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The Pegasus Ram
by Robert Fithian
Naene laak
dak gaa dzane translated
from it’s Upper Kuskokwim Athabascan dialect means, “ we are going
to die up here today” were the words my guide friend Steve Eluska
kept repeated to me one cloud infested and rainy day many years ago
in the Upper Kuskokwim sheep country.
Accompanying us
was a gentleman Texan named Jack Felps. Jack was on one of
three, long term multiple specie hunts we were to share as the years
went by. Jacks pioneer heritage in Texas runs as deep as the arroyos
of the Little Blanco River and can be traced back to some of the
earliest recorded land grants in the area. His great Grandfather
once had a horse herd stolen by a Comanche raiding party. This
precious heritage sure showed in his easy going and capable demeanor
in the field. However, when you’re on the side of a steeply pitched
loose rock mountain, creeping along in and out of the clouds and
your Indian guide keeps telling you that you are going to die up
here today anyone would tend to get worried. We had gained the
elevation that we thought was necessary to allow us to side-hill to
the edge of a small hanging basin that a few hours before held a
couple of Dall’s rams. One of these rams sported the kind of
headgear that was just what Jack had been dreaming of for many
years.
Named after
American naturalist William Healy Dall (1845-1927) these
white coated mountain sheep (Ovis dalli dalli) represent one
of North Americas most picturesque
and sought after big game species.
I kept telling
Jack not to worry, that we were doing just fine. Both of us had good
vibram bottomed footgear while Steve’s fear was mainly the result of
a pair of plastic soled tennis shoes that he was wearing, which
responded like ice skates to the wet slopes.
We persevered
and finally reached the edge of the small basin.
Preparation for the shot was made and the adrenalin was
flowing as each cautious step produced more terrain that
could contain the two rams. As the habitat continued to
unfold we found ourselves where we wanted to be but without the
rams. The old cliché of “we were here but you were not, and now you
are here and we were not” came to mind as we kicked out a place in
the shale to sit and have a late and well earned lunch. The hanging
basin was small. Only a few grass covered slopes covered the steep
shale slides leading to cliffy rim rock that encircled the basin.
Only one small saddle showed in the skyline and to get to it we
would have to ascend about five hundred yards of extremely steep
loose wet shale. Of course, there was the added uniqueness of a
sheer drop at the bottom of the slide. Jack, there is really only
one way those rams would have left this basin and that is through
that small saddle up there, I mentioned. We could climb up and look
over if your feeling up to it I added. Steve let out another,
Naene laak dak gaa dzane. To which Jack responded, boy I’m not
sure Bob, it looks pretty rough up there.
I looked at the
slope and saw no real threat other than a few quarts of sweat and
said, well, I’m going on up and look over, if I see them Ill signal
for you to come on up. Not waiting for a reply I headed up. Fresh
spoor on the slope just below the saddle told the story of the rams
exit from the basin. The saddle itself was only a narrow
notch in the rim rock cliffs. Crawling up to the edge and
looking over I was presented with a jumbled up bunch of small spiny
ridges bedded predominantly in glacier. Try as I might I could not
see the rams. Just as I started to rise to move a little
distance and achieve a different perspective the large ram
stepped out of from under me at about fifteen feet. The wind was
blowing clouds and mist through the saddle which had kept my
breathing noise down but he had sensed something. As a ram can see
nearly directly behind him, I thought my goose was cooked and about
to become burnt. As he turned his eye down to look where to put his
foot for another step I pulled myself back out of his sight. The
next two to three minutes were spent with my heart pounding in
expectation of the ram jumping up with me or bolting. No noise came
through the wind though, as I said a silent prayer that my hunter
was still in the basin and not on his way off the mountain. Moving
only inches at a time, I retreated until I could stand and walk the
short distance to see where I had left my companions. Never will I
forget the sight of that plucky Texan half way up to the
saddle. When we rendezvoused, I told him that the ram was in sling
shot range and the light really came into his eyes.
Once again the
shot preparations were made and we inched over the ledge. I could
see the small ram standing about forty yards away but not the big
one. Jack said “there he is” to which I responded “that is the
smaller one”. He said “no he’s right there in the snow”. At the
words the big ram blew out of a patch of snow he had been standing
in as he raced for a edge that would put him out of our sight. Jack
had time for one quick running shot, which dropped the ram. He
turned to me with jubilation and said, “my old pump can not take to
much of this kind of excitement. Next time you will have to slow all
of this shooting stuff down a little.
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The ram was a
real dandy and Jack was thrilled with him. It was a great day for
the hunter and the guides as all three of us discussed what we would
be doing if we were not up in these hills chasing curly horns. Jack
and his construction business, me, tied off in some underground mine
breaking rock and Steve watching over his responsibilities as Chief
of the village of Telida.
As often is the
case, the decent was harder than the climb. Especially for Steve
with his unique footgear as our descent was down a glacial covered
steep ravine. , naene laak dak gaa dzane was his fear but he
forgot all of that with the first bite of fresh mountain sheep
backstrap that night.
Now, move the
clock forward a number of years and look into that crystal ball of
memories and once again we find Mr. Felps in pursuit of another
curly horn, or knowing Jack, maybe just the reflections of the
experiences of looking for another ram . This time we are hunting up
a drainage referred to as strait canyon. Strait canyon is always a
tough hunt because of the distance one must travel to access the
sheep and return. If you are fortunate enough to harvest a sheep you
usually find yourself coming out after dark through a narrow valley
bottom that hosts the only bountiful growth of high bush cranberries
in the whole region. This particular piece of valley bottom is
referred to as bear alley. Any one packing sheep out through bear
alley after dark regardless of how corresponding they are will
always keep up a heightened conversation just to let anything in
their proximity know that they are coming through. I have been
fortunate enough to learn several life stories in this stretch of
canyon over the years.
On this day as
we worked our way up the valley bottom glassing the side slopes and
drainages we spotted two rams. Once again, one was a real keeper and
the other much smaller. The rams climbed up through a large sedge
covered hillside and bedded on the top edge of the green. Also on
this same green slope was a band of ewes, lambs and yearlings as
well as a small band of immature rams. The upper edge of the green
had a small drainage running parallel with the valley floor
separating it from the main upper reaches of the mountain. From
below it looked like we could access the rams by going up the
drainage that this smaller drainage fed into to their confluence,
then continue up the side drainage to a place below the rams, and
then on up to the ridgeline to where the rams were bedded. If all
worked well and they stayed in the area we should have a good
chance.
Everything went
as planned until we were up the small side drainage and started
encountering steep waterfalls and hard climbing. The bottom of the
canyon was only a few feet wide and was the only way up. The sides
were rugged and non-traversable. I generally carry a length of
climbing rope to use to tie off a harvested ram on steep slopes,
or to help retrieve a fallen animal with, or occasionally to
assist a climb with. On this day we used it several times to
assist Jack up over waterfalls with until we found ourselves
at the planned point below the sheep. Now, all we had to do
was climb up the two to three hundred yards of mountainside to get
to the edge of the green near where we had last seen the rams. The
slope was tough. Loose small rock over seated outcrop which is as
challenging as it gets. I would scramble up to a outcrop, get braced
in and throw Jack the rope and to assist his climb. After the fifth
time of having to use the rope we were near the top and physically
drained from the exertion. Jack told me then, that’s it, I’m not
sure that I can handle any more of this rope stuff. Explaining that
we would not need it again and to catch his wind I was going to peek
over the edge, which was only another fifteen yards or so from where
we were.
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Getting to the
edge right where we had marked a prominent outcrop I peeked over and
the whole green became visible. The ewes, lamb and yearlings were
gone, the immature rams were gone and the big rams were gone. As a
guide, you know that this type of thing can happen. A unnoticed
animal can telegraph the presence of man or predator, an animal may
move to where it can see you, or you may unintentionally expose
yourself. None of these things make telling your hunter that the
animal is gone after a gut wrenching climb makes it easier on him or
her. I was really saddened.
Standing up on
the edge and looking for a few minutes brought no sheep into sight
and I took a step or two forward to have a little better look. When
I did, I saw something odd sticking out of the tundra about twenty
feet in front of me. It took me a moment to realize that it was the
left horn of the big ram sticking out from a tundra-covered rock
right in front of me. Both rams were lying within twenty five feet!
The wind was blowing hard in my face, keeping my clothing noise down
as I backed back over the edge. Boy, were the memories ever coming
back when telling Jack that they were still there. He asked me how
far and I hand signaled twenty to thirty. He whispered the question
“yards?” and I shook my head and smiled. I’m not sure what the term
de sha vu means but what ever it means it set in on both of us right
then. Jack pointed at his heart and shook his head and I whispered
to him that they had hundreds of yards to run in three directions
and not to worry.
Standing up on
the edge I showed Jack the horn. Here is where I feel that I made
one of the biggest mistakes that I have made as a guide. I thought
about my camera and decided to leave it in my pack and stay focused
on the sheep for Jack. My binoculars were slung around my neck
and were uncomfortable for some reason. I carefully two handed them
off and the wind rustled my parka hood. At the noise, both rams
stood up. My mistake had been to not get my camera out and be
prepared to capture on film what happened next.
There are few
sights that compare to a sheep hunter than two mature Dall’s rams
standing in the greens only twenty-five feet away from you. It was
breathtaking. But long behold, with all angles of escapement open to
them but one, which one do they take! Not the wide-open green, not
the hundreds of yards of canyon edge, but into a full run right at
us! As they dashed within feet of us and soared into space, their
legs tucked like Pegasus, Jack went to one knee and fired at the big
ram. We saw impact as the muzzle blast seemed to rock him in
mid-air. The noise of their decent was loud down the slope we had
just ascended but the angle of repose would not allow us to see
them. I told Jack to get ready to shoot again should we see both
rams climb out of the canyon. But it was not to be. Only the smaller
ram showed as he climbed the slope opposite of us.
Renegotiating
the slope to the bottom we found the ram. The bullet had entered his
right horn and exited the left horn at the same level of trajectory
and had killed him instantly. Unfortunately, the
resulting blood damage did not allow for pictures. The eleven year
old ram had a heavy forty inch horn on his left and was broken at
thirty six inches on his right. What a sheep and what a
hunt.
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Jack went on to
harvest a very large black grizzly and a dandy moose on this
hunt. In all we worked together for three beautiful rams, three
dandy moose, the black grizzly, black bear and caribou. The Western
Alaska Range “Grand Slam” and then some. But it was not the harvest
success that made those forty two hunting days so special as it was
the enjoyment and appreciation that Jack has for the country, the
people and the wildlife that he spends his time with. All of these
hunts were conducted by fair chase. There was no flying involved
other than access to and from our base camp. Heck, we did not even
know what the country looked like from the air, let alone where an
animal might be. This was the last hunt that Jack and I shared and
though we still talk about a winter trap-line adventure, or maybe a
wolf hunt, we both know that we will have a hard time ever topping
the experiences already granted to us. Thank you Jack.
This
story appeared in the Winter 2005 Issue of
The Alaska
Professional Hunter Magazine.
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