Months of preparation had finally boiled down to the last few days before the season. We had carefully narrowed thousands of miles to just a few waterholes. We had yet to see sheep, but we had seen signs of consistent usage. Two days before the season began, I went to check a waterhole in a deep canyon. I hiked to the rim but found no tracks. With no sign of sheep, I elected to climb over the ridge and watch the trails leading toward the water.
As I approached the peak of the ridge, I turned and looked back. I could see white specks moving near the now distant water. I quickly pulled up my binoculars and confirmed that there were sheep. I could see at least one ram in the herd. I moved closer until I was directly above them, just over 200 yards away. I thought it was a young ram. The horns weren’t long, and he was already chasing ewes.
After watching for a while, I met up with my dad. His first thought after looking at my pictures matched mine. It was a young ram. Then he noticed the mass and heavy brooming, and we decided we might want to keep an eye on him. We hiked back in with a spotting scope, offering a much better look. Now, it seemed, this wasn’t just our first ram, it was “The Ram.” He had incredible mass from base to tip. The horns were short, but it was due to extensive brooming. We watched him until we decided he was bedded for the night.
Back at camp, we shared pictures with our supporting guides. They were excited and spent all night looking over the pictures. We woke up in the morning to “green lights” across the board. We had found an opening morning ram!
That morning, the sheep were gone. From everything we had been told, they should be nearby, so we sat and waited. The canyon remained empty all morning, and the sheep should have been back for water. Another hour passed, and we were getting nervous. I started walking in and out of every draw, trying to find an access route in or out of the deep canyon. I located the tracks and followed them to where we had watched the sheep bed up. The tracks continued up a steep, sloped trail along the side of the cliff. It appeared they were headed to a point for security; they should be back to water in the morning.
Opening morning finally arrived, and everything seemed to be in place. As the sun rose, we sat and waited. The ewes needed to water every day. Why were they not coming in? Midday arrived, and it was clear that something was wrong. We decided that I would drop down a trail that was steep, narrow, and long, but it was doable. It would take me down to where we assumed the sheep were.
I made my way down and worked my way around the point. I found only sheep tracks. I started moving towards a different box canyon with green foliage at the head. It was looking like a good place to find them getting some water, but the trail continued. I trailed for about another mile, and I could see another spring across the next drainage. Certainly, they would be getting water here, but then the tracks turned. They dropped off a ledge and headed directly for the final drop-off into the deep, narrow, and nasty gorge that made the bottom of the canyon.
Sunday was a long day. We watched and waited, moved a little, and watched and waited. As afternoon arrived, we decided to consider different options and drove up on a mesa above the canyon we had been watching. We found it was over two miles distant but may offer a better vantage point of the canyon and all the side canyons that we had been hunting. We decided to return there the next morning.
Monday morning, we all sat and watched. It was rather discouraging. Michael and I took off on the hunt for a new ram while Dad continued to watch. He sat, like a seasoned warrior, in the blazing heat all day long. As evening neared, Michael and I returned empty handed. A short time later, Dad proclaimed, “There’s the sheep!” They had finally returned. Despite the distance between us, the sheep stopped and looked to our distant voices. They nervously stared at us for a bit and then headed back towards where they had come.
Tuesday morning, Michael and I dropped down the rocky, steep trail in the pale of dawn, making our way to the point where we had last seen the sheep. Dad informed us that the sheep were not where we expected. I was so desperate to stay below the sheep that I veered our course onto a lower, more rugged level of the canyon. Dad radioed that he had located the sheep. They were at the head of the canyon, just bedding down. I rushed toward the head of the canyon. Dad guided my approach, telling me how to approach the sheep. Despite his instructions, I couldn’t see the sheep as there was a lip that Dad wasn’t seeing from above. I kept moving, and it turned out I crept to within 30 yards of the sheep when they busted and ran. I lunged into the prone position. The ram was running maybe 300 yards away now. I picked a spot just in front of the front shoulder, squeezed off the round, and the ram disappeared. Then, he stepped out from behind a rock, clearly hit and shaken. I took a breath and squeezed the trigger again. The ram hit the ground, collapsing for the final time.
In addition to harvesting a great ram, I learned a lot about sheep and hunting in general, while learning a new area. Most importantly, I spent the whole summer working side by side with my dad and brother. It was truly a once-in-a- lifetime hunt.
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