Growing up, I always asked my dad why his Desert sheep mount was his least favorite. When he tells the story of his hunt, you can hear the frustration in his voice. For many hunters, the pinnacle of their hunting career is to harvest a bighorn sheep. For him, it was no different. Twenty-seven years ago, he drew his once-in-a-lifetime Desert bighorn sheep tag in Arizona. He spent countless days on the mountain scouting and hunting and was the last hunter who had not filled his tag.
He was waiting for his good friend, Paul, to get to camp to hunt with him when a Jeep Cherokee with four Forest Service employees pulled into camp and informed him that there had been a plane crash and they were going to shut down the hunt. Knowing this tag would not come again, he politely informed them of his Public Safety background and that if he came upon the wreckage he would surely let them know.
The next morning, Paul and my dad set out to find a ram for him to hunt. They visited an area when they had seen sheep prior to the hunt, and Paul saw a ram peeking his head around the corner at them. Being that it was late in the day, they decided to come after the ram the next day.
When daylight came, they found themselves in the sheep. My dad had his ram picked out as they walked behind a giant boulder. When the rams came out, he fired and a ram fell. To their surprise, it was not the sheep they had in mind. When they went behind the rock, the sheep had switched places and, in his haste, he had shot the wrong ram. He had burned his once-in-a-lifetime tag on a ram that he was happy with but not the one he had in mind.
Fast forward 27 years and 29 bonus points later, and he and I were talking on the phone about what to do with our sheep applications. I told him I was very confident that based on our combined knowledge we would surely be able to find a 180"+ ram that he could shoot with a bow. The day credit cards start getting charged for tags in Arizona is as close to a Christmas morning feeling as you can get! My dad’s day started with a $300 charge from AZGFD. Finally, he knew he had a chance at redemption, and this time, there would be no mistake.
Once he knew he had the tag, he began assembling the finest equipment and the best team of hunters and outdoorsmen and women that we could. Jole Guthery, whom my dad has been friends with for years, undoubtedly has the most intimate knowledge of sheep I have ever experienced in the industry. We set a scouting plan, and it was incredible seeing how well she knew the rams.
In October, Jole and my dad set out to do some scouting in between the hunts he was guiding. They turned up some great rams but none that were “The One.” They made another trip three weeks prior to the hunt start date, again turning up some great sheep. On our second to last day, they watched four great looking rams go around a ridge and they knew they needed to get a better look at them. However, they had no luck turning them back up over the next two days. Little did we know that one of them would be the ram he would harvest.
Four days prior to the hunt, we set camp and made our game plan. We met early in the morning with my dad, Tyler, and Zack. With Randy was Jole, Travis, and George. We were looking for a ram that Jole and my dad had seen the day prior, which we had named “The G.O.A.T.” It took us about 20 minutes to glass up the first band of sheep, and over the next hour, we had found about 30 sheep, 7 being mature rams. Also, The G.O.A.T. was there. We had guessed in camp that he would be between 188-192".
The next three days crept by in agony of what opening day would bring. We were always worried the ram would move or disappear on us, and the day before the hunt, he did exactly that. Travis, Tyler, Weston, Zack, and I were watching the ram and he disappeared. Knowing time was short to relocate and find the ram again, we threw our optics in our packs and made the mad two-mile dash to where the ram could be seen again. All of this was happening without my dad’s knowledge because he, Jole, and George had been doing research all morning on how we could get to where the ram was for a chance at him with a bow. The crew did a great job and put him to bed in the most perfect spot for a stalk.
Opening morning found us full of energy and some worry about what the ram may have done overnight. We left camp at 4 a.m. to make sure we could be in shooting position as close to daybreak as possible. As we parked the quads and set out on foot, we used our maps and confirmed exactly where we wanted to be so we could peek over the edge where the sheep were bedded the night before. We were about 60 yards from the edge and dropped our packs. Jole, Paul, and George elected to stay back and let my dad and me make the final approach together. We crept near the edge and were surprised to see a ram bedded 100 yards from us, watching our every step. A slight panic set in because out of the 17 sheep that were there the night before, we could only see one. We began working each side of the peninsula to try and locate the rest of the band.
After what seemed like an eternity, we heard a rock roll and knew we were very close to the sheep. My dad began walking to the left of the point, trying to find where the sheep were headed when I grabbed him and said, “Dad, they are right here!” We quickly hustled to the right of the peninsula and there were six sheep below us – four ewes, a ram we called “Shark Bite,” and The G.O.A.T. As they stood there a mere 44 yards from us, we used the identifying rings and breaks on his horns to identify him.
I began filming as he drew his bow, settled his pin, and let the arrow fly. It hit the ram slightly low and back, and he didn’t take a step! He released a second arrow, and it hit him right in the pocket. The G.O.A.T. took off with the other sheep and ran to 61 yards, facing away. We knew the shots were a touch low, so I stuck to what I tell everyone, “Shoot ‘til they are dead.” He shot again, and the sound of that arrow hitting the ram right in the tail will live in my head for years. He took off again, and I said, “You have three in him.” My dad was unsure of the second shot, so it surprised him to hear that. He drew the final shot and let it go, burying it to the fletchings in him. He laid down exactly where he was standing and took his last breath.
We climbed down to the ram and were in awe of its size and magnificence. He was certainly bigger than what we had thought. The congratulations were heard for miles around once he had met his final resting place.
His official score was 195 2/8" gross and 194 1/8" net B&C after the drying period. The G.O.A.T. is now recognized as the #3 Rocky Mountain sheep SCI.
The feeling of elation was followed by an overwhelming rush of humility. We had taken animals before but none so special and none with so much work, anticipation, and time invested. My father, mentor, and personal guide had accomplished a dream. We cannot put into words the appreciation we have for the men and women who made this so special for my dad. To Jole, George, Paul, Travis, Jason, Perry, Weston, Tyler, Zack, Carter, and Russ, thank you for not only making this his hunt-of-a-lifetime but mine as well. We are forever in debt to you for your efforts and the time you selflessly gave to my dad and his dream.
And to you, Dad, congratulations on such an amazing accomplishment. Thank you for creating a fire in me for the outdoors and a love of God’s creatures. You earned this one.
Login