Drawing a sheep tag with 1-in-5,300 odds is amazing. Drawing a mountain goat tag the next year? That’s lottery luck. That’s why it didn’t seem real when my WTA consultant, Jordan Roche, called me two years in a row with that news!
I’d been working with Jordan at WTA TAGS for about five years, letting him manage my hunting applications in multiple states while I focused on staying in shape for whatever hunts might come through. When he called about the Tok Range Dall sheep tag (the only non-resident permit out of 10 total), I knew it was special.
After the excitement of drawing my tag settled in, it was time to find the right outfitter to make my hunt a success. WTA recommended one of their top partners for that area and handled every detail. My outfitter made it clear: this would be a backpack hunt in some of Alaska’s toughest sheep country. At 64, with two hip replacements, I can’t run anymore. But I can hike. So that’s how I prepared—I hiked mile after mile with a weighted pack, knowing the Tok doesn’t care about age or medical history.
We went in a day and a half before the season opened and spotted a band of 14 rams, including one heavy-horned giant that immediately caught our attention. Then Alaska did what Alaska does best. Weather rolled in, the rams vanished, and we spent the three days scouring valleys and ridges to find them again.
When we finally relocated them, we had to break camp and make a major move. After a full day’s work, we spotted six rams bedding down as evening fell. The next morning, we made our play.
The wind that day was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It sounded like a freight train roaring up the mountain; gusting, dying, gusting again. At 320 yards, I had to time my shot during the lulls. My first shot went wide in the wind. The second shot dropped him—a beautiful 39″ ram. Honestly, I didn’t care about the number. That’s not why I hunt. I’m in it for the experience and a good animal. This ram was both.
The pack-out was its own adventure. We crossed the glacier-fed Tok River multiple times before Matt showed up with a Korean War-era military vehicle that could go just about anywhere. After nine days in the mountains, that slow, bumpy ride was a step up from travelling another 10 miles on foot. This was a trip I’ll never forget.
When Jordan called me in February 2025 to tell me I’d drawn a mountain goat tag, I actually laughed. “Figure out something for next year,” I told him, knowing the odds of a three-peat were one in a million. But first, it was time to prepare for my goat hunt.
I flew into Homer at the end of August, expecting to start hunting on Tuesday. By Monday evening, my outfitter, Paul, was warning me about the incoming weather. “We might not get you in until Friday,” he said. He wasn’t kidding. We sat through three days of howling wind, driving rain, and zero visibility before finally getting our chance.
Paul operates from a landing craft that serves as a mobile base camp. But getting from sea level to where the goats live? That was the hardest climb I’ve ever done, and I’ve completed five sheep hunts.
It was only 1,500 vertical feet, but every step came wrapped in devil’s club thorns, soaking brush, deadfall, and rain-slicked cliff bands. We hiked for what seemed like an eternity before stopping for the night to set up camp.
The next morning changed everything. Once above that coastal jungle, the alpine opened up to reveal why we’d suffered through that brutal climb. There were mountain goats everywhere. Good billies. The kind that makes you forget about devil’s club and exhaustion.
I took my billy on August 30, the first day of actual hunting after being sidelined due to weather. While packing him out, we witnessed something I’d never seen: ravens harassing a billy goat. They would swoop within inches of his head, and he’d swing his horns, trying to knock them away. Paul had told me about this strange relationship between ravens and goats, but seeing it firsthand was incredible.
The trip down gave us one more show. A black bear, fat from gorging on berries, army-crawled through the blueberry patches, entertained us from 400 yards away. I had a bear tag, but watching him was worth more than any trophy. Crossing salmon-choked streams on the way out completed the full Alaskan experience.
Both hunts worked because of solid preparation and connections with the right team. Jordan, my WTA consultant, had been helping me strategically build points and select units for years. When the draw results came through, WTA’s network meant proven outfitters were ready and handled every detail. They provided thorough gear lists, arranged logistics, and coordinated air charters. Everything was dialed in.
Some guys chase record books. Others chase hunting milestones. I finished my slam in 2019 with a desert ram, but what excites me most these days is the experience—the hunts that test you, humble you, and stay with you long after the pack is unloaded. When you work with the right people and put in the preparation, amazing things can happen. Jordan’s already working on my applications for 2026, so we’ll see what adventure comes through next.
Contact WTA TAGS to learn more about drawing the tags of your dreams: 1-800-755-8247.
