Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/812511
than 50 yards and knocked off the ram at 150 yards. While the others watched, Babe saddled her horse and rode after Eleanor and me, but the trail was so tough that even while pushing her horse as hard as she could, she was unable to gain on us. Finally, she gave up and went back to help Frank haze the packstring through that rugged, rocky, and brushy pass. Everyone was still hanging around the spotting scopes, slavering over the enormous head of that fine ram. By this time Frank had decided that this was the big ram that Eleanor had missed when we were hunting out of Isaac Creek. The place where he had been shot at was only about 12 or 14 miles, as the crow flies, from the spot where he and his companions were now bedded. A frightened ram can travel a long way. Not only did this one look like the big Isaac Creek ram, but the two rams with him also looked like the same pair we had seen there. Eleanor and I had only one day to hunt caribou, and one of us had to bring back something because Len Brownell's ram, the last animal that had been shot, was just about eaten up. The next morning we located a bunch of caribou, including one big bull, high on a mountain about four miles away. But when we got there, the bull was gone, and try as we might, we were unable to locate him. Apparently, he had left the country. So, not long before sundown I decided to settle for a young bull. It was a very long shot, probably about 400 yards. The next day, without knowing what was in store for us, we all rode past the mountain on which the bad luck that had haunted us was to change and Eleanor was to take the finest ram shot in the Yukon in 1963 and one of the best ever shot in North America, a monster with horns that measured 44 and 44¼ inches at the time he was shot. Some time later the head was officially taped by a Boone and Crockett Club measurer at 43 2 /8 and 44 inches and given a score of 177 4 /8, good enough for 32nd place in the 1964 edition of Records of North American Big Game. That ended the shooting, except for some bad luck for Len Brownell. He made a good stalk on a big grizzly and attempted to drive a 140-grain bullet through some brush at the grizzly's shoulder. But no luck. The bullet either went to pieces or was deflected, and the grizzly took off in high. A few days later we were back on the highway and headed home—Len and Bill by pickup truck loaded with hides and horns, Bob by plane straight through to the East, and Eleanor and I by plane via Juneau. I had made my first Yukon hunt 18 years before. In the meantime, those mountains had gotten a lot higher and a lot steeper. Mountains in big game country have a way of doing that when a hunter reaches his 60s. n Editor's Note: "A Mixed Bag in the Yukon" first appeared in the September 1965 issue of Outdoor Life. It is one of 45 Jack O'Connor stories in our book, Classic O'Connor. The trade edition is sold out, but we still have Deluxe Edition copies, each leather-bound, slip- cased, and signed and numbered by Jack's son, Bradford O'Connor. Originally offered at $90, now only $60. Call (800) 849-1004 or visit www.sportingclassicsstore.com. 52 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S