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This story is not about sheep hunting. It involves a lot of sheep hunting but it is really about my brother, his multiple near deaths, and the importance of our strong hunting traditions and how this great sport brings families together.
We were born and raised in Alberta but my work took me north for several years. The last few of those years my home was the Yukon. My middle brother, Des, and I are only 16 months apart and all my brothers and I are close. With me being out of province our traditional hunting trips together had come to an end. This was tolerated for the first couple of years but with my relocation to the Yukon, Des and I began to talk about him coming up and joining me on my first Dall sheep hunt.
I am also a father of two young children and my wife’s tolerance of me going on extended backcountry trips by myself, had evaporated. As a result, I needed someone to come with me. What better person to take than my brother, who I suppose I missed, but who couldn’t shoot a sheep himself as he wasn’t a Yukon resident. A more perfect sheep-hunting partner/workhorse there could not be!
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| The author’s brother Des prior to heading up a rocky drainage. |
The plans were made and at his own expense he drove to the airport in Edmonton and flew to Whitehorse where I picked him up.
We headed into the mountains southwest of this beautiful city and as this was our first real extended sheep hunting trip together we experienced many hardships. First of all, our packs were WAY too heavy. We weighed them at about 80 pounds and that did not include our guns or boots.
Sheep hunting is an interesting thing. Nearly every mistake you make causes a great deal of discomfort so you either never go again or become addicted and learn from those mistakes. What I learned was: Heavy = Bad.
This first trip nearly killed my brother on at least three different occasions. To say either of us was in the most perfect physical condition would be stretching the truth so six hours of climbing through an unforeseen canyon system at the base of the mountain followed by eight more hours of steep side sloping through seven foot willow thickets was less than fun. What I learned was: Being in good shape = Good, Scouting = Good, Willows = Bad.
With our water supplies long emptied I soon found my brother being subjected to full dehydration cramps. What I learned was: Water = Good, Dehydration Cramps = Bad.
One second he was cursing his eternal hate for all willow bushes and then the next he was writhing on the ground in excruciating pain. So there I was, on the side of a mountain with a partner who can’t walk—Oh, goodie! What I learned was: Partner who can’t walk = Bad. Watching him plastered to the side of the mountain with every muscle in both his legs entirely cramped up was very concerning. I thought two things: ‘Wow, I’m sure glad that’s not me!” and then, “I hope he gets his legs working soon because I need to go find some sheep.”
After an hour the cramps subsided and we left his pack and slowly worked our way across the last of the evil willow slope and made it to a creek where water brought him back to life. We returned for his pack and made camp for the night.
The next couple of days were hard but spectacular. We gained elevation, covered ground, avoided willows, never ran out of water, remained crampless, watched nursery groups, and the day before season opened we found a band of rams.
Dall sheep are amazing creatures. Their white coats, yellow horns and the environment that they live in make them simply angelic. We spotted these sheep across a large basin that required us to travel a long distance from our camp. The following morning we were up before the sun (that is saying something for August 1st light in the Yukon) and spent the next seven hours climbing and sneaking through and around rock outcrops until we were stopped by a deep, little creek cut that ran its length down the side of the mountain. The sheep, of course, were on the other side at a distance further than I thought I would ever have to shoot. They were smugly sitting on the slope across the creek happily chewing their cud and casting casual glances our way. I am sure they were sun tanning. Their big mistake was not understanding modern firearm ballistics—silly sheep. Although the distance was worrisome, we had no other option either than to give the stalk up, which was not going to happen. We judged the distance and with my brother on the spotting scope I managed to take the largest ram in that band. What I learned was: Range finder = Good.
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| Des Nolan with his brother’s Dall sheep. |
With great joy we lost all of our elevation by climbing down the creek cut to the valley floor and with greater joy we climbed back up on the other side to claim my sheep.
My brother helped with the field dressing and we put half the meat into his backpack leaving me with the other half and the sheep head. We then got the privilege of again losing and gaining all that elevation and making the additional climb out of that basin and into the one where our camp was set up. What I learned was: Sheep meat + Sheep head = Weight and Weight = Bad)
I have to admit that I was tired, although very happy. It was about halfway up the side of the mountain that I began to notice that perhaps my brother was also tired and perhaps not quite as happy. After a few, very friendly words of encouragement it was decided that perhaps we should take slightly different routes up the side of the basin and give ourselves a little time, either away from each other or to relish the feel of carrying large amounts of weight up steep inclines—who knows? By the time we made it back to camp, washed up, stored the meat and head we were both dead tired.
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| Hanging out at camp. |
The next day’s plan was to make it back to the truck. This was a good plan but the truck was very far away and with the additional sheep weight I couldn’t lift my own pack on my back. What I learned was: Sheep meat + Sheep head + All other gear = A lot more weight and a lot more weight = Really bad. There was no point in whining about it and with the steep willow slope and canyon system ahead of us, we shouldered our packs and headed down the mountain.
After about three steps the hip belt snap on my brother’s pack broke. Not good. If you have done any backpacking you will know that the hip belt snap is pretty darn important as a tight hip belt redistributes the weight of your pack from your shoulders onto your hips and legs. My brother now had the additional privilege of carrying his 100 + pound pack full of my sheep meat down the mountain with all the weight directly on his shoulders.
We don’t talk about that day much and to repeat some of the conversations and incidents that occurred during that time may damage my good relationship with my brother but also, more importantly, disqualify this article for publishing.
We made it to the truck and home and every time I look at my Dall sheep mount I think about the best sheep-hunting partner. He even came up for the next two years on my Stone sheep hunts—if you can believe that!
I am back in Alberta now and planning our bighorn trip is already starting to occupy a lot of our time. Perhaps this year I will do a lot more carrying than shooting if, of course, he sees the rams first!
Also, if on the odd chance this story is published, please send the free subscription to my brother—I guess he has sort of earned it. ■
For previous Reader Stories click here.
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