Met HuntrPat at 5:30 AM at the Kilohana check station off the Saddle Road. He was in Hilo visiting his sister and we got together for a combo pig/mouflon hunt up on Mauna Kea. Made our way north along the Hunter's Road, looking for moving black shapes in the early morning half light/half dark, seeing lava rocks with tusks and fur and flicking tails but nothing that was really alive. Drove uphill and gained 1000 feet in elevation, up to around 8500 feet, and glassed a wide open, sweeping valley for signs of life. Patrick pointed at a hillside across the valley and said, "See that black thing? Sheep or pig." I looked over and saw what looked to be a fleck of pepper, focused my binos on it, and sure enough, it was a sheep, slowly feeding downhill.
Where there is one sheep, there will be more.
We got our gear together, planned a stalk keeping the wind in our faces, and took off cross country. This is really tough hiking, lava rocks sized anywhere from lemons to basketballs and all of them rolling and sliding beneath our boot soles. Add to that going from sea level to 8500 feet in 1 1/2 hours, getting up at 2:45 AM, age, sinful lifestyle [that's only me, not Patrick]---Whew!
We slowed to a crawl as we approached the ridge that hid the ravine where we figured the sheep would be. All around us was sign of pigs---scat, beds, trails---no doubt they were thick in here. I told Pat not to shoot a pig, even if we stepped on top of it. Sheep are quite a trophy and pigs are everywhere up here.
We slowly poked our heads up above the ridge and at first saw nothing. I saw a piece of dead wood about 150 yards away and concentrated on it. Something didn't seem right. The dead wood moved a couple of steps and then looked back over its shoulder. I brought my binoculars up and saw the purest high mountain mouflon ram I've ever seen. No sign of hybrid in him at all and the horns swept back in a half curl, which is a superb trophy for a pure mouflon.
Patrick got into a sitting position, rested his .270 in the fork of his shooting sticks, took a few quick, deep breaths, exhaled slowly, and halfway through his exhale, the rifle boomed, followed by a loud "WHOP!!"
The sheep folded and didn't so much as wiggle a whisker. Perfect shot under very difficult conditions.
After the high fives and congratulatory ritual, we hoofed over to find a remarkable trophy. Photos followed and then I boned out the meat and Patrick removed the head and part of the cape. The meat smelled sweet and didn't have a hint of the strong lanolin smell of hybrids.
We drove back down to the check station and Pat pulled 13 packages of processed venison and elk from his cooler.
"I read in one of your posts that you miss venison and elk since you've moved over here to the Big Island. This is my way of saying thanks for a wonderful hunt."
I couldn't believe it. He dragged all this meat from CA, and just for me. I was truly grateful. What a gentleman!
That's it from the Big Island for now. Take a look at the photo. That's as pure a mouflon as you'll find in 100 years of hunting on the Big Island---a trophy well earned.
Aloha.
Where there is one sheep, there will be more.
We got our gear together, planned a stalk keeping the wind in our faces, and took off cross country. This is really tough hiking, lava rocks sized anywhere from lemons to basketballs and all of them rolling and sliding beneath our boot soles. Add to that going from sea level to 8500 feet in 1 1/2 hours, getting up at 2:45 AM, age, sinful lifestyle [that's only me, not Patrick]---Whew!
We slowed to a crawl as we approached the ridge that hid the ravine where we figured the sheep would be. All around us was sign of pigs---scat, beds, trails---no doubt they were thick in here. I told Pat not to shoot a pig, even if we stepped on top of it. Sheep are quite a trophy and pigs are everywhere up here.
We slowly poked our heads up above the ridge and at first saw nothing. I saw a piece of dead wood about 150 yards away and concentrated on it. Something didn't seem right. The dead wood moved a couple of steps and then looked back over its shoulder. I brought my binoculars up and saw the purest high mountain mouflon ram I've ever seen. No sign of hybrid in him at all and the horns swept back in a half curl, which is a superb trophy for a pure mouflon.
Patrick got into a sitting position, rested his .270 in the fork of his shooting sticks, took a few quick, deep breaths, exhaled slowly, and halfway through his exhale, the rifle boomed, followed by a loud "WHOP!!"
The sheep folded and didn't so much as wiggle a whisker. Perfect shot under very difficult conditions.
After the high fives and congratulatory ritual, we hoofed over to find a remarkable trophy. Photos followed and then I boned out the meat and Patrick removed the head and part of the cape. The meat smelled sweet and didn't have a hint of the strong lanolin smell of hybrids.
We drove back down to the check station and Pat pulled 13 packages of processed venison and elk from his cooler.
"I read in one of your posts that you miss venison and elk since you've moved over here to the Big Island. This is my way of saying thanks for a wonderful hunt."
I couldn't believe it. He dragged all this meat from CA, and just for me. I was truly grateful. What a gentleman!
That's it from the Big Island for now. Take a look at the photo. That's as pure a mouflon as you'll find in 100 years of hunting on the Big Island---a trophy well earned.
Aloha.
