When I started fly fishing I had the same romantic notion of the sport that many probably do.  Casting delicate little flies that land softly on the water and watching big fish come up from the depths to sip the offering ever so gently.  Then one day I was on a beautiful clear flowing river on a bright, fall day with no fish rising or even looking at my dry fly presentations.  I was still fairly new to the sport and had only read about fishing nymphs.  I rigged up, from my best recollections of what I had read, and went from casting a small dry to casting two nymphs under a bulky yarn indicator with some split shot.  On my first cast I discovered there was nothing delicate about presenting this setup to fish.  The split shot and the indicator made quite a splash as I tossed the whole get up to the head of a run.  I then discovered that this rig can quickly become a tangled mess of flies, tippet, split shot, and yarn.  There were a few false starts and aggravating intermissions to my fishing as I untangled several rat nests.  I was just beginning to think the hassle wasn’t worth it when I finally got the perfect cast, a good drift, and as the indicator flowed passed a large submerged boulder I saw the white mouth of a rainbow trout open and the indicator gently dipped below the surface.  I set the hook on what at the time was the largest trout I had ever caught.  Since that time I have not become much better at eliminating tangles in the complicated set up but I have discovered that using nymphs can improve your success at times when a dry fly just won’t interest a trout.

While it is fun to pick off rising fish with a dry fly it is good to remember that most of a fish’s feeding takes place sub surface on nymphs.  While it can be discouraging for a beginner to try and manage the double nymph rig it can pay off with more and often larger fish.  It also provides a realistic chance of catching fish under a wider variety of conditions.

The most effective method if I am specifically targeting fish with nymphs is the double nymph rig, as this method allows a very realistic presentation.  This rig starts at the top with an indicator of your choice.  There are many types of indicators and ideas for homemade indicators out there.  Most store bought indicators will be the poly yarn variety.  I like these but have had trouble in choppy water with them staying buoyant enough after becoming submerged in the riffles a couple times.  My personal choice is an appropriately sized Frog Hair Ultimate Adjustable indicator.

They are made of foam; they float well in almost all circumstances, are very responsive to even the lightest of bites, are highly visible, and they are easy to slide up and down your leader to adjust the depth as you move from run to run.  All the things that I feel make a good indicator.  The rule I use for where to put the indicator is usually twice as deep as the water I am fishing and adjust from there depending on the swiftness of the water.  The faster the flow the higher you will want the indicator to allow the nymphs to get to the bottom where the fish will be looking for them.

Once the indicator is in place I tie the top fly on the end of the tippet.  Personally I often use a larger nymph like a stonefly or one with a bead head as my point fly.  The advantage is twofold here.  First a larger fly like the Stonefly nymph or a bead head nymph will provide a little more weight to help get the flies to the bottom quickly.  Second they can serve as an attractor to get the fish’s attention.  Even if it is not exactly what the fish wants a big potential meal like the stonefly of something with some flash like the bead head will catch their eye and may be too much for the fish to resist.  As with everything else though this is just a guideline and if conditions dictate I will deviate from this strategy with different flies.

Once the top fly is chosen and tied on I tie about 12-18 inches of tippet to the bend in the hook and tie my second fly on.  In my experience the second fly will be the one you catch most of your fish on.  My most used patterns here are a small pheasant tail or hare’s ear nymphs.   Obviously your fly choices will again depend on what type of insects hatch on your body of water.

The final but very important step is the split shot.  I place my split shot about 12” above the top fly in my rig.  Start with as little weight as possible and work up as conditions dictate.  Most nymphs live on and under the rocks at the bottom of a river so a fish feeding on nymphs is most likely going to be found on the bottom as well.  You need to get your fly down to where the fish are and that means adding weight.  You will want your flies to be bumping bottom occasionally but not continually hanging up.  Finding this balance will be important to your success.

There is no fast hard rule about where I will fish this rig but the most likely spots I target are in tail outs just below a riffle or in long 3’-4’ deep channels with fast  to medium walking speed current flow.  Other good areas are in current seams where fast current meets a slower current.    I usually cast upstream at about a 45 degree angle and let the flies drift past me making sure to mend the line properly so I don’t get much drag.  Nothing will tip a fish off faster to an imitation than a fly that is streaming instead of drifting.  This is another good use for the indicator as it helps you get a better idea of what the flies beneath the surface are doing.  Since the flies are out of your sight you will have a hard time knowing for sure if you are getting a lot of drag or not without an indicator.  You can be confident that if your indicator is dragging, your flies are also dragging.  If your line is ahead of your indicator it will pull the indicator downstream.  Mend your line as often as needed to keep the line upstream of your indicator to get the most drag free drift.  Simply let your indicator float as drag free as possible for as long as possible.  One exception to this comes at the end of your drift when the flies have drifted past you and are coming to the end of the line.  The current will catch the indicator and the flies and start to pull them towards the surface.  I always let this happen because the rising flies will mimic nymphs that are swimming or floating towards the surface during a hatch.  Fish will sometimes take these nymphs as they make their rise from the bottom of the river to the surface.  I have caught many fish just being patient and letting the current take hold at the end of a drift.

One important thing to remember is that a trout’s take on a drifting nymph can be extremely subtle.  It can be very easy to miss a take as fish seem to be able to mouth your flies while your indicator makes almost no movement.  Keep your eyes on the indicator for any abnormal movement and be ready to take up your slack.  It takes a bit of experience with the set up but you soon develop a sense and can really tell the difference between your fly ticking the bottom and the soft take from a fish.  Generally though, you should probably be thinking fish anytime your indicator moves in a way contrary to what the current is doing.

The Double Nymph rig can be a very productive way to find and catch fish but the one piece of advice I would give to anyone giving it a try is to be patient and slow down.  When casting an outfit with this many moving parts things can get tangled in a hurry.  I was reminded of this advice last week as I broke down and opened the nymph fly box on a slow catching day on my local river.  I had been used to casting tiny Blue Wing Olive, and midge imitations so when I broke out the indicator and the split shot and failed to adjust my casting accordingly I found myself wasting a lot of time undoing big knots.  Each tangle made me more frustrated, which made me tense up even more, which did not improve my casting.  After an half an hour of fighting against myself and gritting my teeth at tangle after tangle, I was able to slow myself down and shorten my casts and wouldn’t you know it, I hooked right into a good fish.  It reaffirmed the lesson I learned years ago on that fall day, that knowing how to fish nymphs can turn a frustrating skunking into a great day on the river in a hurry.

OK, I’ve gotta admit that I was skeptical when Harold from Stedi-Stock contacted me a few months ago wanting me to do a product review. I had seen the product before on hunting shows and was pretty sure that it was just a gimmick. It took me a while to test the product and get this review written and I’m pretty sure that Harold had given up on me, but recently I got my chance to test it out.

Last weekend I took the Stedi-Stock along on a family camping trip and was pleasantly surprised at its functionality. I wanted to really test it and figured that mounting a spotting scope on it was the ultimate test. Every hunter knows that hand-holding a spotting scope just doesn’t work. I strapped it on and set off on a hike with my sons to scout for some elk.

Here are the results:

Ease of Use: After I figured out that the little knob holding the handle on screwed off, mounting my spotting scope was easy.

Functionality: While it was no tripod (I realize that’s not the point though), I was able to use it quite effectively to glass for game. It was a little shaky at the highest magnification, but I found that I was able to brace on a tree as if shooting a rifle. Another bonus is that it is much, much lighter than a tripod.

Is it Pracitcal? Yes, I think it is. I do a lot of back-country archery hunting and my spotting scope gets left behind more often than not. With this product, I think I’ll get more use out of it.

Will My Buddies Make Fun of Me? Maybe at first… I’m willing to deal with that, and I bet they get one too after using it.

My Son Loves It! he thinks it’s super cool and has been using it in his “wars” with his brother and sister.

TOTAL SCORE:

Daisy was our first poor mans pack animal.  The eleven miles we now have to hike back into our elk camp, we used to be able to drive it on what you cannot call a road or trail without a warped imagination.  We had hauled Daisy in the back of the pickup up to this point so we figured we’d just leave her back there the rest of the way.  Well, somewhere early on she decided it was too rough to stand up so she sat down on her haunches and remained that way the rest of the way in.  We didn’t know wither to laugh or cry when we went to unload her as there stood a sad looking donkey with no hair left on her posterior.  She was such an embarrassment to some of the guys that they wanted us to tie her up back in the trees a ways so the other hunters didn’t see her.  Then there was the day that one of the guys shot an elk way in the bottom of one of the canyons and took Daisy down to do some packing.  Well he tried to pack her out a different direction then he came in and Daisy would have none of it.  He got so frustrated that he tied her to a tree instead of just turning her loose, and he came back to camp with a load of meat.  We figured she would be lion bait before we got back down to her the next day to turn her loose, but no, she was just standing there ready to be cut loose so she could get back to the feed bucket.

Now Flaky was something else again.  Working around the place or on short trips she was about as cooperative as she could be, so we saw no problems when we started planning an elk trip twelve miles up Bear Creek in the Wallowa Mountains.  At the trail head Ray and I made sure every one else was packed and headed up the trail before we threw the 60 lb. tent on Flaky, shouldered our packs and headed up the trail.  We hadn’t gone 200 yards up the trail and the old gal just dropped like she had been shot.  No amount of encouragement would get her up so we took the tent off her and sure enough, she got right up.  Another fifty feet down the trail she drops again.  This was a pattern that continued several times over.  By this time Ray and I were, to say the least, frustrated and even a bit angry.  An hour later we weren’t half mile from the truck and we were getting nowhere fast.  Ray tied the extra 60 lbs on his pack and took off while Flaky happily followed.  After a few miles Ray gave out and it was my turn.  We switched back and forth till we staggered into camp to the laughter of all the guys that were waiting to put up the tent.  Flaky was definitely the most perky of us three.  I promised Ray on the way up that I would unload her and hopefully get enough that we could go out and have a nice steak dinner for us and the wives, for all the work she put us through.  I did, and we did.  The steak tasted pretty good.

Slug was Flaky’s son so it was with apprehension that we took him in elk hunting the first time.  He was just a two year old but had real good size.  I hadn’t had time to train him but figured with all the help in camp we could work on it before someone got an elk.  Sure enough, he no more hit the ground and I announced we needed him trained and five guys took up the challenge.  I can still see him bucking his way across the clearing with packs full of everything from rocks to tin cooking ware.  A little over an hour later he was packing like a champ.  He packed for several years and by far was our best packer up to that point.  We paired him up with a hinny, named Moe that I had bought, that was smaller then Slug.  Those two packed a bunch of elk out and as weird a couple as they looked, we never were embarrassed about them.  I wish I had them back.

Speaking of Moe, he was as interesting as the donkeys.  When I bought him he was trained to do about anything including jumping up in the back of the pickup when I was ready to load up.  Pretty handy, no ramp no nothing.  He was also broke to ride and I had ridin him a few times so I’m not sure what happened one day that he decided he was no longer a rider.  One of the other guys must have had a run in with him because I heard him tell someone else he’d give him five bucks if he could ride Moe.  Hearing that, I walked over to Moe with every intent to get me an easy five spot.  What ever happened, it happened so fast that all I remember is landing on my back in a lot of very fresh warm horse manure.  Soft landing but I was fully deodorized to smell like a horse for a long time and some of the guys weren’t keen on letting me back in the tent that night either.  At least I didn’t have to worry about cover scent for the rest of the hunt.

It was shortly after this that I started figuring it out that hunting hard and hunting smart did not always correspond.  Age often forces us to stand back and take a real good look at the difference, and also makes us realize there is nothing wrong with slowing down.  It gets depressing to sit in the barbershop during hunting season, as so much of the conversation with the senior generation centers around why they don’t hunt anymore.  And those that do hunt basically make a cameo appearance by driving up and down a few roads and call it hunting.  I’ve tried to share my recipe to enjoying my favorite outdoor activity, but I get the feeling that most think I’ve just slipped a cog or two. 

First I’ve had to examine why I enjoy hunting in the first place and what value I put on it.  I believe those that hunt for the trill of the entire experience have the best chance for longevity.  I would think if we would be satisfied with nothing but a monster bull, buck or whatever, and success didn’t come, it would be tough to keep going out there year after year.  I enjoy every aspect of the hunt except the preparation and packing and the clean up afterwards.  But I do the little undesirables in order to enjoy the days or weeks in between, and the tender little protien morsals all winter long.

Number two, know your limits and be honest about them.  This is a tough one for most of the male population anyway.  I got a distinct feeling from some of the barbershop crowd that when they faced these limitations that they just quit rather then readjusting.  Limitations are a reality, but it doesn’t mean ‘why try if I can’t do it like I used to.’  We may have to quit following our kids around and we might be the last one to camp after an eleven mile hike in, but hey, we’re there and let the fun begin.

Number three, you start hearing words from your Dr. that you had never heard before, like cardiovascular conditioning.  I used to think if the legs can handle it and I condition my wind a bit, all else is automatic.  Doc says sitting behind a desk 6-8 hours a day and then expect everything to be ready for take off on the first day of hunting is dreaming that can turn into a nightmare.  So this old duff is now walking two miles a day to get the mail which in reality is only two blocks away.   I’ve seen this town like I’ve never saw it before and feel better then I have for quite some time.  If you don’t feel good, its hard to enjoy the effort it takes to hunt.  I’ve always felt excitement looking forward to the hunt, but this year as good as I feel I’m especially looking forward to it.

See you out there, and get walking! 

 

 

I’ll use this space as a brief update on the happenings of the site - as many of you know, we’re going through a big transition where we hope to come back with a more resourceful website. The construction of the site seems to be progressing nicely now that we’ve managed to remove a road block that had been a thorn in our side for a while.  We are still excited about bringing our new authors on board to share their expertise to go along with our stories and videos and hope to have it all a reality shortly.  Additionally, I will be refocusing my efforts on producing a regular show for our MyOutdoorTV web show.

And speaking of the web show, Off Trail, the original intent of this site, and more specifically, this web show, was to portray the outdoors in its entirety. Rather than a hunting show that focused on big bucks & bulls and stressed the kill, we wanted to do a show where the focus was on the experience and the animals and kill would be secondary. After a wake up call from my friend of the western skies, Hawk, I realized that my speech of late had been geared towards the kill and what the public wants to see - or maybe what the public has become accustomed to seeing and expects to see.  So I made a commitment to come back to the reason I loved this idea from the beginning.  After two years I’d begun to get burned out from spinning our wheels but not getting any traction. So, while the new site will have tips and strategies for hunting and fishing and all new sections and a great new general store, I’m focusing on bringing the site back to the basics of who we are. For me, it feels a little bit like I’ve returned to Base Camp after hunting elk to the bottom of a canyon and back - I’m wearied and hungry, sweaty, stinky, and dirty, but I’ve enjoyed the ride and look forward to what tomorrow may bring. Thanks for coming along and joining us again at Base Camp.

With my dad unable to hunt I went out the last day of the season with our son Todd. He and Tom had been out 5 times already . The third time out they saw two young bears and got some video footage of them. The other four times out they didn’t even see much sign, so Todd wanted to try an area that they hadn’t checked out. Due to work schedule Tom wasn’t able to go, so I went along to film. We got a late start as Todd had to finish up some work on a stone entrance he built. So right from the beginning we were feeling like the odds of seeing something at 2:00 in the hot afternoon were slim… it seemed more logical that the bears would be back in the bushes cooling it. It really caught us both by surprise when about 200 yards up the trail from the pick-up, we were just coming around a little bend… I had stopped to film Todd walking up the trail, when I saw Todd casually look to his left and then do a double take! At first I thought he was hamming it up for the camera, but found out later that about 70 yards off the trail a big old boar sat on it’s haunches staring at him! I was about 20 yards behind Todd and couldn’t see over the little rise between me and the bear. All I saw was Todd’s reaction. It looked comical the way Todd’s head spun around when he spotted that bear! Todd was sure I could see the bear too so he raised his Dad’s trusty ole 7mm and sighted down the barrel. I heard a loud “Click” , and then saw Todd work the lever, jack a shell in… sight down the barrel again and “BOOM” !  By this time I realized Todd wasn’t hamming… this was for real! Todd was scrambling up the little draw and I huffed and puffed to try and catch up… any minute expecting to see a bear piled up. I finally caught up to him and one look at his expression told me he had missed. It all happened so fast! Our emotions went from zero to sixty… and back to zero in a few short minutes! In spite of his disappointment I could tell that Todd was so excited to have been that close to such a big bear. After looking to make sure there was no blood, we took some time to get the nerves back in control and Todd went over what happened. He had the sights right dead center on that bear…but no bullet in the chamber… that was the “click” I heard. When he jacked a shell in, the bear whirled and headed for the bushes. He was just diving into the bushes when Todd shot the second time. The shot went over the bear. Todd said he had always wondered if he would recognize  a big bear when he saw one… well now he knows… there is no question when you see a really big bear!

We were just getting started up the trail again when we heard the distinct sound of ATVs… this was rather disconcerting as this trail had well marked signs indicating that it was closed to all motorized vehicles. Sure enough around the bend came two ATVs. Todd politely told them this was a closed area. The man and young girl were polite back… but determined to continue their way on up the trail, claiming they had wounded a bear the night before and needed to go in with the ATV’s to try and find it. We didn’t want to make a big issue of it, so we just took off up the hillside in hopes of getting away from the noise. It was frustrating … but we didn’t want to let it spoil the good afternoon we were having. We were able to leave them behind but it did change Todd’s plans and he wasn’t able to go to the area he’d had in mind. But we’d already had an opportunity at a real nice bear… so we knew there were bear right in this drainage!

There was a decent amount of bear sign as we continued up the ridge. When we topped out Todd spent some time glassing all the grassy clearings. It looked like great bear country with grassy south slopes and brushy little draws. Not spotting anything Todd decided to try some fawn bleats on his preditor call… he thought maybe it would lure a bear out of the brush if one was holed up. He had called on and off for about 15 minutes when he whispered “There’s a doe!” thinking that the fawn bleats might have attracted a doe… he put his binocs up to get a better look. “It’s a Wolf!” By this time I was trying to find it in my viewfinder and get it in focus. It was probably 500 yards away, but you could tell that it wasn’t a deer, and it wasn’t a coyote! It was a gray, almost white wolf, and it was plainly interested in Todd’s fawn bleats! We sat for quite awhile even after the wolf disappeared into the thick brush. It was definitely headed our way and I began to get a little nervous and told Todd I felt like a sitting duck! We decided it might be a good idea to get up and move to another spot!

The rest of the afternoon and evening we glassed and Todd did some more fawn bleats, but we never saw any bear… I know Todd felt some disappointment after coming so close … but he will see that vision for the rest of his life, that big ole boar just sitting on it’s haunches staring at him… that is priceless… and I sure wished I’d have gotten some better footage of the wolf Todd called in… but I still close my eyes and see that big white ghost looking up the canyon at us. Sometimes it’s the visions we carry in our hearts, that remain with us and keep us coming back for more!

 

 

I have been aware of claustrophobia most all of my life but I have not paid it much mind as it is a long word and I have an aversion to long words.   There comes a time though when a person needs to face the facts.  Just in the last month I have become acutely aware that I am married to a claustrophobic.  Try that one on for size.  We have been happily married for over 33 years and one day it becomes quite evident that I have a claustrophobic for a spouse.  I have also become  aware of all types of phobias that come into the equation having a spouse with a claustro one.  It  has produced all kinds of baby phobias in me that are growing at an alarming rate.  There are times when the hair on the back of the neck stand straight up and I get a sudden urge to move to the right one step.  Other times I feel it is safer to move ten feet, and other times I realize I just need to run a marathon, never mind its 2:00 in the morning.

 

 

My history is that I was the 3rd of 4 boys in our family, so being in tight places was an every day affair for me.  If one of my older brothers felt the need to put someone in a half nelson, I was the handy recipient even though not a willing one.  Then the other would feel the urge to do a scissor lock on someone and for some reason I was always around to fill the slot of the victim.  You can also imagine what its like to be squatting between two big ol milk cows, putting on the milkers and the two cows each decide to move sideways towards each other at the same time.  You don’t need to wonder anymore why dairy farmers of the 50’s all had elongated heads.  Tight places were just a way of life back then.

 

  We ignorantly thoght the aspens would protect us from the wind!!

                    .

The year 2007 was the first year we didn’t have home responsibilities so Sue and I were both free at the same time. Consequently it was the first time in 30 years that we spent hunting season together.  Since I had spent 8 years putting in for a tag for the Steens Mountains in Oregon and finally got this tag, it was shaping up to be a special year to share with Sue.  Problem number one wasn’t so much that we had chose a little pup tent to do our night shift in as much as it was the weather that welcomed us to the mountain.  We set the tent in a Y where two canyons came together, as it was one of the few places that was flat enough that you didn’t have to worry about rolling into the depths of the canyon in your sleep.  But because of the two canyons coming together you never knew just what the wind would do.  The first night was a wet and windy challenge but nothing like our third night as the wind came and went from every direction conceivable.  When the wind came up the canyon the tent would balloon and our biggest fear was an unexpected lift off.  If it came down the left canyon, Sue’s side of the tent would flatten and my side would balloon.  When it came down the right canyon the opposite would happen.  The problem really got bad when it came down both canyons at the same time.  You could hear it coming like a freight train five seconds before it hit and then it would suck the air right out of the tent and lay it right down on our faces.  Since the fly had departed earlier in the night, the tent that was hitting our faces was very wet.  I have learned a long time ago that if things go bad, curl up in your bag and make the most of it because morning does come and you can make some sane decisions then.  A claustrophobic person does not have that option, and neither does the person with her.  Shall I just say it was a night to remember wither we want to or not.

 

  Brutal but beautiful..

 

One week later I thought I took care of that little problem by suggesting we sleep in the back of the pickup and hike up in the morning.  All went well that day until that evening coming down we had to cross a ravine which I suspected held a ton of deer.  The bottom of the ravine was about fifty yards across and it was covered with poplars and willows that had grown up under snow drifts so there was just as much of them growing horizontal as there was growing vertical.  Yeah, it was a real mess to work our way through.  I was about 20 feet into this jungle when Sue, just out of the blue, passed me.  I stood there in utter amazement as she went through there like a D8 Cat.  Now when a D8  Cat goes through a jungle it makes it much easier for the next person to get through, but there is no deer left in there either.

 

  To look at this country you’d wonder why deer would even be here - but they are, or were before the cougars outnumbered the deer.

 

       

We’re making progress in trying to work through this little problem though as I heard Sue actually trying to laugh about it the other day, but for the life of me I still can’t see a speck of humor in it.

 

  Its the kind of country that keeps begging you to come back, and you do because its easy to love.

 

 

 

Nathan Wilson

“Against my better judgement, I thought this hunt had all the makings to be a walk in the park. I was fortunate to draw a tag for California Bighorn - a once in a lifetime kill in Oregon - but the first afternoon of scouting after finding out that I’d drawn, I spotted 16 different rams in one herd. When all was said and done, after two months of scouting, I had counted 58 different rams and it was looking like this hunt would be done on opening morning.  With high hopes, I spent a lot of time learning the country and the habits of the sheep so that come opening day, I would be prepared for my hunt of lifetime.

One of the herds of rams the author spotted while scouting.

The southeast part of Oregon, where I would be hunting, is rich in heritage and history. The roads are all hand stacked rock built by the cavalry and have mostly stood the test of time.

Look closely and you can see the hand stacked rock road above the waterfalls.

The country has been home to cattle and sheep ranchers for as long as the west has been civilized - if you can even consider that country civilized now! It’s a rough country with dry, very hot summers, and bitter cold, cruel winters.

It’s a lonely country and it can be a brutally hot country, too.

Four days before the season started, we spotted a real nice ram along with four others including a couple shooters. We left the area and decided this would be where we started our hunt.  I was kept company by Chuck Baker, who I had met while elk hunting and also happens to live in that area, and Jay Roscoe, my elk hunting buddy.  The next few days we hung around camp and the nearby hot springs and occasionally fished while we waited for opening morning to come.

Nate shows off a smallmouth he caught while passing the time waiting for opening day.

The Opener at Long Last

Shortly after sunrise on opening morning, the three of us went into the canyon where we’d spotted the herd of big rams.  We only had two quads that could make it down the trail, so I had to ride on the back of Jay’s quad - which was quite interesting!  But, they dropped me off right where we’d spotted the rams, and they continued to drive down the trail where I’d meet up with them later.  I should have had one of them get off and walk with me, though, because two minutes later I went up over this little rise and got busted by twenty rams!  I quietly backed back over the ridge and had a moment of disgust with myself. I should have just sat right there and watched where they went, but instead I thought I’d try and get downwind of them and pop back up over the ridge, but when I got there, they were gone.  There was nothing else to do, so I continued my hunt as planned, and when I reached the next canyon over there was another ram! He was about 300 yards away, and I figured he was a shooter. I’d just seen twenty rams, including one that would have made book, and I was shaking like a leaf! This was a nice ram - but what made him real unique was his coat was as brown as a chocolate bar. I got prone and tried to settle my nerves. When I squeezed off my shot, though, I saw it went over him as I was shooting on an extreme downhill and didn’t compensate enough.  He took off, then, and disappeared the same way the herd of twenty did. It was to be a common theme as the hunt wore on - rams dissapearing into who knows where.   So I missed opening day and then the next two days, I passed on 15 rams - sickle horns and rams in the 130s and 140s.

It’s tough country to traverse, but the rams are there if you’re willing to work for them.

Bad Weather

It’s early September, which normally means hot - and hot it had been. So, we’d been sleeping in the open in our sleeping bags, and one morning we woke up with frost on our bags - a nasty cold front had moved in.  The weather, combined with all the activity in the area from campers and antelope hunters pushed the animals down into the dreaded canyon where the only access was the nasty quad trail. I hated to have to go back in there, but it seemed to be where all the animals had gone. At the end of the first week, we headed back to town to remember what a real bed felt like, shower, restock our food supply, and just wipe the slate clean again.

Evening the Score

After a couple days off, we returned to camp around four in the afternoon, and we headed out to see if we could spot anything.  Right off the bat, we spotted a couple ewes and a lamb.  It was awesome looking country with lots of fresh sign.  Once, while glassing a canyon, we found a cave with no access - it is on a sheer cliff - but we could see into it clearly through our spotting scope, and there in that cave was a ram skull. How it got there is anybody’s guess, but I told the game warden about it and he knew about  - even had pictures of it - and they think it was one of the original transplants! They’ve been wanting to repel down the cliff and retrieve the skull, and hopefully someday they are able to do it. It looks like a big one.

The second week was more of the same story. Lots of ewes and sickle horns, but we just couldn’t locate that big herd of rams again.  Thursday of the second week, Jay had to be home, so I called Chuck and he had his friend, Clint, meet me to give me a hand. Clint is a rancher in the area, so he had some ideas on where he thought there might be some rams. We didn’t see anything that evening, but there was a lot of sign, so we pitched our tent and planned for the next day. Friday we hiked all day through the country where we were sure to find rams - and didn’t see a thing. The fresh sign was everywhere - you could tell there was a large herd that ran in there, but we were baffled, and I was starting to get weary.

This country takes a lot out of a guy after two weeks.

Saturday, we decided to split up and cover more ground.  Clint decided to go over into Antelope Creek and take a look and he told me to go take a look at Toppin Creek. We’re getting to the last three days of a once in a life time hunt, I’d been at it since - it seems like forever, and I was starting to really get worn out. So, I put my spotting scope up, and pretty much took a nap!  Pretty soon, I started having this dream about a really loud four wheeler - and pretty soon it donned on me that it was Clint’s four wheeler and he was in a mighty big hurry! So I got up and tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes and get back on the spotting scope so it looked like I’d been doing my duty.  Clint rolled up and asked if I’d seen anything - I told him I hadn’t, and he said, ‘Well, let’s go. I found eight.’

We got back to where he’d last seen the rams, and immediately I spotted them. We figured they were about 500 yards away on a little point on our side of the canyon. Some were bedded and some were feeding, so we set up the spotting scope to try and decide which was the nicest ram. We found one that was a real nice ram on one side, but his other side was broomed off about half way.  The next biggest ram was exactly what I wanted - a nice, symmetrical ram.

We had to cruise around the rims and get above him to get within 300 yards, and when we got where we wanted to be, we ranged it at 277 yards. I was shooting my .243 Weatherby and I didn’t know for sure where I wanted to aim because of the steep downhill shot. I conferred with Clint and he said to hold it right where I wanted to hit him and ’see how it does.’ It took about twenty minutes for the ram to clear away from all the others and offer me a shot, so by the time he cleared, I was plenty keyed up, and my shot went over his back.  The rams then bunched and ran up the hill about 25 yards and then just stood there for a half hour - of course with my ram in the middle!  Now I was really pumping with adrenaline - I was lucky just to get another chance, and finally my ram takes the lead. We ranged it again and now they were at 250 yards, and I squeezed off another shot. Immediately, he and another ram broke off and ran straight at us. The others ran in the other direction about fifty yards. Pretty soon the other ram joined the bigger herd and Clint was telling me that it looked like a good hit!  I was hoopin’ and hollerin’ and those other rams just stood there for forty minutes!  We couldn’t see into the gully where my ram had gone because of the cliffs, so we started picking our way down to where we’d last seen him. Finally the herd decided to pack up and move out of there - and let me tell you, that was an impressive sight! They were running on almost vertical canyon walls doing 40 MPH! It was awesome to watch!

We finally got above my ram and I see he’s still on his feet weaving back and forth. I knew right away it was a liver shot and he started to walk away, so I tried putting the crosshairs on his spine to drop him. He got to the edge of a cliff and I squeezed off the finishing shot, but the ram thought it would be nice for his last final kick to propel him over the cliff and roll to the bottom of the canyon.  Five and a half brutal hours later, we had him back in camp and I was flat out bushed! Later we realized this ram was the next largest of the rams we’d seen a few days before opening morning. What a hunt - and some awesome memories.”

157 3/8 - The game warden said Nate’s ram was the biggest 5 year old ram he’d ever seen.