As we jogged along keeping in shape after returning from my African safari in 09 my lovely Mrs. said "you know, if you want to get that sheep, you'd better do it while you can still get into shape to do it." Me, I'd already written it off as an impossibility. Armed with her confidence and approval, I found a trip to hunt Dall sheep in Alaska in 2010. I got a nice grizzly bear, but of the many rams I saw, none made full curl. The obsession, however, had been lit.of my wife and father to thank for fulfilling another boyhood dream.

Bankrolled with a gift from my father, and some extra duty and call nights, I set about finding another trip for 2011. I queried my black bear guide, Brian Garrett, who immediately suggested Bonnett Plume Outfittes, whom he knew and had hunted with. They had a cancellation, and I snapped it up. Only after my deposit was paid, did we note that I would be gone on our 40th wedding anniversary. The same woman who had suggested the sheep hunt was gracious, but I contemplated what I could possible do to reward her graciousness. With Brian's recommendation, I didn't even check references. This was going to be a mountain backpack hunt, something I'd never done. I didn't want my 62 year old protoplasm to fail atit. I spent the summer increasing my usual jog from 2 miles toward and finallt to 4. I bought a new pack, and gradually increased its contents to 60 pounds that I hauled around the community. I dropped 10 pounds of me so I would not have to carry it around the mountain. I trimmed weight from my gear. I ran hundreds of rounds through my .22 for practice, and used my neighbors pasture to extend my range on my big rifle to 400 yards. I made myself a fest asking the outfitter volumes of questions so I would not fail myself due to poor preparation. I got paperwork, passport, and person in order. I wanted a Dall sheep, and I wanted it bad.d

August 17 found me flying via Denver and Vancouver to Whitehorse Yukon, Canada. Whitehorse is home to 22000 of Yukon's 33000 people. I made rounds of local museums, the fish ladder where king salmon, now 1700 miles into their journey, climbed to reach the next level, and did my souvenir shopping. I made darn sure to get something special for my bride. That night I met my roomie, Ron, who had worked for the McKinnons at BPO, and he was invaluable at getting my gear into my pack in reasonable fashion. Next morning Ron, Andy, a wine executive, Bill an insurance broker, Bob, a Kubota dealer, Mike a pharmacist from Manitoba, and Gordon, a businessman from Alberta joined me in a flight to Copper Point, the base camp. We flew along just over the mountains, until I saw on sticking out of the cloud ahead of us. My mind knew the pilot saw it too, but I was relieved when we banked left and began to descend short of running into it. Mountains seemed just off both wings as we wend down the valley, but the landing on the rock strip was uneventfu..

We sighted guns, filled out paperwork, had lunch, then were taken by boat or Piper super cub to our individual spike camps where we camped and hunted with our individual guides. A short relatively level and straight sandbar allowed Chris to land next to the tents Mike Oleshak, my guide, had set up for us. A few final words from Chris and we were on our own. Since we couldn't hunt within 6 hours of our flight we set about getting acquainted and camp rules. Never go anywhere without a rifle in grizzly country. Don't shoot one unless you are threatened. , and of course, if the griz has your partner, you shoot the bear in the hind end to avoid shooting your buddy and then shoot him somewhere more lethal when he reacts. Sleeping with a loaded rifle beside you takes some getting used to but I was tired, and morning came quickly..

We hiked up a creek behind camp toward the mountain we'd seen sheep on from camp the night before. We kept a leisurely pace, since I was not in "sheep shape" yet. I stopped to photgraph every little wild flower, waterfall, mini glacier, and interesting landscape we saw. We spotted a couple of sheep, including a small ram about 4 miles from camp. We were just peeking around the corner of an outcropping when Mike spotted waht was to eventually be my ram. By staying along the left wall of the creekbed, we were able to close the distance.

The sheep had gotten up and was feeding, so we were pinned for a while until he fed out of sight. We then clawed our way over a small cliff, only to find open, sheepless, mountain. I figured he'd spooked and was long gone like a whitetail. Not my savvy guide. We worked up the mountain, carefully peeking over each little rise to see if he were there. On about the 5th rise, he was! 175 was the ranged distance as I tried to get a steady rest with on foot on a narrow ledge and the other more solid. The sheep was moving, and the combination of breathlessness, buck fever, and poor position put my first shot back from where I planned. The second missed totally. The sheep then entered a small depressison and was out of sight except his horns. I was nearly frantic,with the thought of having messed up the opportunity. Mike calmed me, said he'd reappear shortly, and might even stop. He did, and an offhand shot from my familiar 30-06 sent him tumbling 200 yards down the steeep mountainside. I was hoping he didn't break those beautiful horns. When we did, he had not, and a lifelong dream was reality. Pictures, caping, and boning let us rest for trip downhill 5 miles to camp. We (including the dog, but mostly Mike) were loaded, and sidehilling downhill, seemed more work than ascending, especially with moss slipping off the underlying rocks causing multiple slips. 9 PM found us back in camp with half hour's daylight to spare.

Next day, I was sore, and glad to spend the day caring for the meat, cape, and trophy along with Mike. Toward evening, we hiked up the hill behind camp to glass fro caribou, since I had a tag and lots of time. Distances in these areass are deceiving, and the caribou anatlers Mike spotted on the skyline across the valley were too fara to approach that evening. We made note of where we last saw them for the morning hunt. We also noted distance to the grizzly bear we saw upstream, and hoped he didn't close it. Sheep loin over an open fire topped the usual freeze dried entree that night, making for a fine dining experience..

No visitors during the night, a welcome non-event. Crossing a mountain stream in Crocs is an experience in cold feet I shall not forget. We found an old horse trail and followed it up country to where we expected the caribou to be. Eagle eye Mike found the same antler tips on the skyline again, but across the valley the other way. Soooo, we descended the mountain,and climbed up the other side. The las 200 yards Mike demanded that he carry his pack AND mine, so I'd not be breathless when the shot came. Finally a rise 200 yards from the antlers provided a steady rest, and we got ready for a shot. Crosshairs on the antlers, I told Mike I was ready. A wolf howl did not bring the bull to his feet, but Mike standing and shouting"stand up so we can see you" did. His chest came into the X and I put a 165 Nosler from my Jim Scott "knock em stiff elk load" in it. He collapsed in a heap. When I breathlessly viewed the animal from his side, my seasoned guide was heard to saw "wow" repeatedly. SeemsI hadn't yet appreciated the true quality of my velvet clad bull. Ultimately he scored around 400 and brought many compliments in camp.

More photos, a bigger butchering job, but we were 2 miles closer to camp. At one time the three of us had the whole critter on board, but when Mike called "uncle" I was glad to concur. We made two trips that day. The stream didn't warm up while we were gone. We now had two carcasses, two heads, and two capes in camp, and not a very big likelihood of encountering a wolf, wolverine, or black bear, for which I had tags. Each day made it more likely that one of the local griz (we'd seen two by now) would visit.l We told Chris that if weather permitted and time allowed, any time would be ok for return to base. We'd just finished caribou loin over coals when our ride arrived.

Base camp brough a shower, and an attempt on Sharron's part to feed us to death. Others began coming in or reporting progress. Manitoba Mike had a Yukon double like mine as did Andy. Bob shot a nice ram;, as did Gordon,who then left in search of a caribou. Bill was holding out for the right ram.

Manitoba Mike and I harassed the river grayling morning and evening, and we all read books and told stories between meals for a couple of days. The McKinnon kids had ton of fun with the extra grandpa and uncles in camp. Scott, a guide had to open a moose camp and do some work, and offered Mike and Me a chance to help him, baited by a chance to fish a lake he knew of.. We jumped. We were treated to a two hour boat ride down the Bonnet Plume, but saw no animals. We put up the tent, cut wood, policed the grounds, ate and went fishing. And fish we did. The two weedbeds in the lake held northern pike like I have never seen before..By days end we lost track of the number of 10 to 20 pounders we caught and released. I topped it with on we figured would go 25 to 30. We signalled our friends and returned to spend the evening in the tent. Next day after another short work session, we were treated to two more hours of pike fishing. When Mike stuck a 4 footer, and we boated it, we felt that a propper way to finish the adventure. The trip upriver featured some nifty current reading by Scott and a pleasant last look at the area.a

Back at base camp be learned that Bill had scored a nice ram, but would not be out til morning, just in time to fly out. We were weathered in until noon, so his timing had a little more to spare. Flying out just over mountain tops didn't quite have the same effect it did coming in, but was spectacular just the same. A night dining out with new firends at a local color area and we departed our separate ways. A few snafus with baggage screeners, and TSAon the return, but as I write this two weeks later, I'm still pumped. I'll probalblly not try it again, but am ever so grateful for gettting to go, being so lucky, and having the support