The last football game for my senior son and me was an emotionally tough one. We’d been at it since he was a first grader when I was his flag football coach. This night, I had watched him score his last high school touchdown, and to see this chapter finally end felt bittersweet. However, the night also marked the beginning of a new adventure I had been waiting 20 years for. It was November, and I left the game to begin my adventure to hunt the Rocky Mountain bighorn.
I had done my research. I had interviewed the unit biologist, the local game warden, a taxidermist, and one of the hunters who had hunted the unit the prior year. I discovered that rather than hunt early in September or October when the sheep were in the dark timber at a higher elevation it would be best to wait and hunt the unit during the November rut. The sheep would be more readily viewed at lower elevations and in more open terrain during this time.
I had incorporated the help of my friends, Bill Mitchell and Dusty Harvey. They were both experienced sheep hunters and were great fun to be around. With one being from Montana and the other from Wyoming, a friendly back and forth soon began about who knew what and how much. We started hunting the first afternoon upon our arrival but were only able to view a couple of ewes and one ram from the blacktop road before it got dark. We were excited about the next day’s endeavors.
We met the next morning at daylight and began glassing several open draws in the area where we’d seen the bighorns the previous afternoon. Immediately, we picked up a nice ram as he was headed for the dark timber. He disappeared quickly, but it didn’t take long to locate another ram on a lower bench headed to some feeding ewes. He was respectable as well, but neither was really what we were looking for on the first day of the hunt. We’d done our homework, and expectations were high. We continued to travel the road systems in the unit, stopping and hiking wherever we could to glass open meadows and draws. We saw a lot of sheep throughout the day, including over 20 different rams and 17 ewes. To say it was an incredible first day would be an understatement. Unfortunately, Bill had other obligations and would not be able to join us the next day. In parting, he took a friendly jab at Dusty and said to me, “I didn’t know you were bringing a ringer from Wyoming to help on this hunt, but I think you’ll be OK.” We all laughed at his good-natured comment and continued to travel the same trails we’d hunted the day before. Based on my previous conversations with the other hunter, we knew to expect to see different rams every day as they would be looking for ewes that were coming into season.
The morning had been a productive one with several ram spottings when we came upon a couple of local deer hunters. As we exchanged intel, they informed us they had just seen a nice ram headed over the saddle and pointed in the direction we’d been earlier that morning. We figured he was headed for the band of ewes on a rockface we’d glassed earlier, so we hurriedly made our way in that direction. When we got in position to view the rockface, we could hear something coming down the scree on the opposite side of the draw. We felt it was the big ram, but we couldn’t see him for the trees. He sounded close, and we noticed there was excitement building amongst the band of sheep on the rockface as the visitor approached them. Suddenly, the entire group exploded off the rockface and stampeded into the nearby creek as they headed down the draw. We could see several rams in pursuit of the ewes through the trees as they headed below us. We chased after them until we discovered nine rams herding seven ewes around a small meadow along the creek.
The meadow was bisected by a fence, which separated public land from private. We began glassing the rams to see if there were any shooters in the bunch. Immediately, we noticed two heavy-horned rams that stood out from the others. We broke out the spotting scope and began taking pictures of the prospects to get a better idea of what we were looking at. One ram was broomed nicely, but the other had length in addition to mass. I couldn’t make up my mind about which one to shoot. Unfortunately, they both made their way onto the private land before I could take a shot. We watched them for about an hour as they butted heads and lip-curled while chasing and breeding ewes. We were witnessing a bighorn ram rut fest! Finally, they began working their way back onto the public land with the long-horned ram leading the way. We both agreed that was the one I should take. I braced my .300 WSM on a limb of a fir tree and squeezed the trigger at my target 145 yards away. Immediately, the ram was upside down and kicking. I bolted another round, but another shot wasn’t necessary.
As we approached the fallen creature, I was amazed at how big he truly was. He had a horn length of 41.5" and bases over 16". As we viewed this remarkable ram, Dusty asked me what we should name him. I answered, “Let’s call him ‘The Ringer.’” We both laughed as we continued to admire this magnificent animal.
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