A few days ago, after having breakfast with my young friend Isaac Landecker (check out his YouTube channel for some great videos), he invited me over to his place to see his trophies.  He really has some impressive animals.  Two amazing B&C moose and some great rams, a 40”, a 39 ½” and one beautiful little tight curled guy that’s broomed close to the second year on both horns and still over full curl.  Next to his latest, a 39 ½” with 14” bases, it looks like a miniature but what a beautiful ram.  I asked him if he had seen the first sheep that I guided on which was a 38 ¼” curl and a quarter ram that has that shape.  He had previously looked at my sheep photos on my blog but wasn’t familiar with that one.  When I got home, I looked on my blog in sheep photos and in all my stories and it wasn’t there.  I asked my wife if she remembered that story about guiding in the Brooks and she said no.  I could have sworn I had written that one.  It should have been posted right after the “I Can Do This” story, my first story about my first guiding season.  The problem was back when I first started the blog, I was randomly posting old hunting stories intermixed with guide hunting stories.  The following story is a very important part of my guide history, hope you enjoy.

The Brooks Range

In 1983 after I finished my first spring season guiding brown bear hunters for Tony Lee, I knew I could handle being a guide and I was excited about the upcoming fall season especially guiding sheep hunters.  A friend of mine Rich Guthrie, who had a guide area in the Brooks Range and one on the Alaska Peninsula, heard that I had my Assistant Guide license and gave me a call to see if I might be interested in guiding for him that fall in both areas.  I told him I would love to.  He said he had a permit to build a cabin at Galbraith Lake Strip and asked me if I could come a few days early to help.  That worked great for me because I wanted to spend as much time as I could in the field for the money and the experience.  The Brooks Range is the farthest North Mountain range in Alaska.

When I arrived that first morning at Prudhoe Bay/Deadhorse, Tom Jesiolowski or better known as Tom J, a friend and one of Rich’s guides, came to pick me up.  As the cargo handler threw the baggage down a small outside ramp my pack, one of my two checked bags, was nowhere to be seen.  I grabbed my gun case and headed inside to check with someone at the luggage counter to see what happened to my pack.  I found out that it had gone to King Salmon by mistake.  They said they would bring it on the afternoon flight if they could get it back to Anchorage in time.  We had about five hours to kill.  However, you could see everything you wanted to see in Deadhorse in an hour so it was going to be a long afternoon.  Finally, my pack came in and we headed down the haul road or the official name Dalton Highway to Galbraith Lake.  Since it was my first time this far north, I found the country very interesting but the road to Galbraith Lake was flat and dusty.

Once we arrived at Galbraith, I stashed my gear and was introduced to Donnie Smith, another one of Rich’s guides.  He was also a fish guide on the Kenai River and immediately told me he had a long fishing season and had work burn-out and wasn’t going to be doing too much to help.  He and Tom had driven up the haul road from Anchorage with the building materials, food, supplies, airplane gas and gear for the season.  It seemed like they didn’t like eating the dust or the rough areas on the haul road.  He told me that one year on the trip up they had six flat tires.  In fact, while we were in Deadhorse Tom had to get a tire repaired.  It didn’t sound like a fun trip to me either.

We made good progress on the cabin including building four bunks inside.  The cabin was mainly to be used for clients and guides passing through to base camp.  Donnie was really funny, always telling stories.  He told me he was “almost famous.”  I got a laugh out of that.  The previous year one of his clients had written a story about his sheep hunt that Donnie had guided him on.  The country was so easy that Donnie wore hip boots while stalking his ram.  We had a good time but I was ready to get to base camp and really ready for my first sheep client.

When I arrived at base camp, I started pulling gear and food for the spike camps.  Rich had three sheep/caribou hunters coming in from Colorado.  Tom and I were going to guide two brothers, Ken and Ron Hayden, while Donnie was guiding the other hunter, Lowell Leavitt. 

Ken was the oldest close to 50 and had set the hunt up so he was going with Tom for a sheep that Rich and Tom had spotted the year before.  The four of us would start at the same spike camp in a beautiful little grassy valley.  Tom and Ken would leave some spare gear and food there and were going to backpack across the ridge through a pass to hunt the valley east of us.  That left the main valley for Ron and me.  Before we landed Rich made one pass around the area with the “Super Cub” to show me the country.  He didn’t tell me where I was and didn’t show me any maps because I had been a resident sheep hunter for 17 years and he didn’t want me telling anyone where I hunted.  He told me it was a very small area and that four resident hunters like me could wipe him out.  He tried to keep a low profile not publishing stories or photos in any of the sports magazines including the Alaska Professional Hunters Association’s Magazine.

Rich dropped Ron and me off on the evening of the 8th but got caught by weather and darkness so he didn’t get Tom and Ken in until the next morning.  Ron and I had the 9th to look around and decide which direction to go opening day.  Tom and Ken headed out.  At the head of the valley, about four miles up, was the border to the Gates of the Arctic National Park which of course is closed to hunting, thanks to President Carter.  We spent most of the afternoon back toward the end and only spotted a few sheep with only two small rams so we decided to go down valley on opening day.  We ran out of sheep country that way and only spotted one small ram.  We hunted two and a half more days with no luck finding a decent ram.  That afternoon Tom and Ken made it back to camp with the prettiest 38” curl and quarter ram that I had ever seen.  My first question was, “are there any other decent rams over there?”  Tom said he only saw one, a 37” full curl.  I asked if I could use his small two-man pack tent to go over that way.  He said, “Of course!” I told Ron to pack his sleeping bag and only the bare necessities.  I stuffed my sleeping bag and air mattress in the bag, grabbed my small stove and three days of food and was ready to go.  Tom gave me directions to climb the shelf about a mile down the valley on the right.  He said we would need hip boots to cross the stream.  Then hike another half mile down valley and take the second draw to cross over the pass to the next valley.  They wished us luck and we were off.

The weather at this point was bluebird but by the time we made it to where we were to climb up this 500-to-600-foot shelf it started to rain hard and then the clouds started to come down.  We climbed close to the top before I decided we needed to stop and camp.  Not only were we getting wet but I couldn’t see the hillside where we were supposed to go over.

We stayed in the tent the rest of the evening eating a freeze-dried dinner for supper.  Next morning, we had oat meal and a hot drink and packed up.  It wasn’t raining and the clouds were lifting.  We made it down to where I could see up the draw to the pass, but as I looked down the valley the shelf was dropping off and there was a small area that I couldn’t see.  I just couldn’t leave without checking it out.  I dropped my pack and told Ron to stay there while I went down to where I could see all of the shelf.  About 400 yards down from where I dropped my pack I peeped over a small knoll and there lay a sheep identical to Ken’s.  He was only two hundred yards below me.  The wind was in my face and he was facing the opposite direction.  I dropped down and ran back to Ron.  I told him what I had found and to bring his loaded rifle and nothing else.  As we peeped over the ridge the sheep was lying just how he was when I left him.  Ron found a good rest and with a slow trigger pull put one bullet hole in the magnificent ram.  The ram never moved.  What a deal!  It couldn’t have been any easier.  High “5’s”, photo’s, caping, boning and we were back to our spike camp just after lunch.  One of my easiest sheep hunts ever and the reward was the most beautiful ram that I had ever seen.

Tom couldn’t believe that we found another ram like that.  You can see in the photo of the four of us that they were almost identical.  Both at least 13 years old and only a 1/8” difference in length with Ron’s being the largest.  Ron’s scored 159 B&C basically the same as Ken’s.  I don’t think you could ever duplicate that.

When Rich showed up, he was beside himself.  He told us Lowell had also taken a 38” ram broomed back to 35” on one side.  What a start to the season.  He flew us all back to base camp that evening and left the spike camp in place.

Once back in base camp we found out that Donnie’s hunter, Lowell, had also killed a caribou in velvet that green scored 407 B&C basically from the tent. 

At base camp I got to see and photograph my first musk ox, catch Grayling and Arctic Char and had a grizzly come into camp trying to steal meat from the meat pole. 

Being the new guy, I got the honor of mopping the condensation off of the inside roof and walls of the cook tent.  It was a Weather Port tent and the dripping condensation was a negative of that tent.  Once AAA got Weather Ports, we attached a canvas liner on the inside and solved that problem.  I thought at the time what a great base camp.

Ken and Ron would take a caribou later with Tom and Donnie since I had another sheep hunter coming in.

I said goodbye to the Hayden’s and Lowell for now, but after Brent and I formed AAA, they returned to hunt with us two times.  Rich would also use Ron’s sheep photo that I had taken for his ad and brochure for the next five years

I was told my new client, Sonny Burnett, was in his mid to late 60’s, out of shape, smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and had been on three unsuccessful sheep hunts.  When I met Sonny, he seemed to be a nice guy but he wanted me to know right away that he really wanted a 38” ram.  I told him that’s a big ram but we would try.  I asked Rich where he was going to take us and he said, “the same camp that I came from.”  I told him Sonny wanted a 38 incher and I hadn’t even seen a 35 incher around there.  He said after he walks around a few days he would probably lower his expectation.  With that he flew Sonny and me into the spike camp that I had just left. 

The evening went well but I didn’t see a single sheep from camp which was like it was before.  The next morning, we woke early to a bluebird day.  We had oatmeal and Sonny had coffee and I had hot chocolate.  I got my pack ready to head up the valley and I told Sonny to take limited gear in his day pack.  We were less than 100 yards from camp when I spotted the back of a sheep less than 100 feet up the hillside and about 800 yards from us.  I told him to get down and I got out my old Bausch and Lomb 15x60 spotting scope.  As I focused in on the white sheep, he raised his head and I knew he was a big ram.  He fed into a small draw.  I told Sonny we were going to run to the hillside and to stay out of view.  We made it before he fed into view on the other side of the draw.  I had carried my spotting scope with us.  I got the ram back in the scope and could see he was a heavy full curl.  Sonny kept whispering, “is he 38, is he 38.”  I said, “He is close, but you need to shoot this ram, he is a real trophy!” We were now about 600 yards from him when he fed into another draw.  The wind was coming down the valley.  We moved as fast as we could trying not to make any noise.  As he came up on the other side, we were now about 300 yards from him.  As luck would have it, he continued to feed into another grassy draw.  We moved closer and closer.  When we came up on the last draw he had disappeared into, I looked down and there he was feeding about 75 yards below us.  I told Sonny to take him.  He was shooting a .270 Winchester and hit him too far back.  The sheep just stood there.  I said, “Hit him again.”  Another middle body shot.  I could see just a little blood.  “Hit him again,” I yelled.  Same results so I shot him in the shoulder with my .300 Winchester Magnum and down he went.  What luck!  A half mile from the tent on a grassy hillside about 50 feet from the valley floor.  It doesn’t get any easier than that.  The easiest sheep hunt ever!

I asked Sonny why he was shooting so far back.   All he could say was, “this .270 is a piece of trash.”  A .270 Winchester, Jack O’Conner’s favorite sheep rifle.  It’s not my favorite caliber but if he had hit it in the shoulder, one shot would have put him down.

After pictures I took my time with the cape and meat while Sonny took a smoke break.  We were back to camp by 10 AM.   The sheep was 37 6/8th with 14” bases that carried heavy for a long distance.  It was a 164-165 point B&C ram, the largest taken that year and second largest that Rich’s clients had ever taken.  

The next two days we hung around camp and I fleshed out the cape and cleaned up the skull cap and horns.  Rich was to check on us on day three so when I heard the “cub” coming I hide the horns behind the tent under a small tarp.  After he landed and got out of the plane he came over and asked what we were doing hanging around camp.  I told him we couldn’t find anything worth shooting.  Sonny couldn’t keep a straight face so I said, “We got one!”  As I pulled the tarp off, he starting grinning and said, “Where did you get that guy?  I haven’t seen him before.”  I pointed to the kill site at the valley bottom.  He started laughing and said, “That’s quite a ram.”  He told me to go ahead and pull the camp down.  He would take Sonny and his gear and come back for me and the camp. 

Once back at base camp everyone was getting ready for moose season.  Rich had another guide, Bill Barrickman, who was his old hunting partner and a dentist, come in with his “Super Cub.”  Rich told me he wanted me to drive to Deadhorse the next day to pick up another client, a bow hunter on a caribou/moose hunt.  He said, “Since you are a bow hunter, I want you to guide him.”  He told me he would fly me to Galbraith strip that evening.  I told Sonny goodbye since I wasn’t sure if I would see him again.  I never did but I did get a real nice card from his wife with a note thanking me for making a dream come true for Sonny.  That was my first and last card that I received from a hunters’ wife. 

Once in the cabin at Galbraith I made some supper and kicked back for a good night of rest.  I decided to sleep on one of the top bunks I think mainly because there was gear all over the bottom bunks.  I was sound asleep when around 3 AM, “Kaboom,” something hit the cabin door hard.  It shook the whole cabin.  I sat straight up, grabbed my gun and yelled, “Hey” really loud.  I waited just like they do in the movies when someone or something hits the door and it doesn’t open.  I was waiting for the next “Kaboom,” with my gun pointed at the door and I was glad that I was on the top bunk.  It never happened, whatever it was left.  I waited 10-15 minutes before I opened the door with my gun and flashlight in my hand.  There in the new falling snow was a set of big grizzly tracks leading up to and away from the door.  I could see his muddy paw prints left from where he hit the door mid-way and smashed into the facing.  I stood there in the doorway for a few minutes shining the flashlight all around the front of the cabin.  Seeing nothing I closed and locked the door and climbed back on my bunk.  It took me a little bit to get back to sleep but I finally did. 

I woke up around 6 AM and went outside to look things over.  There was only ¾” of new snow and I measured a 7” front track so this was a big bear for a grizzly, close to 8’.  He had walked completely around the cabin until he came to the door.  As I was looking around, I could see that he had broken out the back window of a camper shell on one of Rich’s trucks that only contained construction materials.  Next there was a Fish and Game cabin where he had gone through the back window that was covered with plywood and had nails sticking out of it.  He destroyed the inside, eating any food he could find and then broke the door down.  There was a trailer behind the cabin where he had ripped the door off and then went out the back wall like a bullet had gone through it.  He found a Chevy Blazer, owned by another guide, on the end of the ramp and broke out the back window and had hunting gear, food, sleeping bags and you name it scattered all over the tundra.  He had had one exciting night and the only thing I heard was the one “Kaboom” at the cabin door.

A couple Pipeline security guards came by and said that he was one of the larger grizzlies and was always doing this kind of stuff.

I had to get to Deadhorse by 10:30 AM so I took off to get my next client, Dr. John Ribic, a caribou/moose hunter.  I met John at the terminal and we loaded his gear in the truck and headed back to Galbraith.

Rich picked us up late that afternoon and flew us into base camp.  I had John shoot and check his bow out so we could get an early start in the morning.  We hunted caribou out of base camp the next few days.  The caribou were very scattered in the area not herded up at all.  On day two I spotted two nice bulls coming off a ridge and it looked like they were going to cross the creek close to our location.  The wind was in our favor to get in front of them for a bow shot.  The creek had a brushy bottom with a few small swampy areas on both sides.  I spotted a mound on our side of the creek that looked like a great place for an ambush.  The wind and caribou cooperated and after they crossed the creek, they feed into a small swamp lake below the mound.  It was going to be a 20–25 yard shot.  Right on que I told John to raise and shoot.  He did and shot right over the back of the biggest one.  They took off and crossed back over the creek and headed up valley.  We never got close enough for another shot.  That night after John and I got back to camp Rich told us he was going to fly us to a spike camp for moose.  He did and I have a posted story with all the details of that hunt.  See “My Guided Moose Hunters.”  John was my first moose hunter as a guide.

After we returned from John’s successful moose kill it was time for me to head back to Anchorage.  I had committed to guide moose and caribou hunters for Tracy Vrem on the Alaska Peninsula starting in early September.  Then I was to head down to Cold Bay to help my soon to be partner, Brent Jones, set up his brown bear camps right before I was to guide brown bear and caribou hunters for Rich.  That was my first and last trip to the Brooks Range.  It is beautiful country and I would love to hunt there again someday.

1983 was a busy first year guiding.  I guided for three different guides and had 11 clients who harvested 3 brown bears, 1 black bear, 2 Dall sheep (the largest in camp), 3 moose and 4 caribou.  All in all, a good year.  That December Brent and I formed AAA Alaskan Outfitters.  We were partners for 22 years operating the largest hunting guide operation in Alaska during that time.  I feel truly blessed!