Tough sledding for Brooks Range

SHEEP HUNTING CAN BE RAM TOUGH

BOWMEN GET CLOSE TO A FULL-CURL TROPHY

Dall sheep hunters enjoyed great weather, breathtaking scenery and some hard hikes during a long trek in the Brooks Range, but would it bring a ram for these intrepid

BY BRIAN WATKINS

My pal Trevor and I were on quite the high from successful goat (Alaska Sporting Journal, December 2020) and caribou (January 2021) hunts.

We were able to double up on both species and decided to push our luck into sheep hunting. Why not?

So, we took our bows into the Brooks Range and set out to test our luck again.

The weather forecast called for the opposite of a typical Brooks Range hunt: sunny and 60 degrees every day.

My best friend from college, Dave, was still along for our hunts and was dead-set on exploring the Brooks. He wanted to tag along on our hunt to see the feasibility of doing a 1,000-mile trek across the range next year.

We packed eight days’ worth of food

A muskox bull was among the critters author Brian Watkins, Trevor Embry and their pal Dave Moore spotted during their adventure. (BRIAN WATKINS) and headed into an area based on a tip from a friend.

TAKING A RAM WITH a bow is arguably the hardest hunt there is in Alaska. I was lucky enough to draw an any-ram tag in 2018 and successfully harvested a ram. This year was different. It was an over-the-counter tag. The ram had to be 8 years of age or be a full curl, meaning the horn completes a 360-degree circle back to the base of the horn.

You can age a ram based on the annuli rings on his horns. It's not an easy thing to do, especially in the field. Having both taken full-curl rams in the past with our rifles, Trevor and I decided to up the ante.

As we headed into our area, we carried high hopes. But that high was quickly grounded as we found a lot of boot prints headed to the spot we preferred. We hiked in several miles, only to find tents and tracks into every nook and cranny of the first 5 miles. The terrain was beautiful and the weather complimentary, but the sheep were nonexistent.

With so much hunting pressure, we ended up hiking out of the bowonly corridor. At last light on the third day, we glassed up two rams. One was

Embry gets in some selfie action while Moore scours a slope with a spotting scope for signs of life. (TREVOR EMBRY) Watkins glasses for sheep along a far mountainside. They spotted some potential full-curl rams that would have been tag-fillers. (TREVOR EMBRY)

an obvious young ram, but the other looked close to legal. Maybe the next day it would happen for us.

WE SET OUT EARLY on day four into the bowl where those rams were. We used the spotting scope on the bigger ram and could tell he was decent. He was close to full curl, but we had to rely on aging the ram to determine legality. From half a mile away, we guessed him to be around 8 years old, but we couldn’t be certain. We stalked within 300 yards and indeed aged him between 7 and 9 years old.

As we crept closer to fully ascertain his age the wind shifted. The bigger ram lifted his head from feeding and looked straight at us. We had made a classic stalking mistake in the mountains.

When we began to close the distance, the wind seemed nonexistent. That’s because we had been shielded from it by the mountain. As we hiked up, we should have kept doing wind checks. We would’ve realized which direction the wind was blowing and could have

Pro tip: “If the water is red and metallic looking, stay away,” advises Watkins. “As most sheep hunters know, finding water can be a di cult task. On the trip we filtered water that had a rusty look to it. Even filtered it tasted like battery acid. We had to drain all our filtered water and use snow melt

instead.” (BRIAN WATKINS)

A vast, lonely looking wilderness and solitary tent bely the numbers of fellow hunters who were also chasing wild sheep in that part of the Brooks Range. (BRIAN WATKINS)

salvaged the stalk.

Instead, the rams blew out of there quickly and we lost our chance. I had brought a Scent-A-Way Windicator bottle too, but failed to use it.

WE SPENT A FEW more days in the area and found more tent sites and boot traffic. Hunting from the road is a challenge, as a lot of sheep hunters do it that way. We added the extra challenge of a bow and came up short.

The hunt was not lost, however, as we gained experience and were able to enjoy eight full days of sunshine in the Brooks Range. Not every hunt needs to have a harvest to be successful. We saw a gorgeous bull moose and a muskox, plus a couple of rams that we just couldn’t get the best of.

Maybe we’ll get ’em next time. ASJ

Watkins and Embry have been through this grind before and understand that chasing a ram is hard. While it was a bit frustrating for them to come down from the heights empty-handed, they’ll keep heading back up for more. It’s what Alas-

“I cherish those days on the tundra,” says author Paul Atkins about trips afield in Northwest Alaska with son Eli, who is now preparing for college. “Whether it was in the snow or in a boat, or on the ice, it is something he and I will always have.”

(PAUL D. ATKINS)

RABBITS AND REMINISCENCES

WITH HIS SON GRADUATING SOON FROM HIGH SCHOOL, AN ARCTIC SPORTSMAN RECALLS THE LAD’S ‘FIRST REAL HUNT,’ A WINTER’S PURSUIT OF SNOWSHOE HARES

BY PAUL D. ATKINS

This story is more about remembering than anything else. Twenty-plus years here in the Arctic will do that.

Some memories have been forgotten, but many haven’t, especially those days spent afield with my son on the frozen tundra. “DID YOU SEE THAT?” I whispered to my then 7-year-old son Eli. “Where, Dad?” he asked, as I pointed towards a small rise above the creek. Standing as tall as he could, he peered over the willow, just in time to see a white ball of fur flying through waist-deep snow.

Twenty yards ahead of us the big Arctic hare finally came to a stop, perfectly camouflaged in his white surroundings. Now, if he would just stay there.

I’ve lived and hunted here in Northwest Alaska for a long time and, in most instances, my focus has been during the fall. Moose, caribou and bear have consumed me and when the season does open, I become possessed. I know there are many like me, and if I were a betting man, I’d say just about

It’s 10 miles across Kotzebue Sound and another 3 to the cabin that Atkins and his family stay at. If the trail is smooth, the snowmachine ride over the ice is pretty quick. If not, it can take a while and be rough on a person’s backside. Either way, it’s a beautiful way to see a part of the Arctic that many

don’t. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

everybody in Alaska enjoys venturing outside at some point trying to capture the excitement of the chase or at least a chance to fill the freezer.

Sometimes that possession becomes an obsession and when that happens, I get so tied up in it I forget what’s important. I’ve been this way all my life. Whether it was judging livestock back in the old days, teaching, writing, whatever, it didn’t matter. I’ve always tried to pour every bit of energy and effort into what I was doing, trying to find success.

It wasn’t until a few years after arriving here that I realized what was truly important; it was something grander than guns and bows and the rest of my hobbies combined. First, it was finding my wife Susie and then a year or so later, my son Eli came along. Becoming a father changed me and for the first time in my life, my priorities also changed.

HERE IN THE ARCTIC, the winter can be a long time going. It starts pretty much after caribou season ends in October and extends all the way through late April, when the bears have decided enough is enough and exit their dens. Seven months is a long time, believe me, but somewhere towards the end of February and early March life on the tundra comes alive. Bright sunny days combined with good snow and frozen ground are ideal for snowmachine rides, especially if it’s a family affair.

When it does arrive, the sunshine is just bright enough to break out the sunglasses and sunscreen. By then you know it’s time to go. It’s also time for small animals to break out of their winter homes and run amok along the frozen creeks and willow thickets that line their banks.

Flocks of ptarmigan, still in their semi-white plumage, burst onto the scene. Big snowshoe hares, larger than any rabbit I’ve ever seen, bound endlessly against the frozen landscape and try to hide themselves the best they can. The opportunities at each are usually endless. Being able to chase these critters with your family is priceless.

I REMEMBER THIS NOSTALGIC time in my

life like it was yesterday. And it was during this time when my family and I loaded up our snowmachines and went north across Kotzebue Sound.

The sound is part of the Chukchi Sea, and it’s a 10-mile trip across frozen ocean ice that is 4 to 5 feet deep. I remember that since the trail was good that day, within the hour we pulled into camp along a winding creek that was encased in ice, which gave off a bluish, green color. Up the hill from the creek, surrounded by tall spruce trees, a small bright green cabin with yellow window seals welcomed us for the weekend.

Tearing ropes from the wooden sled, we unloaded our gear and began trudging it up the bank to our temporary home. We assembled sleeping bags, coolers full of food and dry bags with extra clothes

on the small cabin floor. We checked to make sure the wood pile was full, which it was, but figured we’d have to cut more for the small iron stove that sat in the corner. It was perfect.

I remember unpacking our weapons for the weekend – my bow and Eli’s trusty .22. There’s always something special about spending time with your kid outdoors. This was also Eli’s first real hunt, which made it even more special. He was excited and begged me to go immediately, telling me, “Hurry up, Dad.” I told him there was plenty of time, especially with the long days we were having. The sun wouldn’t set for hours.

AFTER GETTING THINGS ORGANIZED, we did

a quick warm-up with hot chocolate and Rice Krispies Treats before making our long trek down the narrow creek. I told Eli we had to be careful and to make sure to watch the banks and adjacent willow flats for any kind of movement.

My wife Susie accompanied us with her camera, and she also served as a spotter. Having another set of eyes is always a plus, especially when the action comes quickly and from all directions.

It wasn’t long before Susie pointed out a white flash in the willow. “There’s one!” she said, just as excited as we were.

We plowed toward it through snow that was up to my waist and Eli’s shoulders, and we quickly climbed the bank. I told Eli to walk in my tracks and use the willows as handholds to keep from sinking down into the white powder. It worked somewhat, but not much.

We could see the big rabbit bouncing just ahead of us, before finally coming to a stop. We weren’t in range yet and had to get closer for a shot. I figured he would break and run, but he didn’t. I told Eli that these things think they’re smart and that if you don’t know what to look for, they can be. “Look for their eye,” I told him.

However, this rabbit made a mistake and stopped on a small snow pile that was easily visible. With Eli right on my heels, I got the bow up, drew and placed my 20-yard pin on his head. It was awesome; we had our first rabbit and I don’t know if Eli or I was more excited.

After we gathered our kill, we stomped on down the creek before taking another big rabbit not too far from where we got the first one. We were having so much fun, and it wasn’t just the hunting. Embedded in the snow and ice were hundreds of animal tracks, everything from the lynx to moose that inhabited this frozen landscape.

It was a learning experience that became a game of who could identify them first. I believe I lost.

Looking back, it’s hard for me to explain the sheer joy I was having that day with my son and wife. I have hunted all over the world and taken hundreds of big game animals, and this was by far one the best experiences I’ve ever had.

“When I close my eyes, I can still see that creek bank, clogged with willow and spruce and a plethora of tracks,” Atkins says. “I can also see Eli, shoulder-deep in the snow trying to catch up and trying not to fall.” (PAUL D. ATKINS)

AS WE CONTINUED DOWN the frozen creek,

we spotted a third rabbit in the willows. I’d told Eli before we left the cabin that our plan was to take three or four, enough for a good meal that evening. With a little luck, this would be our third.

In snow that wasn’t too deep, the rabbit ran into a hole beneath some overgrown willows. I pointed him out to Eli and we slowly began our stalk. Eli was excited when I handed him the .22, telling him this one was his. Thinking he was safe, the rabbit stayed in place only to have Eli draw a bead on him and

The snowshoe hare is a formidable and worthy target for anyone, but also more than something to shoot, harvest and eat. They provided quality time spent with family and created bonds and memories that will

last a lifetime. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

squeeze the trigger.

The rabbit fell over and didn’t move. I was so proud of my son, and even more so when he trudged on ahead of me to claim his trophy. He reached in, grabbed the big snowshoe by his hind legs and exclaimed this was the greatest day of his life. I looked at Susie and said, “Mine too!”

We had our rabbits but continued down the creek and hoped for a chance at something with wings. Besides being the state bird of Alaska, ptarmigan is one of the few bird species that is abundant in the Arctic year-round. They can be found just about anywhere, but tend to like the willows and low-lying alder brush, where they feed on the twigs and leaves of both. I wanted a few for dinner, or at least to take back home. But it wasn’t to be; they weren’t there. So, we gathered our quarry and headed back the way we came.

Back at camp we dumped the rabbits onto the snowbank. I told Eli it was time to clean the bunnies and prepare them for dinner, which was something just as important as the hunt itself. He was fascinated as we sat there in the snow, pulling hides and cutting out everything we wouldn’t use. I thought he would find it gross, but he didn’t.

I don’t know if that experience hooked him or not, but in the years since he has always enjoyed cutting meat and fish. He has proved it many times, especially when we’ve had caribou and moose to cut up. He always grabs a knife and joins right in. Teach them early, I guess.

After dinner it was time to sleep. I stoked the old stove as we settled in for the night. It was peaceful in that little cabin. The quiet of the Arctic surrounded us with the smell of woodsmoke as our only friend. The next morning, we awoke to cold temperatures, but we didn’t really care. I could see from the cabin door that something had cleaned up our mess on the snow – probably a fox or gray jay, sometimes called a camp robber, that had eaten well while we slept.

The rest of the weekend was devoted to digging snow caves, sledding and snowmachining down the creek and up into the hills. I thought we might see a

Like an old friend, this camp has become a welcome sight over the years. It’s gone through many transformations – a new paint job, a new addition – but it always feels like a vacation every time the Atkins family stays there. (PAUL D. ATKINS)

“I think back on these times with great joy and happiness and a little bit of sadness,” the author remembers. “Eli was little then – full of awe and wonder and ready to go anywhere. Some ask me if I regret raising my kid in such a cold, unforgiving place, and I tell them I do not. He has had experiences like no other.” (PAUL D. ATKINS) bear, but it was a bit early for that. We did see a moose meandering behind camp and Eli wanted to shoot it. I told him, “Not today.” That would have to wait.

THAT TRIP HAPPENED A long, long time

ago, but it was one of the best times I’ve ever had up here, and still today I think of it quite often. Seeing my boy so young, so excited to be outside in the country where he was born and where he eventually would grow up, was special.

Since that time, we’ve had more adventures around Alaska and around the world, for that matter. But that weekend is etched in my mind. I wish I could go back and do it all again. ASJ

Editor’s note: Paul Atkins is an outdoor writer and author from Kotzebue, Alaska. He’s had hundreds of articles published on big game hunting in Alaska and throughout North America and Africa, plus surviving in the Arctic. His new book, Atkins’ Alaska, will be on bookshelves soon and available online. Paul is a regular contributor to Alaska Sporting Journal.

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