Subsist/Subsistence
1 : to have existence : be
: persist, continue
2 : to have or acquire the necessities of life (as food and clothing);
especially
: to nourish oneself, subsisting on roots, berries and grubs
Examples: They depended on hunting and fishing for subsistence. Farming is their means of subsistence.After an hour or grinding up what was starting to feel like a never ending 40-degree gravel slope we gained the jagged ridge and began to pick our way along it, slowly and carefully. We were at roughly the same elevation the sheep were at last we had seen them, which had been a couple of hours. From their position they could drop over several adjacent ridges and be gone. We'd never have know which way they went. We skirted the steepest portions of the ridge on either side and in one passing to the south we spotted a lone sheep leaving the area fairly quickly in the distance. Through the scope earlier we had seen two sheep, one the big bodied ram and a ewe bedded down with him. From this distance we couldn't tell which sheep it was hot-footing it out of there without the scope. If it was our boy, we would never catch up with him and we were done. We paused at a small notch in the ridge just big enough to lay down and get the scope out. It was the ewe. There was still a chance our ram was in the valley ahead. If he was there, we still had no idea if he was legal or if he would be in a position where we could get to him.
We continued to pick our way along the horizontal crest and the terrain began to steepen the north. We were crouched low now, pausing to stand at intervals to look ahead as the terrain in front of us began to roll into the broad bowl ahead where we hoped the sheep was still hanging out. The third or fourth time we stood up for a view we spotted a another sheep. We could tell it was a ram through the binos and he was at least a quarter mile out. Our hearts quickened and we were stoked to know we might have another chance.
The north side of the ridge was steep, fall and your dead sort of terrain. To the south the angle was lower but we would now be fully exposed to the sheep in the wide open, no hope for cover or concealment.
We had to stick to the north which was loose, crumbly, fractured rock. Sometimes the going was easy and other times it was all fours using hand and foot holds to skirt towers and obstacles in the ridge. Moving steadily along we eventually reached a small saddle that was wide enough for us both to lay out. We crawled to the edge for a look.
Three rams were in the meadow below. Two were obviously sub-legal and one was big. He was our boy, the one I'd picked out from the trail at the outset of the day. We couldn't believe our good luck and that somehow the sheep managed to stay put throughout the course of the day as we toiled to close the gap.
We ranged them at 680 yards. To far for comfort. We had to get closer but there was one major problem. We had run out of passable terrain on the ridge. The north side was now vertical kitty litter and the south side again offered no protection from the view of the sheep. From where we were we could crawl to the base of a small pinnacle maybe 50-100 yards closer but that was it. We were stuck between a rock and [Bleeeeep!] place and didn't know what to do.
We crawled to the base of the pinnacle and ranged them again. 600 yards. Still too far for a confident shot and we'd likely not have a second chance. We deliberated for quite a while. The sheep were feeding towards us but ever so slowly and in no predictable pattern. They might close enough of the distance over time, but by the time they were directly under us the wind would be taking our scent right to them.
At the outset of the hunt I told Andy that one of my great weaknesses as a hunter is patience. If I had a dollar for ever stalk I've blown or chance I've ruined because I was impatient I would have quite a few more dollars than I have now. That having been said, in some forms of hunting it pays to be proactive and take the hunt to the animal rather than sit and wait. Which situation was this? Neither of us could say with any confidence and so we took the conservative choice and waited.
The rams grazed around, taking a few pulls on grass and then looking up to chew and survey the scene. They worked 50 yards closer over the course of perhaps 40 minutes but they began to separate which was not good for us. The ram farthest uphill, slightly better than a sickle horn, started moving in our direction to the point where he was getting close enough to bust us. Our fear was that he would alert and the others would bolt, blowing everything. The other two sheep had started moving away now, farther down hill. Also not good.
I told Andy that the call was entirely his and he made up his mind to go for it. Every time the sheep would put their heads down to graze Andy would gain a few feet on the ground, belly crawling now on a wide open downhill slope in plain view of all three sheep. He wanted to close 300 yards but he wouldn't know when he done it as he left everything but his rifle behind so he wouldn't be burdened sliding through the scree. The slope angled down about 20 degrees which made the crawling easier, but to keep an eye on the sheep and time his movements accordingly Andy had to crane his neck up at an awkward angle and freeze. Soon enough Andy was out of my sight and I laid prone, watching the sheep and waiting, hoping. When I'd last seen Andy I figured he's closed about 100 yards from our last position, but I had no idea how far he had been able to make it.
The ram farthest uphill was uncomfortably close now and I figured any minute he would see one of us and it would all be over. The minutes were agonizing and the ram we were after meandered somewhat aimlessly, one minute giving us a few feet back, the next wandering a few farther away. Every time he turned broadside I held my breath, hoping for a shot that didn't come. Where was Andy and what was happening??
I had nothing to do but wait and shiver in the stout breeze peeling over the ridge. The ram worked his way out of a little creek drainage and stood perfectly broadside to us. I held my breath yet again and suddenly there it was. Andy's shot rang out across the valley and the sheep instantly scattered. The ram didn't act hit and after a dozen quick steps in our direction they all paused to try and figure out what the hell had happened. Another shot, and my heart was stuck in my throat. None of the sheep reacted for what seemed like an eternity, and then...he tipped over. When I say he tipped over I don't mean he took a few steps, wavered a bit and fell into a twitching pile. It was perhaps the most unique big game death I can recall having seen. He literally went from standing and staring to on his back with four legs in the air without twitching a muscle, He was stone cold dead.
I jumped to my feet with both fists in the air and immediately spotted Andy, sitting, in the middle of the slope a few hundred yards below stil looking through his scope, making sure the ram wasn't going to move again. I picked up our gear, ran down the hill as quickly as I could and gave Andy a big old hug. He was in tears. Neither of us could believe we'd pulled of the improbable stalk or incredibly difficult shot let alone found two needles in the haystack. We were grinning ear to ear as we rushed down to him. His body was massive and he was a perfect specimen. Fitting. He was full curl plus a few inches on one side and right at full curl with a broken tip on the other. The wave of joy that we were riding still hasn't subsided and I don't expect it will any time soon.
We carved him up on the southern sunny slope in a small patch of grass set amongst soaring ridges and summits in every direction. We paused at regular intervals to wonder if this was really happening. We were really here and did we actually pull this off or would one pinch send us back to reality to find us dreaming in a soggy sleeping bag in the pouring rain back at the trailhead.
The carving went quickly enough and we started the long walk, too happy to care about being tired.
Andy's ram died just at snowline on the peak behind us
As I mentioned earlier the experience as a whole was so much more than a hunt and a harvest. It had a deeper meaning for both of us. For me the chance to re-light a passion and a motivation I have been starting to wonder if I still had. For Andy it was a lifelong dream come true and the culmination of so much planning, preparation, reading, research, and dreaming. Together it was the next step in a friendship that began in a challenging time for both of us and has continued through time and the trials that life often offers.
Not long after finally marrying, my wife and I had to decide where we wanted to live for the long term. We had to contemplate what is important to us and what sort of environment we wanted to raise a family in. I've lived in towns small and large across the country and have valued my time in both, but I've always needed to be close to mountains and rivers, wild places and wilderness. We chose Alaska which meant coming home for my wife, and back to a place from my childhood for me.
Being able to engage wild places and wild things means more to me than anything else, minus family that is, and it makes me sad to know that fewer people every day are getting the chance and/or taking the time to get outside and into the woods.
It is a rare day that we eat meat that we didn't harvest and a sizeable portion of our vegetables come from our ever expanding garden. We are far from being able to say we live a completely subsistence based lifestyle but we are getting closer.
Watching the smile on my little girls face as she stuffs it with salmon fresh from the river or chews on a tender piece of sheep from the stew pot gives me tremendous satisfaction. Knowing that this protein is free range and organic in every way and died a humane death is also important to us.
In reflecting on the hunt, which is a daily occurrence, I wonder where things might go from here. Is a Dall Sheep hunt the pinnacle of chasing big game in the far north? It is hard to imagine a better experience and perhaps there will never be one. That's OK, I plan keep trying and I am sure that question and many others will be answered along the way.
We walked into the hall of the mountain king and met the man on his own terms. We carried him out on our backs and he will forever be a part of memories and our bodies. Luck was on our side and we are grateful.
Happy hunting
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