me. I went to Allan’s cabin and knocked, when Allan opened the door I jiggled the keys in his face and told him, “We’re going to get a moose tomorrow.” Allan was almost as happy as I was. About that time, dinner was ready so we went in and I stuffed myself since my appetite had returned.

After dinner Allan looked toward the sunset and remarked that it looked like we were going to have a change in the weather too. He said it was going to get colder. I liked that idea since the moose would be moving as it gets colder closer to the rut.

It was a clear cool night and the sunset was beautiful. I went to bed and dreamed of large antlers and lots of fresh moose in my freezer. I woke up around midnight and stepped outside.

A change in the weather indeed: there was 5 inches of snow on the ground and more coming down. I thought “oh well, they’ll be easier to track” and went back to bed.

After breakfast the next morning Allan and I rode out to a different area that hadn’t been hunted in a while.

We rode through several meadows and each time we would use the same approach: stop the horses, sneak up to the edge of the meadow, Allan would employ his best lonely cow call, and strain our ears listening for an answer.

We saw a cow and calf at the second meadow. Even with 5 inches of snow on the ground and us being as quiet as possible, that cow and calf were locked in on us like they had radar.

We rode on to the third meadow and saw nothing. At the fourth meadow I was using my Bushnell Vantage Pro Rangefinder to get

distances when I heard Allan making hissing noises, I turned to him and planned to ask if he was leaking air…and then I saw his eyes. He pointed and very softly said “moose.”

I had to lean back to look past an evergreen tree in front of me. That’s when I saw the moose described at the beginning of this story. Allan gave a cow call and the moose began trotting in our direction. Allan whispered for me to get ready and said that the moose would come along the tree line right to us. I was getting excited and checked the safety on my rifle.

I was carrying my Remington 30.06 with 180 grain Remington Core-Lokt ammo. About 150 yards away, the moose slowed and started to turn into the trees. Allan whispered that the moose would try and circle around us to get the wind in his favor. Allan wasn’t going to have any of that: he turned his back to the moose and gave off a soft moan, as if the cow was leaving.

I once saw a hunting show featuring Allan and Jim Zumbo, a noted outdoorsman and author who has his own Outdoor Channel show.

During the show featuring Allan, Jim remarked that Allan’s moose calling abilities had a “romantic quality.” He can sweet talk a rutting moose out of the brush at a trot.

When Allan called softly, that moose changed directions and came straight in along the tree line. He stopped at what we later measured as 38 yards.

I could see the whites of his eyes and the individual hairs on his head and neck. Even I couldn’t miss at that range, so I shot him behind the shoulder. He started to run and Allan said, “Hit him again” so I fired a second round and the moose dropped about 87 yards from us. No tracking involved.

We waited a few minutes to give him time to expire and high fived and slapped each other on the back to celebrate. When we approached “Bullwinkle” we realized just how large he really was. He was battle-scarred

CONTINUED ON PAGE 50 Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 < 49

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 49

and a tine on his left antler had been broken off in a fight. We took some pictures before getting to work. I shot him at about 6:45 a.m. and by 12:30 p.m. or so we had had him field butchered and loaded on the horses. That’s when I learned that if the horses are packing meat, the humans have to walk out; the horses can’t carry both, which I suppose is fair. By 4:30 p.m. we had made the four to five mile walk back to camp and got the meat hung on the meat pole.

Later I discovered that I had lost my rangefinder, since I hadn’t attached the safety line to my harness. It had fallen out of the carrier and dropped into the snow. We looked and couldn’t find it.

During the long walk back to camp I was

50 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

following Allan and the horses and lagging a bit. I kept myself going with thoughts that since it was the first heavy snow, the bears would be looking to fatten up before hibernating. So, with that in mind, I managed to keep a fairly steady pace.

Later at the sportsman show Allan smirked and said he knew something he wasn’t sure he was going to tell me. I looked at him and said, “You can tell me anything, we’re friends.” Allan told me that two or three days after I left, he had taken a new hunter out to that same area where I had harvested my moose. Following our old tracks, Allan found a place where a large grizzly bear had intersected our trail and backtracked the blood trail to dine on the moose carcass. Yikes! That bear could have

just as easily trailed us back to camp. That would have been a little too exciting!

Now for the good news…the next year Allan was hunting that same area with his wife Denise, looking for a winter moose and on the way back through that same meadow Allan noticed an object in the snow. My rangefinder! It had lay there all year—through rain, wind, and snow, the whole gamut of Canadian weather—and still worked after it had dried and the battery was replaced. Maybe I am luckier than I thought!

EDITOR’S NOTE You can reach Chilanko Forks Outfitters at 250.296.4773 or www.chilankoforksoutfitters.com

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t (Hap) Bowden er b o R y d ed T l ie Dan cember 11, 2012 November 1, 1922 – De

ew up. At 15 he Valley where he gr er as Fr e th s to ed ily soon mov dian Armed Force a stint in the Cana rta in 1922. His fam be en th Al , , ka rts ng ni no po ur Po tal ret in as co e. Upon Hap was born lds, then onto the hospitalized for a tim e prairie harvest fie was wounded and he a dog team but to , th pe wi ro a left home—first th Eu are in ar er as a dispatch rid cting in the Cassi , pe ere os pr wh II er nt W wi W g xt durin spent the ne d his half-brother ar after the war, he an al sawmill for a ye . gs hungry do ere he worked at loc wh el, ain nt esn ou Qu M to no avail save some oo ed with Carib after they head ing career in 1953 have d Clara, and shortly he began his guid ere In 1949 he marrie his wife, Lori, who Th d k. an ee ad Cr Br er n av so Be s hi on to ty ea er ar op guide before buying pr when he sold the he ran until 1977, British Outfitters, which gged wilderness of en.

Bowden, in the ru p “It is Ha u. d rea an operated it since th ud a ar Bo k Cl , written by Jac g adventures of ms in ea az Dr am d ess an ttle ern se es ild to nc d decided biography W The life experie an fifty years ago an en detailed in their th be e or ve n m ha tio e , ur no ior e nt ter th ve in ld” and ad epitomized Columbia’s inded couple truly came looking for “go o t-m by wh s en le ar nd up ye pe co ty de a fif in of er g, the story sh for ov n. This stron survived in the bu e edge of civilizatio d their family and ise ra ng.” permanently on th hi lly fis fu a ess -se cc ep su recently, de d” for they with mining, and, more g, of “living off the lan gin log g, in strumental, along in pp s tra guiding, 1966 and he wa in y. ed str m du for in es ranching, hunting, ng id idi Western Gu e for the gu iginal members of ter security of tenur or ea e gr th n of tai e y ob on pp s to ha wa ng of Hap rs in helpi l fit. Scores o Rutledge and othe siness was a natura bu ng idi gu e th Albert Cooper, Le so ‘do his own thing,’ edom and room to to that.

Hap valued his fre deer trophies attest ule m magnificent of gs in str d an ers hunt

ank) Campsall (H n o rd o G n li k n Fra 1935 – June 8, 2013 February 1,

earliest exploits from what it is today. His ent fer dif y ver s wa ich school that year t Kootenay wh Hank grew up in an Eas ch at age 14, after leaving ran cow 130 —a self him wild horses r a winter, by est Service rounding up included care-taking—ove Hank working for the For saw rs yea of g. zin ple gra cou tle ing cat to make way for for good. The follow last herds of feral horses the of ges ran wn Cro got an area from Canal thereby clearing the erience, he applied for and exp of rs yea 5 and ses d of hor ek, the White River, In 1963, at 28, with 25 hea er drainage, the Dewar Cre Riv yie Mo the ned ow he succession s successful in helping to Flats to Spillamachin. In as. He fought for and wa are ek Cre a TaT and ek dley Cre ries he owned during the Wild Horse River, Fin ported most of the territo sup ich wh , ncy rva nse rness Co as had not been seen establish the Purcell Wilde a track record for success ing ish abl est and a are h eloping eac ern BC. his guiding career. By dev ding business in Southeast lding wealth into the gui bui in e rol key a yed pla before, Hank tiatives of several local and acquisition for wildlife ini d lan the of ter active por sup ive ernational. He played an Hank was an avid and act Chapter of Safari Club Int BC the ed ting tiat ini hun e He . ups s of the selectiv national conservation gro of the strongest supporter one s wa and ce our res e dlif role in promoting the wil elk and moose. nagement, particularly for ma ate gul best of un d wil to ch approa ld recite poetry with the an living fellow, Hank cou cle ise erw oth but ng nki A heavy smoking and dri over nightly campfires. ntless clients and friends cou ed ain ert ent years, including and m the did not master in his 78 de or a profession that he tra a of y wa ranching, rodeo g, the vin in dri ch There wasn’t mu carpentering, truck g, win gro lon me ter wa s tree farming, land surveying, Christma g. s that the East Kootenay riding, and guidin horsemen and elk hunter tain un mo t bes the of one Hank was a guide’s guide— ed. ever produc

54 > Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013

IN MEMORY Cooper Albert Bernard be r 28, 2012 cem November 13, 1924 – De

ter and one of the last uncompromising charac of r aze ilbl tra a as ed ber ley. At 16, he began Albert Cooper is remem shape the Columbia Val to ped hel o wh rs ure ent area of Mount in a line of old guard adv on, in the Simpson River Nix lter Wa er fitt out for ler s and mentor working as a horse wrang the business after his bos sed cha pur ert Alb en Th Park. hout his life Assiniboine Provincial and was involved throug t class licence since 1953, firs a d hel had he so ay passed aw ns. vincial guides associatio in the local and then pro Columbia Guides son, repres ented the der An Dix r, tne par ling de outfitters Alb ert and his travel 1967, which led to gui meetings in Victoria in ly ear l cia Columbia’s cru tish in Bri on Associati ers’ key role in ognition of guide outfitt rec the became and ert Alb ure 0s, ten receiving in the late 197 Guides came into being rn the sat on Sou ert As Alb ry. ust rs, tourism ind Over the yea h those formative years. oug thr m ittee” the mm ded Co gui ans president and “Ways and Me C committees like the AB GO the and s on ide ngs Gu thi rn various Weste fortable doing t Albert was most com Bu e.” itte g mm rin Co du ts rns jec ho and “Special Pro to Ko otenay big medicated apple mash g din fee ed lud inc ground, which ending the die-offs. marily relating to def n to conser vat ion, pri tio ica ded m the and fro rk n wo itio Alb ert’s hard s and recogn ned him many award ear ep, she rn Grand ho big and , the habitats of ep Foundation stern FNAWS, Wild She Ea e lik ies h the nit wit ter fra ur, ert’s hono sheep hunting ication was made in Alb ded l cia spe a 0, Being .

200 BC In m in Radium, Slam Club/O vis. tute Heading for Radiu sta nze bro n hor loved big he ge n in the valley unveiling of the lar to receive such recognitio ved mo ply dee s wa he a ver y modest man, ible so well. tic braider, had an incred fessions; he was a fantas pro and nts tale but ny an ma rsm of dworking outdoo Albert was a man of wildlife, was always a har dge wle kno tic ped tas hel fan ert s, Alb way with horses and iness well into his late ‘70 outfitting. Running his bus st in preserving ere int his and his greatest love was guide at untry he loved. Th kco bac the to ple peo of to introduce hundreds legacy. the wild sheep will be his

BACKGROUND PHOTO BY GARY ALVIS, ISTOCKPHOTO.COM

Mountain Hunter – Winter 2013 > 55

PHOTO FROM STOCKPHOTO.COM

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