TIED TO NATURE
THE BIG GAME ISSUE
MOUNTAIN MEN AND MR. MURPHY • GROUSE ABOVE THE SMOKE FEAST AND FAMINE • LOST BEARS THE FAIREST CHASE • NO GLORY FOR THE TIMID WINTER WHEAT • POCKET COVERTS ON A SNOWY MORNING • LETTING THE SOUL GO
WINTER 2021 DISPLAY UNTIL MARCH 7, 2022
INDEPENDENT, PASSIONATE, UNCOMPROMISING STRUNG MAGAZINE
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“We lose ourselves in the things we love. We find ourselves there too.” —Fred Bear When Michael Henry wants to get to the hunt, he gets there by any means necessary. Here, he rides his bike, longbow and all, through downtown Livingston, Montana to get to his deer hotspot on the Yellowstone River. Photo: Jeff Moore
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“The real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” —Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time Mike Lovewell filters water from a small creek after a long hike into the Idaho backcountry on a September elk hunt. Photo: Ryan Sparks
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Contents
WINTER 2021 MOUNTAIN MEN AND MR. MURPHY – Words by Ryan Efurd, Photos by Ryan Lee “The Dhorpatan Hunting Reserve is the only hunting area in Nepal. Established in 1987, the Dhorpatan covers 512 square miles and only issues 20 licenses per year for blue sheep. I was lucky enough to get one of the coveted tags with the help of Greg Brownlee of Neal and Brownlee, who specialize in the complex logistics of organizing hunts like these. Greg had been talking to me about Nepal for years, touting it as the ultimate mountain hunt. After dreaming about it for years it was finally time to make it happen.” FEAST AND FAMINE – Jay Beyer “Each day seemed like groundhog day: Wake up before dawn. Hike to the glassing knob. Make coffee and watch the sunrise. Spot a grizzly in the distance working toward the caribou carcass. Scare off the grizzly. Eat lunch. Do more glassing. Walk back to camp. Eat dinner. Wish we had more whiskey. Go to sleep. Several days went by like this, and our hopes of seeing more caribou diminished. This is the reality of hunting migrating caribou: It’s feast or famine. One day there are thousands of caribou streaming over the tundra, and the next it’s a desolate wasteland.” A BRITISH COLUMBIA, BOONE AND CROCKETT BILLY – A Photo Essay by Nick Trehearne “Only halfway through the second day of hunting, while the three of us were still in our Crocs, Lindsay’s rifle rang out throughout the valley.” LOST BEARS – Words by Dave Zoby, Photos by Natalie Behring “In most cases, poaching occurs when people are seeking a trophy, notoriety, or money— like in Vince’s case—for horns. The antlers and capes are taken in these situations. But the Island Park bears were not killed for a trophy. The carcasses were left to rot. These crimes seemed more akin to extreme acts of vandalism, like setting fire to the Ebenezer Baptist Church or taking a sledgehammer to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. […] The bear killers of Island Park represented a whole new breed, I said.” WINTER WHEAT – Tom Carroll “The return to the truck was solemn, the Lab trotting at heel, his master retreating into the sorrowful realization that it was truly over now until the Indian summer days of early October renewed them. The inescapable biologic justifications for closed seasons notwithstanding, he couldn’t escape this annual postseason funk. But in the end he realized that in part, this very fact gave the fall months their magic.” THE FAIREST CHASE – Andrew McKean “As I stand in what I expect is the late middle of an unexpected career as a hunter, it occurs to me that of all the animals I’ve hunted, antelope deserve the fairest death. It also occurs to me that I’ve learned everything I know about the West, and somewhat less about myself, on my knees watching the pillow-white asses of pronghorns canter away.” POCKET COVERTS – Tom Keer “What is best about pocket coverts is that they provide a sense of intimacy. Bird patterns are easily detected, especially when the woodcock consistently land in the patch where the stacked, stone wall meets the seep. […] Foundations, family plots, abandoned harrows, and tractors dot the landscape. We learn every square inch of the small patch; we know it in our bones, and it is as soothing as a well-worn pair of hunting boots. And like our boots, each pocket covert has its own unique story to tell.”
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BIG GAME GEAR GUIDE – Strung Staff Where and what we hunt varies from year to year. Some years we get lucky and draw tags that take a decade or more to get. Other years we buy over-the-counter tags and hunt close to home. Sometimes it’s deer and others it’s moose. It’s nice to have versatile gear that works wherever and whenever we hunt. In this year’s Big Game Gear Guide, we bring you a selection of gear that is as versatile as it is excellent. RATIONS AND INTOXICANTS: THE FUEL-SAVING HAY BOX – Jenny Nguyen-Wheatley “In 1941, the British government ordered the rationing of coal as more miners were called to serve in the war, and by March 1942, gas, electricity, and other fuel oils were added to the list. Civilians had to get creative not only with what they ate but also with how they cooked it: Simmering a pot of stew for two hours on the range would’ve been wasteful. One popular solution was the hay-box…” ON A SNOWY MORNING – Words by Reid Bryant, Photos by Jared Lewis “We drove along with them talking and me scratching Jesse behind the ears, and I felt comfortable being a little insignificant, so as not to sound uninformed. They didn’t ask my opinion anyway. Listening in and not being asked, I was starting to think that I’d like to impress both these guys, at least a little bit. I didn’t know anything about the business that they didn’t know better, but I did know there would be ducks, and we were out to shoot a few of them. I began to think that I’d really like to hit ‘em that day—to kill my limit clean and quickly and communicate that at this, anyway, I was wholly competent.” GROUSE ABOVE THE SMOKE – Noah Davis “When I make it to the tip of a ridge’s finger where the trees are scattered, I can see that the smoke has risen with the heat of mid-morning. The sun colors the fringes a flickering orange, three shades softer than the eyebrow of the grouse. I wonder where the grouse will go when the mountain is covered in smoke. How quickly will they disappear when their ashen feathers match the air around them?” NO GLORY FOR THE TIMID – Andy Mill “I used to ski for a living. In fact, I have skied the biggest mountains in the world at 80 miles per hour, fished the vast oceans, and battled 800-pound marlin. I’ve been on Italian race bikes and driven high-performance cars pushing 190 miles per hour. Still, calling in a screaming bull elk tops the list of exciting things I’ve ever done! I might be known as a tarpon angler, but given the choice between a 150-pound tarpon on a fly or a big bull crashing toward me, I’ll take the elk every time.” LETTING THE SOUL GO – Todd Davis “When Noah shot the deer, it was nearly dark, purples and oranges and pinks smothering the horizon. With every animal we take, I wonder whether it’s grace or luck, godsend or coincidence. We have so many words that mean similar things, but are weighted differently. I have faith in the endless connections between the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen. The woods offer life to us, and we should reciprocate, give back part of our lives to save and nourish the woods. Certainly what most folks call “God” must be living in all of these connections, all of these unions and communions. The webbing sticks to us, no matter what we do.”
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magazine
Publisher: JOSEPH J. BALLARINI
Editor-in-Chief: RYAN SPARKS
Creative Director: SCOTT MORRISON Photo Editor: SAMMY CHANG
Big Game Editor: ANDREW MCKEAN
Conservation Editor: REED KNAPPE Fly Fishing Editor: DAVE ZOBY Upland Editor: TOM KEER
Waterfowl Editor: E. DONNALL THOMAS JR.
Wild Foods Editor: JENNY NGUYEN-WHEATLEY Editors At Large: EHOR BOYANOWSKY
ALEXEI JD BOYANOWSKY JOE DOGGETT
MARK HATTER
Copy Editor: LEILA BEASLEY
Website: MICHAEL DUCKWORTH
ALEXA SPARKS
CREATIVE CONTRIBUTORS Natalie Behring
Ryan Lee
Jay Beyer
Jared Lewis
Reid Bryant
Andy Mill
Tom Carroll
Jeff Moore
Noah Davis
Tim Ryan
Todd Davis
Nick Trehearne
Ryan Efurd COVER
“Hard times create strong men.” —Ryan Efurd On a blue sheep expedition to Nepal, Ryan Efurd, Ryan Lee, and Kurt Rutter experienced everything from grueling hikes to blinding snowstorms to giardia and altitude sickness. In the last minutes of the last day, their efforts paid off. Photo: Ryan Lee
Strung Magazine is a quarterly outdoor lifestyle publication focused on fly fishing, upland hunting, big game, waterfowl, wild foods, and conservation.
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letter from the EDITOR Growing up, I learned to hunt in a vast wilderness. Carrying a .22, I spent entire days roving the immense woodland. Several times I got lost and was scared I wouldn’t be able to find my way back home. Sometimes I would bring our farm dog Buddy, although he scared off more game than he turned up. Together we discovered old, abandoned tree stands, chased fleeing rabbits, and occasionally surprised a deer. Eventually I felt more comfortable and began exploring further and further into the woods. I wasn’t sure how far they actually went, and at the time it wouldn’t have surprised me to find out they went on forever. That patch of woods that once seemed endless was less than a half-mile long and never more than a quarter-mile wide. The trees that made up “the timber,” as I called it, were only left standing because the deep creek that snaked through the trees made it impossible to clear for farmland. Despite its meager size, I had some big adventures in those woods. I shot my first squirrel and my first rabbit there. After reading a story about coyote hunting in an outdoor magazine, I took a bag of leftover chicken nuggets and placed them 20 yards in front of a hiding place where I then sat and waited for a coyote to appear. I lasted less than an hour before deciding squirrel hunting was more fun. I ate the chicken nuggets on my walk home. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, those experiences taught me how to move through the woods, the habits of different animals, how to play the wind, and the seasonal changes in the forest. When I was old enough, I arrowed my first deer in “the timber.” As I grew older, I learned other things, too. Outdoor magazines and hunting shows gave me the impression that real hunting adventures only happened in far-off places and involved hard-to-draw tags, months of planning, bush planes, and pack horses. I still loved hunting the family farm, but I craved wilder, more remote places like the ones I read
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about. Since then, I’ve had my share of backcountry adventures, and if I’m being honest, I still love traveling to remote places. My wanderlust is as strong now as it has ever been. For years I’ve told people that one of the most enjoyable things about hunting is its ability to lead you to places you would otherwise never visit. But until this last year, I didn’t realize that sometimes those places are in your own backyard. There is a small nature center within walking distance of my home. Situated on the edge of town, it has several trails where my wife and I run, bike, and exercise our dogs. It’s also teeming with deer and turkeys. Early last year I learned that the nature center was having an earn-a-buck hunt to reduce the deer population. Twenty hunters would be drawn for the hunt, and once you arrowed a doe, you could kill a buck. I threw my name in the hat and was lucky enough to draw a tag. Scouting was simple because I already knew where the deer were from my daily run with the dogs. On the opening morning of the hunt, it was snowing. I dressed in my garage, hopped on my bike, rode two miles into the nature center, hung my stand in the dark, and waited for dawn. Thirty minutes after sunup I spotted a doe coming my way. She stopped broadside at 20 yards
and put her head down to eat. An hour later I was sliding her hind quarters into a game bag as flakes of snow danced in the air. I spent the next five days perched in a tree, and several times I spotted two nice bucks following the creek about 100 yards below me. On the last day of the hunt, I decided to move my stand into the bottom, although the wind was questionable. I hadn’t seen a single deer the entire day, but 20 minutes before the end of shooting light on the last day of the hunt, one of the bucks walked under my stand. I watched him fall 30 yards from where I shot him. As I quartered the buck in the dark, I heard a twig snap and the tamping of feet in the leaves. Switching my headlamp on high, I saw the glow of eyes as a pack of coyotes circled around the carcass waiting for me to finish. I sent my wife a pin of my location, and she met me with a thermos of hot coffee. Four hours after dark, the two of us packed the buck three miles back to our home—about the same distance I had to walk back to the farmhouse after hunting squirrels in “the timber.” It felt as adventurous and rewarding as any hunt I’ve ever been on. The experience opened my eyes to the fact that we can find as much adventure and childlike wonder close to home as we can in some remote mountain basin. The reality and all-encompassing beauty of nature is there. It just takes the right set of eyes to see it. I hope you enjoy our Big Game Issue and that this hunting season finds you on adventures both near and far. Keep Casting,
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ANDY MILL
Andy Mill’s plethoric career has had deep traction as an athlete, broadcaster, angler, and author. An elite alpine downhill ski racer, Mill was one of the best in the United States from 1974-1981. For his 1976 Olympic heroics, where Mill placed 6th while skiing on a severely injured ankle, he was awarded the “Olympic Spirit Award”; in 1993, he was inducted into the Colorado Ski Hall of Fame. Mill enjoyed a 20-year broadcasting career, covering two Olympics and hundreds of network specials, including 81 fishing shows from around the world. Personally, Mill holds his fishing accomplishments close to his heart. His success is profound, winning more invitational fly tarpon tournaments than anyone in history, including 5 Gold Cups. He is only one of two people to have won a tarpon, bonefish, and permit tournament on fly. In conjunction with his award-winning book, A Passion for Tarpon, and being a trustee of the International Game Fish Association, he has found himself as one of fly fishing’s leading authorities.
JAY BEYER
Jay Beyer never planned on being a photographer. He didn’t go to a fancy photo school and he didn’t study under an artistic mentor. He picked up a camera one day and started taking it on trips. It didn’t take long, and his photo business was keeping him so busy he had to quit pounding nails and just shoot photos. Now, he travels the world capturing stunning imagery of skiers, snowboarders, hunters, bikers, climbers, runners, and fly fisherman doing what they love. When he’s home he spends as much time as he can with his amazingly understanding wife and overly energetic son who are the fuel behind his motivation. Jay’s previous contribution to Strung (“Of Secret Tapes and Sockeye Lakes”) appeared in Volume 3, Issue 3.
JEFF MOORE
Jeff Moore is a photographer and writer based out of Livingston, Montana. He photographs everything from big game to waterfowl, bird hunting to gun dogs. His work has been honored numerous times by the Outdoor Writers Association of America and Communication Arts. In 2014, Sotheby’s used his photos to sell one of the most expensive decoys ever sold at auction. This year, his photo of a teal showcases the Montana hunting regulations guide. In addition to his outdoor work, he often comes indoors for product photography with a variety of clients. He’s always looking for the next adventure and trying to find something new. Find more of his work at jeffmooreimages.net
NATALIE BEHRING
Natalie Behring is a photojournalist based in Victor, Idaho, where she focuses on reporting about the issues facing rural America. She lives with her partner, a border collie, and enjoys hiking and exploring the Greater Yellowstone area.
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Ryan Efurd is an outdoorsman, entrepreneur, writer, and president of technical hunting clothing brand, CANIS. Born in Arkansas, Efurd grew up hunting and fishing. His love of the outdoors and an appetite for adventure has inspired him to pursue a variety of big game animals across the globe. In 2018, he partnered with awardwinning Swiss designer Marcel Geser and together they set out to create technical hunting garments that took inspiration from mountaineering apparel to meet the needs of the modern hunter. From the Swiss Alps to the remote Kamchatka Peninsula, they spent two years testing prototypes. CANIS is the result of that process. When he’s not running day to day operations, you will find Ryan coaching youth sports in Northwest Arkansas and fathering his four adventurous children. You can follow his adventures on the CANIS Athlete YouTube channel or at canisathlete.com
RYAN LEE
Ryan Lee is the founder of Think to Make, a graphic design and photography agency based in Denver, Colorado. Lee has worked in a broad range of industries but is particularly interested in collaborating with brands that combine form, function, and the great outdoors. Over the last few years, Lee has traveled as part of the CANIS crew to Argentina, Mexico, the Brooks Range of Alaska, West Texas, and the Himalayas of Nepal. He most recently photographed Ryan Efurd’s Ibex and Argali hunt in Kyrgyzstan. When not chasing big game with CANIS, he enjoys fishing and biking with his wife and two daughters.
TODD DAVIS
Todd Davis spends most of his time hunting and fishing in the game lands to the west of his home in Tipton, Pennsylvania, a small village that sits at the foot of the Allegheny Front. He’s the author of six books of poetry, most recently Native Species and Winterkill, both published by Michigan State University Press. His nonfiction appears in such magazines as Gray’s Sporting Journal and Anglers Journal. When he’s not in the woods, he teaches environmental studies at Penn State University’s Altoona College.
TOM CARROLL
Tom grew up in California, but left after college for a life outdoors in the Rocky Mountain west. First landing in Idaho, and eventually settling in north central Montana, he guided fishermen for twenty summers on the Alaska Peninsula in order to fuel his passions following bird dogs, hunting whitetails during the fall, and calling turkeys in the spring. An inveterate sporting “gypsy,” he now splits his time between Montana and Arizona, but still roams throughout the west in search of birds and fish away from the “madding crowds.”
CONTRIBUTORS
RYAN EFURD
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MOUNTAIN MEN AND MR. MURPHY Words by Ryan Efurd, Photos by Ryan Lee
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One of the best things about hunting is it
the world, is famous for its extreme alpine
are notorious for testing your physical and
takes you to places you would otherwise
landscape, which is home to the highest
mental stamina. Hunting them is something
never see—wild places in remote corners
elevations on earth. It claims eight of the
I have dreamed of my entire life.
of the earth. The adventure, the cultures
world’s 10 highest mountains. The bharal
you encounter, and the relationships
or blue sheep are native to the Himalayas
The Dhorpatan Hunting Reserve is the only
formed along the way are an irresistible
and are the highest-living game species in
hunting area in Nepal. Established in 1987,
combination that inspires a never-ending
the world. They thrive in one of the most
the Dhorpatan covers 512 square miles and
drive to hunt and explore. Nepal, the roof of
demanding environments on the planet and
only issues 20 licenses per year for blue
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MOST OF THE SHERPAS AND PORTERS WORE FLIP-FLOPS sheep. I was lucky enough to get one of the
successful. I was introduced to Charton, my
engulfed my senses. I got my first glimpse
coveted tags with the help of Greg Brownlee
Sherpa, who later told me he was born at
of the famous doko basket used by Nepalese
of Neal and Brownlee, who specialize in the
18,000 feet in a village where walking is the
mountain men to carry goods across the
complex logistics of organizing hunts like
only mode of transportation. In Nepalese
mountains. They load their baskets
these. Greg had been talking to me about
villages like Charton’s, travel is talked about
with up to 80 pounds and
Nepal for years, touting it as the ultimate
in days of walking rather than miles or
carry them using a
mountain hunt. After dreaming about it for
kilometers. Our team greeted us with smiles
tumpline
years it was finally time to make it happen.
and stares alike. It was clear they were
Arriving in Kathmandu, we met up with
sizing us up to see if we could hold our
Mahesh Busnyat. Hunting Nepal since 1973,
own in the mountains. The sights,
Mahesh is legendary in the Nepalese hunting
smells, and vegetation of
community. I was honored to meet him
this foreign land
and soon realized his immense wealth of hunting knowledge about Nepal. Mahesh,
photographer Ryan Lee, videographer Kurt Rutter, and I then loaded into a helicopter for a two-hour flight into the mountains. The view was breathtaking as we flew past Machapuchare and Annapurna, two of the tallest mountains on earth that remind you just how small you really are. The Nepalese government will not issue permits to climb Machapuchare, believed to be the sacred mountain home of the god Shiva. As the chopper nosed over the ridge, I realized the enormity of the terrain we would be hunting. At the landing zone, a team of Sherpas and porters was waiting—a reminder that this hunt would require a team of people to be
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OR TENNIS SHOES INSTEAD OF MOUNTAIN BOOTS. strap called a namlo that goes around their
into a drainage before starting our ascent
After three hours of hiking, we arrived at
forehead and allows them to carry weight
to the first village we would sleep in for
the small village in the early afternoon.
with their spine and back rather than their
the night. This was an acclimation hike
Donkeys, chickens, and a few goats roamed
from 9,000 feet up to 11,000 feet to slowly
while the locals made fires and boiled tea.
introduce our bodies to the high altitude.
Small gardens of potatoes and onions
The footpaths that snaked up the mountain
were planted on the hillside, and brilliantly
through thick vegetation felt more like a
colored Nepalese flags flew above the huts
jungle than a mountain environment. Most
and whipped in the mountain breeze. The
of the Sherpas and porters wore flip-flops
contrast of colors against the mountain
shoulders. Baskets loaded, we descended to the treeline and
or tennis shoes instead of mountain
backdrop was a majestic sight.
boots. After a night’s rest we began our hike up to 13,000 feet where we set up our main camp. The day was warm, and the walking was
relatively easy along the footpaths. As we came through a pass, one of the Sherpas hung a flag and recited a traditional prayer asking the gods for good luck and safety. The donkeys led the way loaded with tents and gear, the bell on the lead animal providing the only distinguishable sound on the otherwise quiet trek into the Himalayas. The route from the village to basecamp required a mild effort of eight hours on the trail. The day was warm, but the load was light for our team. According to tradition (and for safety), the Sherpas and porters carried our weight; at this altitude, it would put a serious strain on our bodies and double the walking time.
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IT WAS A DEDICATION THAT SEEMS RARE IN TODAY’S WORLD. rams situated between two craggy peaks
rolled back over to take the shot. It broke
that seemed to rise forever into the heavens.
low, and the rams scattered high into the
Murphy’s Law states that if anything can
The rams were bedded on the outskirts of
mountains. It’s fitting that Murphy’s law
go wrong, it will go wrong. Mr. Murphy was
the herd and didn’t seem to have a care in
comes directly from the epigraph of a
ever-present on our trip.
the world. We observed them for some time
famous mountaineering book. According to
before Mr. Murphy showed up again. Without
the author, it’s an “ancient mountaineering
Basecamp was nestled in a drainage between
our videographer, I didn’t want to shoot
adage,” although that day it felt as modern
two giant peaks. The guides had been out
because our goal was to document the hunt
as ever.
scouting the day before our arrival and had
on film. There were miscommunications due
located a group with two shooter rams.
to the language barrier, and we ultimately
The eight-mile hike back to camp felt like a
While we made plans for the first day, Mr.
bumped the group of sheep into escape
gut punch, each step providing a moment
Murphy made his first appearance: Our
terrain north of 18,000 feet.
to reflect on what had just happened. Then it began to dump snow. I could see
cameraman Kurt came down with giardia, a parasitic disease contracted by consuming
The next three days we rose well before
basecamp a mile down the drainage as the
contaminated food or water. Giardia causes
sunup looking for sheep, but with little
snow intensified and whipped across the
diarrhea, nausea, and intense abdominal
success. We covered miles of country,
mountain. Hearing something to my right, I
pain—not something you ever want to deal
averaging seven miles a day at elevations
turned and gazed in disbelief at six porters
with, let alone at 13,000 feet. Needless to
ranging from 13,000 to 17,000 feet. On
huddled under a cliff in the snowstorm.
say, Kurt was out of commission the first day.
the fifth day we went deep into the
Dressed in meager clothes and tennis
Mahesh sent a couple of guys down to the
backcountry, which took us up and across
shoes, they were all smiles and said they
village to retrieve medicine with hopes that
a beautiful glacier. The Sherpas said they
had hiked up in case we needed help in the
we could help him; until then, he would need
had never been on this glacier before and
snow. These are undoubtedly some of the
to fight off the threat of dehydration that
excitedly had me take photos of them so
toughest men I have ever encountered.
comes with giardia at such elevation. After
they could show their families. Realizing
They are as rugged as the mountains they
talking with Mahesh, we decided to go out
that even experienced mountain Sherpas
work and live in. They had been sitting
and scout for sheep in the meantime, which
felt a sense of adventure to be in such a
for hours in a blowing snowstorm just
would also help us adapt to the altitude.
beautiful and remote place was a spiritual
to help their friends. It was a dedication
moment I won’t forget.
that seems rare in today’s world. It was emotional and hard to process. It put my
We rose from our sleeping bags at 4 a.m. to
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sub-freezing temperatures. After breakfast
Coming across the glacier put us behind
we began our climb out of camp—straight
where we thought the sheep were, and as
up. The hunting party consisted of two
we finally peered over the ridge after our
guides, a game scout, a Sherpa assigned
long hike, we spotted sheep bedded 350
to each of us, and a sheep packer who
yards below—but the shooting position
For the next two days we climbed until
carried the doko full of water and food that
presented a problem. Lying prone in jagged
noon. Snowstorms came and went, creating
would be replaced by a sheep if we killed
rocks was painful, and my back started
near whiteout conditions. We had no choice
one. The mountain was extremely steep,
cramping while my hand fell asleep to the
but to go back down the mountain. It was
and it just kept going vertical. Initially I
point that I couldn’t feel the trigger of my
an extreme mental exercise to climb out of
felt great with the altitude, and the team
rifle. Staring through the scope for such a
the sleeping bag at 4 a.m. with an aching
moved steadily up the slope, but after five
long time, I started to get dizzy and worried
body to climb for seven hours in the cold
hours of climbing, I got a sudden feeling of
I wouldn’t be able to make the shot when
only to turn around and go home when
vertigo. As things started to spin I looked
the sheep stood. Finally, after an hour and
we finally got within striking distance
down at my altimeter. It read 16,200 feet. I
a half of staring through the scope, the ram
of the rams. As we sat in the cook tent,
took another Diamox—a medication used to
stood. However, our team’s language barrier
Mahesh said that in 40 years of guiding
prevent altitude sickness—out of my pack
caused confusion and I couldn’t shoot as
blue sheep expeditions he had never seen
and was soon ready to go again.
the ram fed away from us at around 400
snow like this. We were now on day three
yards. I could hear Mr. Murphy whispering in
of sustained snowstorms and cold weather.
As we ascended the large peak, we came
my ear as I clicked off the safety, reached
Mr. Murphy had us in his crosshairs.
upon a plateau that provided a nice feeding
for the trigger, and felt nothing. My hand
area for sheep. That’s when I saw them—
was asleep. I rolled on my back to get some
Time and weather were quickly becoming
the first blue sheep I had ever laid eyes on:
feeling back in my hands, but I realized the
the enemy of success. As the snow
roughly 50 ewes and lambs with several
opportunity for a shot was slipping away. I
continued and with only three days left to
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missed sheep into perspective.
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hunt, Mahesh decided we would gamble
required. Now, at 70 years old, he simply
around the world and spent 11 days in
and hike down the valley and over a pass,
grinned as he thought about his American
the mountains rallying all the mental and
moving our entire camp to a new area. He
friends making the climb.
physical effort we could, but it just wasn’t
predicted it would take us 11 to 12 hours
going to happen. I was thankful for the
of walking to reach the new camp. The
On the final day we began our ascent up
men we were privileged to hunt with. I was
morning started early as we departed camp
the steepest mountain I’ve ever climbed.
thankful for the life lessons I had learned,
at 4:30 a.m. The walking was immediately
Many times we were on hands and knees. I
and I was thankful that I was able to spend
brutal with deep and treacherous snow. We
remember thinking my mother would kill me
11 days in some of the most unforgivingly
climbed vertically up and over several passes
if she saw what I was doing. The thought
beautiful mountains in the world. I looked at
before descending down an extremely steep
brought some humor to the otherwise
Charton, he nodded his head, and we began
drainage along the side of a 2,000-foot
serious situation. After seven hours of
our descent down the mountain.
ravine. It felt as if death itself was against
climbing we made the ridge. This in itself
us, but step after step, we finally reached
felt like a small victory. Keep in mind, we
We had made it about 200 yards when I
our new camp.
carried no weight outside of binoculars and
heard a whistle above us from the guide,
cameras; the Sherpas and guides carried
who motioned for us to come back. I
As we settled in, we spotted a group of
everything else, reminding us of their
thought the Sherpa had taken the wrong
sheep above us several miles away. Mahesh
superhuman abilities. We snuck into a rocky
path and he was redirecting us, but when we
informed us it was too dangerous to go
outcropping in the middle of the feeding
got closer he said he had located two rams.
after them in the snow. The guys had ropes,
slope where we had seen the sheep each day
“The sun is fading fast, but I think we can
but the mountain was too steep, and he
from camp. Not more than 15 minutes later,
get there,” he said. My eyes lit up, and I felt
was certain someone would slide to their
the ewes appeared 150 yards away. The
the energy surge back into my body.
death. We needed to wait for the snow to
longer we waited for the rams to appear the
melt to expose the lone trail that led up
clearer it became that they were gone. It
We scurried back up at a brisk pace before
the mountain. We spent the next two days
seemed Mr. Murphy had herded them away.
the guide went into a crouch above me. I
glassing while we waited. I kept asking
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peeked over the mountain spine and saw
Mahesh, “Are you sure there is a trail up to
With two hours of daylight remaining and
two rams bedded directly across from us
those sheep?” He would always reply with
a four-hour descent down the steepest
basking in the sunset. After accepting that
a grin, “Oh yes, there is a trail, but it’s very
mountain I’ve ever climbed, I stared into
I would go home without a ram moments
steep and vertical.” I didn’t realize it at
the sunset trying to make peace with it all.
earlier, the situation felt surreal. When I
the time, but in his younger years, Mahesh
I took off my hat and ran my hand through
took the shot the ram’s shoulder exploded
had made the hike and knew the effort it
my hair. It was over. We had traveled
in a cloud of dust, and he ran down the
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“The sun is fading fast, but I think we can get there,” he said. My eyes lit up, and I felt the energy surge back into my body.
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mountain and out of sight. It happened
ram, and I said a prayer to myself for their
We celebrated with cold beer from the
at the last hour of the last day. The guide
safety. As I had done many times before, I
village and sat around the warming fire
quickly told the Sherpas to take us down the
wondered how anyone could be as tough as
thinking about our helicopter ride back to
mountain while they recovered the sheep.
these guys. It snowed on us relentlessly for
Kathmandu the next day.
I couldn’t control my emotion at what had
the next six hours. At one point, a mule fell
just happened, and my eyes filled with tears
above me and slid past. They were under too
The following morning the villagers
as I quickly packed my kit for the descent.
heavy a load in the snowy conditions, and
presented us with traditional flower
we had to rip all the weight from the mules
necklaces and marked our foreheads with
and leave our tents, cooking supplies, and
tikā, a mixture of red powder, water, and
the pannier bags the mules carried. They
rice used on important occasions, as we
We started down, and the adrenaline and
would send a team back up the mountain
heard the roar of the helicopter approaching
emotion made my legs feel weak as it
days later to recover the supplies, but the
from the south. It is a customary religious
dumped from my body. I told myself that
mules would die if we didn’t get the weight
practice to bless passengers before a flight.
this was not the time to relax and have an
off their backs. It was complete chaos, but
After one last round of hugs, handshakes,
accident. As we came over the last ridgeline,
we were in the company of true mountain
and larger-than-life smiles, we waved
we could see camp straight below us in the
professionals.
goodbye to our Nepalese family as the
dark. It was so steep that it would be another
chopper took off. Air travel is expensive in
two hours before we reached camp. The two
Nepal, and as we waved goodbye, I thought
guides arrived in camp at 9 p.m. without the
Just as I was becoming concerned about
about the journey home for the Sherpas
ram; it was too steep and dangerous in the
how cold I was getting, we saw blue sky
and porters: a seven-day hike out of the
dark, so they cribbed the meat and would
piercing the clouds below and the smoke
mountains, a bus to Kathmandu, a flight
take a team back up in the morning.
from fires burning in the village. We had
back to the Everest region, and then a two-
made it. The villagers welcomed us inside
day hike back to their villages. It’s hard to
That night as we went to sleep it seemed
their dirt-floored huts and served us warm
imagine such men exist in the world. Hard
like our adventure was over—but getting
tea. It was the best cup of tea I’ve ever had.
times create strong men.
in itself. The next morning dawned with
The team of Sherpas and porters arrived
END NOTE: To watch the short film
another six inches of snow on the ground
with my ram well after dark that night.
documenting this hunt, Namaste Himalaya: A
and a near whiteout. Mahesh said he had
They were weary, tired, hungry, and
Blue Sheep Expedition, go to canisathlete.com
sent a team of Sherpas to recover the
exhausted, but they never complained.
down the mountain would be an adventure
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