For six days I watched twentyfive Dall rams in seven different groups and had it narrowed down to two now.

Halfway across the alluvial fan, rocks started clattering above me. The four rams had enough of me. Moving out, they stopped just long enough for me to come to full draw. All I remember is thinking "second in line" and at my release I knew that it just "felt right." I have taken several sheep with rifle and bow in various states but this one, I knew, was truly special.

It was the winter of 2000 when I found out that I had been drawn for the September bowhunt for Dall sheep. The Eklutna management area of Chugach State Park, Unit 14(c) had always been a special place, one of my Dad's many stomping grounds of years gone by. Now I held in my hand a permit that, after ten years of applying for, would allow me to hunt the great, great grandkids of my Dad's earlier trophies. In preparation, several months of racquetball, running, and cross-training would surely turn back the clock a bit and put me in the shape of seventeen years ago when at the age of twenty I took my first ram.

Thirty years earlier "Pa" used to take me to Eklutna to bowhunt for small game. To this day I can still remember him coming to full draw with his ol' Bear super magnum and watching his arrows fly effortlessly, true to their mark. I used to think "how does he do that?" (Dad, do you remember that ONE rabbit?) Only time, many hours of practice, and patience would eventually answer that question. Eklutna has always been a special place. Memories endure, and always, especially for me, build hopes for the coming season.

Quite often, once my legs were long enough, I would get to go on his scouting trips where he would search out the rams that fed in the high alpine basins. These trips kindled a lifelong fire in me. I always had dreams after he would come home and repeat the stories of the great white sheep. "Someday" I thought, but unfortunately, men grow older, time moves on, and before he could take me, this area had become a state park. I knew from here on, that I was on my own. Several times, I've been in here with not only my Dad, but at the same time with my baby sister, after his sheep hunting days were over. Even though it was under your breath, we heard you through the spotting scope, "Man, I sure wish I could do this again." I for one, definitely heard you.

Opening day September 5th, seemed as though it would never show up, and on the 4th in the driving rain, I headed up. Coming to mind was a picture of Pa, in a dark blue rain poncho, rain pouring down and kneeling by one of the rams he had taken many years prior. It was only a short 12 miles up the trail. Due to the weather, the sheep were once again found, but in conditions that I had to sit back and say, "not yet." Would he have made this choice? Not by the indications in the old photos.

September 10th dawned, clear and cold. The evening before, one of the rams that I wanted was now out of the rocks and in a position that looked very favorable. He was traveling with 3 others and if they just happened to be there in the morning it was the chance that I had been waiting for.

My luck held. Traveling as light as I dared, I headed up a deep gully on the downwind side of the feeding rams. At the top, I needed to drop my pack and calm myself as this looked as though it was all going to possibly come together. The alluvial fan that the sheep were feeding on turned out to hide myself even better than I had hoped. Now, would the arrow fly true?

Starting across the fan slowly, I intently watched downhill. Three hours ago - the last time I saw the sheep - they surely would be below. Halfway across, rocks started clattering above. When I turned to look, the four rams had bolted from a batch of alders and were headed for another spot that wasn't quite so crowded. They paused, and before I knew it, the arrow was on its way. Watching the hard hit ram, I knew that it was only a matter of time, and a long pack, before I would begin the narration of a new story of a successful sheep hunt to Dad. Somehow, because of the location, this one would be different.

Bowhunting for Dall sheep, seems to bring out the most in any hunter, and climbing down to that ram, I cannot even begin to illustrate the feelings that swell up within.

Sitting down next to this animal and reflecting back on when I started shooting the bow at the age of 3 or 4, I had to thank Pa. It fully dawned on me at that moment.

Looking across the drainage, I could see the first couple miles of the East fork. My Dad's old hunting area from 30 years prior, and the site of his last successful sheep hunt. Life really does come full circle.

After a successful Antelope hunt and returning home last year, Mom said that "apples sure don't fall far from the family tree in this family." You know, she's right - "Ma and Pa, you're going to have to put up with it for another 30 years or so, your grandson and granddaughter I know, will soon start their journey for the white sheep of 'Eklutna.' Yes Mother, we promise to be careful."

Thanks a million Dad. Thirty-some years ago you started this bowhunt, and deep down, you knew how the future would turn out. And even though those sheep are out of the question for you now, without even asking, you've got a lifetime reserved seat in my driftboat anytime!

~Jon Arend~