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In the early fall of 2004, I headed to the Coastal Mountains, in to the very far north of BC. I had driven clear across the US and Canada, then into Western Yukon.
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From the Western Yukon, I turned off the Alaska Highway and started down the only road into the very small village of Atlin, BC, still 70 miles away.
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From Atlin, I flew in a small Cub plane into base camp at a remote lake where I stayed overnight.
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Early next morning, I left for a very long day’s horseback ride in to the spike camp.
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We had to head out very early every morning for the long ride up into the high country.
Here, the rising sun cast our shadow on the nearby mountain.
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It's a cardinal rule that the guide always spots the game before the hunter.
However, this time I broke the rule, and pointed out two billies on a far slide to my guide. Very tactfully, of course.
It was too late in the day to do anything but watch them.
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Next day, we were back on the mountains.
Late in the morning as the sun heated up the air, we move around to the north side of the mountain and found our billies feeding on a narrow shelf.
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While the taxidermist was working on my billy, I built a "rock cliff" on which I would place him.
A trophy billy, he weighed 200 pounds. He was 6 1/2 years old with 9 7/8 inch horns and 5 1/2 inch bases.
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