Al Hansen
Well-known member
On July 29th, 1966, that was the day I drove into Anchorage. As I stood on the sidewalk looking around, this guy walked up to me and said, “You from Minnesota?” He had evidently seen the license plate on my rig and a short conversation ensued. I asked him about fishing and hunting, where to get a license, and how much it might be. He then told me some very important information or at least that is what it was to me back then. “Sir, you make sure that you buy something today, save that receipt with your life so to prove one year from now that you arrived in this state. On July 29th, 1967, you will be a full fledged Alaskan resident and then you only have to pay $7.00 for your license.”
Not too much later I found out that for that $7.00 license, I could shoot all kinds of small game however I was now beginning to focus on the bigger picture. My eyes looked at page after page of animals and I realized that as a resident I could shoot; 1 Dall sheep, 1 goat, 3 caribou, 1 moose, 3 black bear, 1 grizzly and or brown bear (every 4 years), 1 polar bear, 3 Sitka blacktail deer, and a wolf. It was definitely worth the wait!
That following year I made darn sure I took out my saved receipt when I walked into Montgomery Wards to buy my hunting license and a Remington 7mm magnum with a 4 power Weaver scope on it. I had been studying about rifles, which was something new to this “flat-lander” who was now living in Alaska. Why in the world would I ever need a rifle? I knew nothing of big game hunting because since the age of 13 when I bought that first Winchester model 12 “sweet 16" without my parents knowing about it, that seemed to be all that was necessary to have. That gun was long gone and I now the proud owner of a Browning A-5 3" magnum with a 32" barrel and a ventilated rib. That took almost a year to pay for back in 1956.
Well, here I was holding that 7mm Remington in my hand asking the guy behind the counter all kind of questions about this rifle. “For the money, sir, this is the best rifle on the market for something that is flat and fast shooting. This is all you’ll need when going after sheep and goats. However, don’t be mis-led because you might not like it for moose and caribou if twigs are in the way. It all depends on the terrain you’ll be in.” I was reliving that moment in time and remembering all he said in that statement to me, as I sat down on a large boulder above the tree line to take a breather. I was now heading up towards the ridgeline looking for that monster ram I had just spotted 5 days earlier when I had shot my first ever big game animal which was a rocky mountain billy goat. That had happened on August 10th, which was the very first day of hunting season for sheep, goats and black bears back then.
I had been hunting with another guy who just wanted to tag along with me. He, too, was from Minnesota and a new comer to the state. It wasn’t until I had asked him to come over and look at the goats below me that I knew something wasn’t quite right. Dennis was afraid of heights and never said a thing until that moment in time as I was looking almost straight down a vertical cliff. “I can’t do it, Al,” he said. “I think I might throw up so I’ll just stay back here.” It was about then that I began thinking about hunting solo regardless of the consequences. I made darn sure nothing like that would ever happen to me again, so here I was on my very first Dall sheep hunt all by myself.
I got up from my resting area and continued to walk in this pristine alpine area heading for the top of the mountain that I was on. My gosh it was beautiful up there. My leg muscles were now getting used to this climbing and little did I pay attention to it. It just seemed like the thing to do. After all what was wrong with being part mountain goat? I sure was enjoying my new found experience of being a big game hunter for whatever that was worth. It was about then that I spotted 3 white specks in the distance. I grabbed my binocs and gave them a look. There they were, the three rams I had seen when I was packing out my goat. The largest was just barely a 3/4 curl ram which made it legal. Hell, to me it was the monster ram of this mountain range that I was on. I could see his curl and he looked like a dandy. I then devised a plan of how to get there and without spooking them. I needed to crawl quite a distance to get over the ridge line and out of sight. Once there I hot-footed it to the area about where I thought they might still be bedded down. As I eased up for a peek, all three of them were looking down the mountainside into the vast valley below.
As for me, I was this 26 year old kid, who almost forgot that he owned a shotgun. My new found sporting experiences of big game hunting were quickly overtaking me. I loved every second of being in the mountains. In just over a year, I was now high above the tree line. I knew right where Cooper’s Landing was and just to my left a few thousand feet down was where the head waters of the Russian River began.
For almost a year I had read everything I could about sheep and goat hunting. I had even wandered into the Alaska Fish and Game building and introduced myself to Lyman Nichols, who was the state’s sheep biologist. Over the course of that year I am sure he must have gotten tired of seeing me because I had a lot of questions that I needed answers for. At the time I had no idea if any of those questions that I asked him were relevant now.
It was here that I began to grasp the large scope of things that I was now beginning to focus in on. I was above the clouds that day as I looked about. From where I sat I felt like only God and I had ever been in this very spot in time. My emotions were running very high. It was about then that one of the younger rams decided to stand up and look about. Quickly the other two got up and grazed a little on the tufts of mountain grasses that were growing here and there among the rocks. I made a mental note about these animals and how they seemed so at ease to be just below the ridge line and never seemed to look behind them where I was. My shot looked to be about 200 yards but I was not sure. Being a newcomer to this environment I still was not aware of how easy it was to be fooled by distances up in the mountains.
With my heart beating like a sledge hammer I tried desperately to calm down. So I took a deep breath when I had my cross hairs on the front shoulder of the monster ram and as I began to exhale I squeezed the trigger. To my astonishment the ram collapsed in his tracks.
In my life time I have done many stupid things and right then I pulled another dandy. It had to be one of the all time dumbest things ever. With reckless abandonment, I stood up, started to yell and began to run as fast as I could to my downed ram. I never once gave it a thought that I would trip, break my ankle, or screw up my rifle forever in the rocks. All I wanted to do was get to that sheep in a hurry. Heck, I should have known that it wasn’t going anywhere after I shot it! Fortunately, I did not fall or sprain an ankle. I got to that ram and had a tough time trying to wipe that big grin off of my face. It was then that I sat down next to him and gave thanks. I had never ever done that before but now found myself almost giving some sort of ritualistic prayer. In later years, I had watched documentaries of native North Americans doing this. It was something I continued to do throughout the rest of my life by the way. As I sat there totally engulfed in a euphoric atmosphere, little did I realize that this was just a beginning or new chapter in my lifetime in Alaska. Well, I guess my guardian angel was once again working overtime to keep me in one piece. Since that brief moment in my life, I have often thought of all the “what if’s.”
Al
Not too much later I found out that for that $7.00 license, I could shoot all kinds of small game however I was now beginning to focus on the bigger picture. My eyes looked at page after page of animals and I realized that as a resident I could shoot; 1 Dall sheep, 1 goat, 3 caribou, 1 moose, 3 black bear, 1 grizzly and or brown bear (every 4 years), 1 polar bear, 3 Sitka blacktail deer, and a wolf. It was definitely worth the wait!
That following year I made darn sure I took out my saved receipt when I walked into Montgomery Wards to buy my hunting license and a Remington 7mm magnum with a 4 power Weaver scope on it. I had been studying about rifles, which was something new to this “flat-lander” who was now living in Alaska. Why in the world would I ever need a rifle? I knew nothing of big game hunting because since the age of 13 when I bought that first Winchester model 12 “sweet 16" without my parents knowing about it, that seemed to be all that was necessary to have. That gun was long gone and I now the proud owner of a Browning A-5 3" magnum with a 32" barrel and a ventilated rib. That took almost a year to pay for back in 1956.
Well, here I was holding that 7mm Remington in my hand asking the guy behind the counter all kind of questions about this rifle. “For the money, sir, this is the best rifle on the market for something that is flat and fast shooting. This is all you’ll need when going after sheep and goats. However, don’t be mis-led because you might not like it for moose and caribou if twigs are in the way. It all depends on the terrain you’ll be in.” I was reliving that moment in time and remembering all he said in that statement to me, as I sat down on a large boulder above the tree line to take a breather. I was now heading up towards the ridgeline looking for that monster ram I had just spotted 5 days earlier when I had shot my first ever big game animal which was a rocky mountain billy goat. That had happened on August 10th, which was the very first day of hunting season for sheep, goats and black bears back then.
I had been hunting with another guy who just wanted to tag along with me. He, too, was from Minnesota and a new comer to the state. It wasn’t until I had asked him to come over and look at the goats below me that I knew something wasn’t quite right. Dennis was afraid of heights and never said a thing until that moment in time as I was looking almost straight down a vertical cliff. “I can’t do it, Al,” he said. “I think I might throw up so I’ll just stay back here.” It was about then that I began thinking about hunting solo regardless of the consequences. I made darn sure nothing like that would ever happen to me again, so here I was on my very first Dall sheep hunt all by myself.
I got up from my resting area and continued to walk in this pristine alpine area heading for the top of the mountain that I was on. My gosh it was beautiful up there. My leg muscles were now getting used to this climbing and little did I pay attention to it. It just seemed like the thing to do. After all what was wrong with being part mountain goat? I sure was enjoying my new found experience of being a big game hunter for whatever that was worth. It was about then that I spotted 3 white specks in the distance. I grabbed my binocs and gave them a look. There they were, the three rams I had seen when I was packing out my goat. The largest was just barely a 3/4 curl ram which made it legal. Hell, to me it was the monster ram of this mountain range that I was on. I could see his curl and he looked like a dandy. I then devised a plan of how to get there and without spooking them. I needed to crawl quite a distance to get over the ridge line and out of sight. Once there I hot-footed it to the area about where I thought they might still be bedded down. As I eased up for a peek, all three of them were looking down the mountainside into the vast valley below.
As for me, I was this 26 year old kid, who almost forgot that he owned a shotgun. My new found sporting experiences of big game hunting were quickly overtaking me. I loved every second of being in the mountains. In just over a year, I was now high above the tree line. I knew right where Cooper’s Landing was and just to my left a few thousand feet down was where the head waters of the Russian River began.
For almost a year I had read everything I could about sheep and goat hunting. I had even wandered into the Alaska Fish and Game building and introduced myself to Lyman Nichols, who was the state’s sheep biologist. Over the course of that year I am sure he must have gotten tired of seeing me because I had a lot of questions that I needed answers for. At the time I had no idea if any of those questions that I asked him were relevant now.
It was here that I began to grasp the large scope of things that I was now beginning to focus in on. I was above the clouds that day as I looked about. From where I sat I felt like only God and I had ever been in this very spot in time. My emotions were running very high. It was about then that one of the younger rams decided to stand up and look about. Quickly the other two got up and grazed a little on the tufts of mountain grasses that were growing here and there among the rocks. I made a mental note about these animals and how they seemed so at ease to be just below the ridge line and never seemed to look behind them where I was. My shot looked to be about 200 yards but I was not sure. Being a newcomer to this environment I still was not aware of how easy it was to be fooled by distances up in the mountains.
With my heart beating like a sledge hammer I tried desperately to calm down. So I took a deep breath when I had my cross hairs on the front shoulder of the monster ram and as I began to exhale I squeezed the trigger. To my astonishment the ram collapsed in his tracks.
In my life time I have done many stupid things and right then I pulled another dandy. It had to be one of the all time dumbest things ever. With reckless abandonment, I stood up, started to yell and began to run as fast as I could to my downed ram. I never once gave it a thought that I would trip, break my ankle, or screw up my rifle forever in the rocks. All I wanted to do was get to that sheep in a hurry. Heck, I should have known that it wasn’t going anywhere after I shot it! Fortunately, I did not fall or sprain an ankle. I got to that ram and had a tough time trying to wipe that big grin off of my face. It was then that I sat down next to him and gave thanks. I had never ever done that before but now found myself almost giving some sort of ritualistic prayer. In later years, I had watched documentaries of native North Americans doing this. It was something I continued to do throughout the rest of my life by the way. As I sat there totally engulfed in a euphoric atmosphere, little did I realize that this was just a beginning or new chapter in my lifetime in Alaska. Well, I guess my guardian angel was once again working overtime to keep me in one piece. Since that brief moment in my life, I have often thought of all the “what if’s.”
Al
