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I think I was 13 when dad finally let me come along on a sheep hunt. We got the trucks and horses loaded and headed out towards the Blackstone. We left the trailers at the bottom of the big hill and two of us rode horses in while the other two drove the trucks. We had a late start so didn’t make it to the gap but instead camped in a meadow along the road. The next morning it was time to shoe the little gray mare that Bill had purchased the week before at Cole’s Auction Mart. Dad and Ken eventually got 4 shoes on her but if I remember right, she was upside down with each foot tied to a tree. I think that took until after lunch so by the time we got to the gap we set up camp again. The next day we headed through the gap, set ip camp near Mons and rode I nto the Chungo. We saw some elk and glassed for sheep. The next day we made it to gas camp along the Brazeau after running into the old trapper that lived back there. He had a Big Red trike with duals on the back and seemed a little bushed. I was excited to try some fishing as Bill had told me about all the big bull trout he had pulled out of the Brazeau river. I didn’t catch a thing and while I was fishing, the horses headed for the truck Dad and Ken caught up to Bozo who had never figured out how to hop with hobbles and couldn’t keep up with the others. Riding him bareback, dad was able to catch the hobbled horses and get them back to camp.

The next morning we headed towards Whisker Lakes. I remember it as a long boring ride and spending lots of time wondering if we were on the right trail. Bill was the only one who’d been in there, and that was many years earlier. We did have a pack horse slide down a shale slide which added some excitement. I remember seeing big piles of bear crap that looked like someone had just dumped a bowl full of berries on the trail. I think this was day five and we were finally at Whisker Lakes.

Day six was spent climbing around the mountains near the lakes. We saw some small rams and literally got within 20 yards of them. It was really interesting country and I’d like to go back some time.

Day 7 was a long boring ride back to the Opabin. I must have been asleep on my horse because my 30-30 fell out of the scabbard and I didn’t notice it until we stopped to reset a pack. The Arab horse I was riding liked to run so it didn’t take too long to run back a couple of miles and find the gun where it had fallen out of the scabbard when climbing out of a river bed. After that I started carrying my rifles butt forward and high instead of western movie style.

Day 8 was a quick ride to the trucks. I was pretty happy to get to the trucks early as I had my first day of school the next day. As we were unpacking horses, some other hunters who dad and Ken knew pulled in and got to visiting and we ended up getting home long after midnight.

It was a big effort to get all the way into Whisker Lakes for 1 day of hunting but I was hooked. That was either 1985 or 86 and I’m the only one of the four still alive.