🐏 From Dream to Dall Sheep: A Story of Grit, Gear, and the Hunt That Changed Everything

Some hunts begin with a rifle in hand and boots on the ground. Others start much earlier—around kitchen tables, in faded books, or shared between friends over a cold beer. For me, it started in northern Manitoba, years before I ever touched the slopes of

a Yukon mountain.

We were just a couple of young guys sitting around dreaming. Dreaming about a creature so wild, so unreachable, it barely felt real. Dall sheep—those white ghosts of the alpine. We didn’t talk about going to the Yukon back then. We talked about the Northwest Territories and Alaska, places that felt like another world. Back then, the idea of actually standing where those sheep live was laughable. But dreams are funny that way—they stick with you, if you let them.

Years later, life took me to the Yukon. I was busy chasing moose, ducks, and caribou, never quite realizing I was now living in one of the few places on earth where sheep hunting was even possible. Then one day I saw the statue outside the Yukon visitor center—a Dall sheep cast in bronze. That was the moment something clicked. They were here. Right here.

Like buying a new truck and suddenly seeing that truck everywhere, I couldn’t unsee it now. I saw sheep photos, heard sheep stories, and before long, I started thinking… maybe I could actually do this.

That thought became a fire.

I applied for the draw. Got an archery tag—exciting, but not what I was prepared for. I bought a bow, practiced hard, and never made it into the mountains. I wasn’t ready. Life got busy. I was working on the rigs. I missed seasons. I watched the sheep dream slide back into the background. But it never disappeared.

Then one winter, after years of hunting everything but sheep, I decided it was time. This time, it wasn’t a thought—it was a commitment.

I went to a sheep hunting workshop. Back then, you didn’t sign up online—you just showed up and soaked in whatever you could. I remember sitting in that room, watching veteran sheep hunters unroll their packs and share their wisdom. Half the things they said sounded crazy to me. Half the things I thought I knew were dead wrong. But something about that night shifted me. I walked away with a plan.

I started studying. I drove out to watch sheep on Sheep Mountain. I trained. I researched gear obsessively. And then my hunting partner Chris said something that sealed the deal: “Let’s do it.”

We loaded our bags. That part still makes me laugh. Over 80 pounds each. Double the snacks. Too many knives. A bone saw. Rubber rain gear (yes, really). I strapped on my rifle, a Browning X-Bolt .270—picked after far too many hours debating calibers and trying to convince myself I didn’t need another 300. I reloaded my own rounds. I bought a cheap scope because the budget was gone—and almost paid for it when the scope failed, right before the trip.

Everything was ready. We paddled across a lake, packs towering above our heads. We hit the flats and started climbing. The incline hit us harder than expected. The weight of the pack, the elevation, the heat—it was a full-blown test of willpower. We weren’t out of shape, but we weren’t in sheep shape. That’s a whole other level.

Every time we stopped, we had to help each other get back on our feet. By the time we reached our camp just below the summit, we were crushed. No food. Just painkillers and sleep. We’d started in Whitehorse at 5 a.m. and didn’t crawl into our tents until almost 9 p.m.

The next morning, Chris could barely walk. His knee had swollen up and locked. I took a short hike with a light pack, trying to glass rams. Nothing. The following day, we searched another ridge. Still nothing. No rams, no ewes, not even lambs. The mountain was empty.

It was time to go down. Two guys with wrecked knees, limping and swapping a single brace to keep moving. We skipped the Crocs and creek crossings. We walked straight through the water, soaked boots and all. We didn’t care. We were wrecked. But we made it out in half the time it took to get in.

And when we reached the truck, we did what every sheep hunter does: we started talking about the next time.

That first trip didn’t end in a harvest—but it was my first real sheep hunt. It taught me more about myself than any previous season ever had. The physical prep. The mental game. The fine line between dreaming and doing. I look back on that now and smile, because just a few weeks later—on September long weekend—I finally harvested my first ram.

A majestic 12-year-old Dall sheep. The kind you dream about when you’re still just a kid, staring at black-and-white photos in an old hunting magazine.

This episode of the Wild Place Adventures podcast, “ The Long Road to My First Ram: Lessons from a Dream Hunt,” is about more than sheep hunting. It’s about chasing goals that feel too big. About doing the work. Making the mistakes. And learning the lessons that stick with you long after the hunt is over.

If you’ve ever had a dream you couldn’t shake—or a mountain you weren’t sure you could climb—I hope you’ll listen.

🎧 Click here to listen to the episode now → or find us on your favorite listening app

About the Podcast

Wild Place Adventures is where storytelling meets education, with a focus on ethical hunting, real-world resilience, and bringing outdoor traditions home to the next generation. Hosted by Bryce Bekar, each episode blends raw, personal stories with practical insights for backcountry hunters and wilderness learners.

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