DOUBLE THE DISTANCE, DOUBLE THE SUCCESS

BY JEREMY BRYANT

Here in Alberta, over-thecounter bighorn sheep tags can be purchased every year for less than the cost of a tank of gas (not saying much these days). The only downside is that there are plenty of serious bighorn hunters competing for legal rams. The success rates for resident hunters is low, and to harvest a ram, you either need to get lucky, or give yourself an edge. In the fall of 2022, my ‘edge’ would be to hike further than anyone else would – 40 miles along a ‘trail’ that cut through rivers, boulder fields, beaver swamps, and the rugged Rocky Mountains. The planning started almost a year prior while on a bighorn hunt with my dad. During the hunt we found ourselves on a mountaintop that was 30 miles from the nearest road. From there, we could see the outline of mountain range 10 miles away. It was shrouded in clouds, and I had a feeling it was the kind of place I’d been dreaming of: A secluded mountain range filled with great ram habitat, all fortified by many days of hard hiking. While looking at it I felt like Moses gazing into the Promised Land – I just knew it must be flowing with full curls and dark capes.

I sent my long-time hunting partner Leigh, a pin on Google Maps and a note that said we’d found the most epic spot for our next adventure. And with that, we started dreaming, scheming, and planning our 16-day DIY sheep hunting trip for August 2022.

Over the spring and summer we connected with conservation officers and biologists to pick their brains about the area. One of them, Don, was incredibly helpful and even met us for beers to discuss our plans and provide advice on accessing the area. We ended up learning about a different trailhead we could use – it would knock off 20 river crossings and 2500 feet of elevation on the hike. The downside was we needed an OHV to access the trailhead – which we didn’t have. Luckily, we had a good friend who lent us his quad, and with that, things were coming together!

My dad, Leigh, and I got to the parking lot five days before sheep season opener. With just one rifle, and all non-essential gear left behind, our base pack weight was just 30 pounds each. We added 14 days’ worth of food, so our packs ended up weighing a very manageable 60ish pounds. The hike in went smoothly, and we didn’t see a soul or a trace of recent human activity after leaving the quad. By day two, we found ourselves completely alone in sheep country. So with a couple days before season opener, we split up –Leigh went to our intended hunting spot in the big valley, and my dad and I headed west to look at a few secluded bowls nearby.

On our walkabout, my dad and I spotted a few groups of ewes, and followed a fresh set of particularly large sheep prints up to a glacier, but never caught up with the ram they belonged to. So on the morning of the season opener, we dropped down into the big valley to meet up with Leigh.

As Leigh led us to his tent spot, he filled us in on the happenings –including the storms he got caught in (one which caught him off guard, and left him with an inch of rain in the bottom of his tent), and the massive black wolf he saw in the next valley over to the east. The tent spot was picture perfect – it was on a flat grassy plateau with a spring-fed creek that flowed through it. The icing on the cake was that it had a resident herd of sheep - there were 40 lambs and ewes around the tents when we got there, and they didn’t seem to mind our presence one bit. Throughout our trip they fed, bedded and played on all sides of our tents and seemed to accept us as three of their own. I’ve never met a campsite attendant who I liked more than those lambs and ewes!

Our tent and sleeping mats were set up by mid-afternoon, and it felt like before we had even finished catching up with Leigh, we made a plan to split up again for the evening to glass on top of opposite ridges. My dad and I went up the east ridge, and Leigh headed west. It was an absolutely gorgeous evening. And unlike most times in the Alberta Rockies, there was almost no wind on top of that knife ridge. It was sunny and warm. Better yet, we were looking over thousands of acres of untouched sheep habitat. There were scree slopes, grassy hillsides, and rocky outcroppings – all the ingredients of great ram country. We could see for miles off both sides of the ridge. It almost felt frantic since there was so much perfect country, and so little time before darkness would fall.

With two hours of light left I was looking through my binos and spotted animals walking out of a small valley to the west. My dad and I were chatting at the time and I fell silent. I didn’t say anything until I got them in the spotting scope and confirmed – they were rams! I whispered to my dad the words I had been dreaming of saying for the past year, “Well pa, we got rams!”

There were six rams, and they were about three quarters of a mile away. But they were down a 1000 foot vertical cliff, and we certainly didn’t have time to get to them that night, so we just watched. Judging them was a bit tricky as they were acting jittery and wouldn’t stand still. They would feed for a few minutes and then run full speed for a hundred yards before settling down again to feed. Our evening show ended with the rams spooking out of sight at the very bottom of the valley, close to where our two valleys met. The best part of that night, aside from enjoying it all with my dad, was that even from almost a mile away, we could tell at least one of the rams was legal. His cape was dark and his horns were very obviously past the 4/5th curl legal requirement here in Alberta – just what we were hoping for!

During all the excitement that evening, I made sure to take a few breaths and take everything in – I focused on my feelings of excitement, and soaked up the incredible scenery and the beautiful weather. I tried to emboss that experience into my memory. It was the kind of moment that keeps sheep hunters coming back to the mountains. There is always a certain feeling of whimsy when you first spot rams – it’s a time that has so much possibility, so much excitement, so much intrigue. I prefer the first moment of spotting a good ram to shooting a ram. It’s the difference between first catching her eye from across the room in college, and celebrating your seventh wedding anniversary. Don’t get me wrong, milestones and dead rams are incredible and worth celebrating, but they’re somehow less fleeting, and mysterious than that first glimpse at your quarry. When I find myself daydreaming of ram hunting while I’m at my desk working, it’s most often about that moment when I first spot a ram!

The other highlight of that night for me was seeing the spring in the step of my 61-year old dad as we went back to camp. As he galloped down the scree slope at full speed, you would have thought he was a boy heading to open presents on Christmas morning – it was a sight to behold. We met Leigh after dark and filled him in as we ate our dehydrated meals. After analyzing the footage I took of the rams, we figured there were at least two good rams in the band! Both rams were very dark – one had longer horns, and the other had heavier horns. We also discussed why they might have been spooked, and where they might have gone. We hypothesized that the wolf Leigh had seen a couple days prior was still around, or at least his scent was. We figured the next day we should hike down to where I last spotted the rams where our valley and the rams’ valley converged. But we also knew there was a possibility that the rams might move up into our valley overnight. So, our plan was to get up at first light and glass our valley, and if all was quiet, we’d hike down to relocate them.

I slept surprisingly well that night despite how excited I was. Normally during a night like that I’d toss and turn and wonder and ponder. Instead I rested easy, I think because even if we didn’t find those rams again, I knew we still had another eight days to hunt and I was enjoying the adventure so much. I got out of the tent just as the sky was starting to get light. I walked ten yards to a small knob, and got set up to glass. As darkness broke, I could see the resident ewes and lambs – no surprise there. They were spread out feeding on the hillside to the west of us. Some were within 100 yards of our tents, and others were out to 500 yards. Leigh joined me a few minutes later and I told him the rams weren’t in our valley – and that once my dad was ready we’d pack up and head down to find them. However, my dad’s ‘morning constitutional’ was evidently taking longer than normal, so we waited semi-patiently as he finished his business. We were enjoying watching the lambs play and ewes feed as my dad walked over to us. But just as we were about to get up, we spotted six sheep at the base of our valley about 2/3 of a mile away. They were the rams! I could hardly believe our luck – they were headed up the valley towards us.

As the rams closed the distance feeding their way up on the West hillside, we worked to get spotters and the rifle set up. It didn’t take us long to determine that there were in fact two legal rams – both looked good. We dubbed the darker one with the longer horns “Number 1” and the shorterheavier-horned ram “Number 2”.

The legendary guide and outfitter, Clay Lancaster, suggests the most effective way to double up on rams is to take out the lead ram with the first shot, and then most often the other rams will just stand there looking at their fallen leader, providing another shot opportunity. Leigh and I both had tags, and we had dreamt of doubling up on rams. So, we played a quick game of rock-paper-scissors right then and agreed that the winner would get the honor of watching his buddy shoot first. Leigh bested me, which meant that I was first shooter. Based on the rams’ behavior, we figured “Number 1” was the lead ram – he seemed to be leading the band the night before, and was displaying dominant behavior in the way he positioned his head, and the way he moved and pushed other sheep out of the way that morning. We only had one rifle, and so with this in mind, the plan was that I would put “Number 1” on the ground first and then Leigh would get on the rifle and take “Number 2”.

The rams worked their way right through the ewes and lambs. It was interesting seeing the older rams simply barge through the ewes, while the younger rams spent time sniffing and chasing. The rams didn’t seem to mind the lambs though and let them hang around the band and mingle for a few minutes – a brief glimpse into the little lambs’ future as members of the ram band in a few years! The rams didn’t seem to mind our presence – they must have noticed us and our tents, but it seemed like they knew the lambs and ewes felt safe and thus weren’t concerned. The rams continued feeding along the hillside to our west which ever so slowly brought them closer to us. Each yard they walked brought them a few inches closer to us. 600 yards away. Then 500 yards. 480. 460. 455. We had the rifle set up and when the rams got to 450 yards I considered shooting. We had a Javelin Bipod set up on the rifle, and it was rock-solid. But, there were two good rams and we had two tags – we wanted to get them both. 450 yards was the maximum distance either of us was confident shooting to, so we decided to wait for a better opportunity. It was not easy just sitting by as the rams slowly fed across the hillside within range, and then out of sight. However, we knew it was the right decision. It was about 8 a.m., and we figured the rams would be starting to think about bedding down for the day soon.

We contemplated staying put and waiting until we were confident the rams would be bedded to go and look for them. But we knew the landscape well and figured we could head north and get to a plateau close to where the rams headed and perhaps get a shot opportunity. With our minds made up, the hunt took on new life as soon as the rams walked out of sight. We threw the spotters and gear in our bags, grabbed the rifle and headed to a fold in the hills that would lead us out of sight, heading roughly parallel to where the rams went. All the while we were in perfect view of the lambs and ewes, but we were confident that based on the last couple days of getting to know them, those ewes wouldn’t be too worried to see us moving. And we were right; they completely ignored us as we headed in the direction of the rams. We constantly checked the wind as we worked our way through the low parts in the land – going slowly and watching all sides as we moved forward. We had gone about 300 yards and were coming over a slight rise when we caught movement directly in front of us. A set of rams horns showed up on the horizon. We froze, and when the horns dropped down out of sight, we followed suit. Leigh and I left our packs, and belly crawled 30 yards ahead. We got there and saw two rams feeding, completely unaware of us. But, we were too low to get a prone shot through the grass, so we moved slowly to our left which put a little knoll between us and the rams, and then we crawled 50 yards to the top of the knoll. It’s always humbling to realize how out of shape you really are when you need to army-crawl silently while carrying a rifle – we were totally gassed when we peeked over the knoll.

What really took our breath away though was seeing that all six rams were in plain view at 200 yards, and had no idea we were there. I dialed the scope to 200, and got the rifle set up. The rifle was set on the Javelin Bipod at the front, and resting on my bino pouch at the back – a dreamy setup for any mountain hunter. We took a minute to confirm which of the rams was “Number 1” and which was “Number 2”. We put our earplugs in and with that, I squeezed the trigger. I could tell it was a great hit. But as I cycled the chamber and settled back in to the scope, the ram was still on his feet. Another shot through the boiler-room changed that in a hurry. The next five seconds was mayhem; I did a full barrel-roll to my right, Leigh did the same to get in behind the rifle. To our dismay Number 2 and the rest of the rams took off running away from us. As I was getting nervous that rams wouldn’t stop running, I mustered my inner calmness and nonchalantly said, “Don’t worry, he’ll stop. You’ve got time. You’ve got time.” And just then as if I willed it to happen, the rams stopped. Number

I would like to thank Dan Montgomery, Master Guide & Owner of Alaska Trophy Adventures for an incredible experience in the Chugach Mountains. I would also like to thank Guide Mike Gray and Packer Hank Frank for working their tails off, keeping us safe and giving us a hunting experience that provided a lifetime of great memories. My brother, William Miller, and I could not have asked for a better group of guys. Thank you again. Onto the next one.

- Joel Miller

Two was broadside and instantly toppled over as the rifle cracked.

The moments after that felt completely surreal. We hooped and we hollered, we high fived, and I thought Leigh’s binos in his chest harness might just crack my sternum as we hugged. My dad walked up after having watched the whole thing and was just as excited, maybe more! We had come a long way in search of rams, and through hard work and a hefty dose of good luck, we had managed to get two rams. The way the morning’s events unfolded, the path the rams took, the beautiful day before us, it all felt too good to be true – the kind of thing you always hope for, but as they say, ‘hunting never goes the way you want it to’. Well that morning it did. It all went exactly the way we wanted it to!

The rest of the day was fantastic – we took photos, we cut meat, we relived the stalk and talked about each of our experiences, and we thanked the animals and The Creator. We did laundry in the creek, cleaned ram heads, and sorted out what food we’d take for the hike out, and what food we’d burn. We capped it all off with enjoying a couple mountain cocktails while watching the sunset. The only thing that darkened the day besides a brief squall, was the looming knowledge that between us and the quad there was 40 miles of hard hiking with two rams in our packs. I could already feel the bruising forming on my hips and feet. Regardless of that thought, I think we enjoyed that day as much as three men have ever enjoyed a day.

The next morning brought a rainstorm that made its home above us for the first four hours of the hike out. Our packs were heavy and soon so were our soaking wet clothes. It was perhaps lucky that we had those back-breaking loads on to keep our blood pumping, but even with that we were downright chilled by the time the rain broke at about noon. We all laughed as I had to open Leigh’s snacks for him because his fingers weren’t working properly from the cold. The rest of the day was great, with the exception of the occasional bog or swamp to trudge through. The highlight of that day was coming across a mature bull elk who hardly even seemed to notice us. He put on a show tearing up a sapling just 15 yards from us, and then led us down the trail for half a mile before he finally wandered into the trees away from us. I’ve pursued elk for countless days in the past with a bow in my hand, and have had to work my tail off to get to even three times as far from a mature bull like him. If we weren’t still 30 miles from the truck with no space remaining in our packs, and no ambition remaining in our hearts to carry more weight, that elk would have been in serious danger. It was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen while out in the woods.

Day two of the pack out went through some low parts of the trail where beaver swamps consistently blocked our route. At each swamp we’d find ourselves playing a backpacking version of Russian Roulette where some side trails would lead nicely around the swamp, and others would take us in the wrong direction to rob us of time, energy and morale. But luckily for us, moral can only get so low when you’re with great guys, and every time you look up you see beautiful ram horns strapped to someone’s pack. By the afternoon of day three, we made it to the quad. As a final piece of unwanted excitement before we reached civilization, the quad’s steering column broke on the ride out (good thing we borrowed it from a particularly gracious friend!) So after taking my little Honda Ridgeline where no other has gone before it, having the transmission warning light get some use, some dicey navigating, and executing a 30-point turn to get the trailer turned around on the middle of a hill to load the quad, we finally managed to get back to civilization.

Looking back, I realize how lucky we were to have such an adventure. We are of course thankful to have gotten to find and take two beautiful rams. But more importantly we are fortunate to live in a place that is rich in game and the wild places they need to thrive. We are blessed to have health and strength to go on such adventures, and support from our partners at home. And for me especially, I’m grateful to have shared the epic trip with my dad who I consider a great friend, and my great friend Leigh, who I consider family. WS

Jeremy Bryant is a fifth generation Albertan who lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with his wife. Jeremy describes himself as an ‘Experience Hunter’ –always looking over the next ridge for a great adventure.

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