One Heck Of A Ride

61 North American Sheep nothing to cover us or block the wind. After less than an hour of shivering, John and I decided we needed to get moving and started walking in the dark down the canyon toward the horses until we reached a dead tree and set it afire. It gave us warmth for an hour or so, then the fire went out and John and I spent the rest of that miserable night stomping our feet and hopping around what was left of that tree, trying to stay warm. At first light, we got to the horses and hobbled them where there was grass and water. While they ate, we slept on the ground in the warm sun. A couple of hours later, we saddled up, got my ram, and rode back to the cabin, where John’s wife had a big meal waiting for us. After we fleshed the hide and removed as much meat as we could from the ram’s head, I went to bed and fell asleep almost instantly. The next morning, John’s grandfather, Don Beattie, flew over our camp and made his weekly food drop. We were watching from the cabin’s porch when a big can of ham hit the ground in front of us and exploded like a bomb! Next came a sack of flour, which also blew up on impact. We were able to salvage some of the ham and flour, but most of it was lost. I’d booked a twenty-one day sheep hunt and had bought moose and goat tags. A really big bull moose and a cow and her calf were being seen daily along the creek near the cabins, but themoose season hadn’t opened yet. After we’d recovered from that cold night without much sleep, John and I rode to an area where he knew mountain goats hung out. Sure enough, a lone goat was on a shale-covered slope about 400 yards away. “It’s a nanny,” John said after watching the animal with his spotting scope. “Do you want her?” I briefly thought about trying to find a big male, but the more I watched that goat the more I wanted her. “I’ll take her,” I said as I scooted to a boulder and set my backpack on it to steady my rifle. When I found her in the scope, she was standing broadside uphill. I held just below the top of her back and watched her drop and slide a few feet downhill in the shale when I shot. The bull moose that had been staying near the cabin was long gone when the moose season opened, and John and I never saw another shootable bull before I had to pack up and get back to Fort St. Johns for my flight home. Although there were not many sheep in the area, I took a nice ram and a big nanny mountain goat. I have no idea how many miles we rode horseback in that gorgeous country, but it was a lot. My guides and their family were great people, and I’d had a great hunt. Back To BC For A California Bighorn To hunt my third ram for a Grand Slam, I flew to Vancouver then took a train 150 miles through British Columbia’s Coast Mountains to Lillooet. The train not only was the shortest and quickest way to reach that small town of perhaps 2,000 souls in September 1995, but it probably also was the most scenic. It took me through some of the most beautiful forests and canyons in southern Canada, and that’s saying a lot. My guide, Ken Olynyk of Bryson Outfitters, was waiting for me when I arrived at the Lillooet station in mid-day and we drove to his home. Ken had been watching a big ram not far from town and wanted to go after it that afternoon. Unfortunately, although I’d paid to have my rifle and luggage with my hunting clothes and boots transferred from Vancouver’s airport to the train station, nothing arrived with me. Ken offered to loan me clothing and let me use his rifle, but I declined as politely as I could. Instead, we spent an hour or so on the phone trying to locate my things. When we found them, the airline had to pay $450.00 to have someone hire a van and deliver them to Ken’s home late