Once-in-a-lifetime means different things to different people. In my previous life, meeting the president, spending time in the White House, or even a trip on Air Force One would qualify for once-in-a-lifetime moments. But now, as an avid outdoorsman, hunter, and fisherman, once- in-a-lifetime means something quite different. When I checked online for my Nevada hunting results and saw that I had drawn a California bighorn sheep, I knew I had cornered the market when it came to once-in-a-lifetime.
After I had caught my breath, hugged my wife, and danced a jig, I called everyone I knew, and some I barely knew, to announce the good news. My family was supportive, and friends were excited. The two most important calls were to my hunting buddy, Steve Carroll, from Southern Utah, and Blake Sartini, an avid hunter and patriarch of one of the best hunting families in Nevada. Neither let me down. Both supplied names of outstanding guides in the area. After the dust had settled, I went with an outfitter supplied to me through Huntin’ Fool. Andy and Josh Bradley from Ground Zero Outfitters was the choice, and an outstanding choice it was.
Let me set the stage. My unit in northern Washoe County was vast and rugged. Being familiar with the area over the years, I knew it would take an outfitter with a lot of experience to find these beautiful animals. However, if I can throw a little politics in here for a moment, government doesn’t make it easy. If decision makers don’t get their acts together, future generations will be unable to enjoy meaningful hunting and outdoor experiences. Let me elaborate. I saw more wild horses (500+) than I saw sheep, deer, and antelope combined. Wild horses dominate northern Washoe. Without good management, the population of wild horses doubles every five years. Nevada is going to have to make a choice. We can enjoy ONLY wild horses as they strip the landscape of vital vegetation and growth, or enjoy an abundance of wildlife that includes elk, deer, sheep, and antelope. No one is advocating for the elimination of wild horses. All can live in harmony. We just need good management.
Andy Bradley was a patient man to take me as a client. I’m a busy guy. Andy did everything he could to keep me updated on the area and aware of his other hunts. I know he was guiding at least two of the four tags in the unit. He even had to lay down the law as to the time commitment it was going to take to make this a successful hunt.
Preparations were made, and my hunting buddy, Steve, and I jumped in my Tundra, hunting truck of choice, and headed to northern Washoe. We met Andy at the designated rendezvous and followed him to camp. Set up was quick, so with a couple hours of light still left, Andy suggested a quick tour of the area. We weren’t an hour into the tour when the cook (yes, you heard me right, even the cook, George, was an eagle-eyed spotter) located a herd of ewes, lambs, and three rams. One of the rams would have satisfied any hunter with an itchy trigger finger, but Andy said there were others, including one named “RICO.” If they had already named him, I knew that he must be big, so I was patient. We watched as the sun went down and then headed back to camp. What a day, and what a warm welcome to the Ground Zero Outfitters experience! The rest of the camp showed up that night, including Andy’s son, Josh, Teddy, and Jessie.
After a good night’s sleep with visions of huge rams dancing in my head, early morning was upon us. We were going after RICO. By first light, we had half a dozen spotting scopes on the mountainside, waiting for my three favorite words, “I found them!” The question was, “Was RICO in there?” We decided to break up and get a closer look and report back. An hour went by and I heard on the radio, “I’ve found RICO!” Now the fun began. For you sheep hunters, you all know they don’t stay in one place for long, especially just before or during the rut. Time was of the essence. We had to get everyone back together, and a strategy was designed. A plan was made, and the stalk was on. Keep in mind, I’m no spring chicken at 60. I warned GZO that I wouldn’t be the first to the animal but promised that I would make it under any condition. I couldn’t wait to get a good look at RICO.
We came over the top of the ledge expecting a good view only to find that they had moved on. They couldn’t be far. We sent Josh to track. He’s like a bloodhound! It wasn’t long before RICO was relocated down in a bowl. If we played our cards right, we should get a good look and a good shot. GZO’s setup was perfect. Silence, waiting, and then here they came. What a view, what an animal! Busted! What had they seen? What had they smelled? We may never know. All I knew was that RICO, that beautiful ram, was gone. We headed back to camp.
At camp, GZO’s optimism was high. Mine, not so much. I knew the weather was going to change for the worse. Rain, snow, and low clouds were in the forecast. Would we see RICO again? Could we even track him if we did? Andy, however, had no doubt, “Don’t worry about it. We will find him tomorrow.”
The next morning couldn’t come soon enough. It had snowed during the night, and clouds were to the basin floor. So much for spotting. We waited. Sure enough, the clouds began to lift and out came the spotting scopes. These guys were good. It wasn’t long until I heard, “I found them!” But was it RICO? We split up again, some to check out the sheep and others, including myself, to backtrack where we last saw RICO and the direction he was headed. It worked. With a lot of luck, trained GZO eyes, and a flick of the tail, RICO was again located. I’m convinced that the window of opportunity on this ram was 20 seconds. Just as he crested the top with a glint of sunlight, Andy’s scope was expertly on target for the one chance to locate RICO. Here it was – another stalk, another opportunity to bag RICO. Wind in our favor and terrain favorable, three of us headed out. By now, RICO and his group were laying in a bowl, enjoying that window of sunshine. The hike was long but not necessarily rough. I know those who were spotting were getting impatient as they watched the stalk unfolding below. We finally got in position, and as if on cue, RICO stood up. At the edge of the bowl, I sat steady. At about 170 yards, RICO came into view, but with about 20 ewes and lambs about him and several other rams in the mix, I didn’t have a clear shot. At 200 yards, there was no clear shot. At 250 yards, again, no clear shot. Finally, the rest of the sheep got out of the way and that magnificent animal gave me a broadside view. One shot and one beautiful animal was down. I think my wife could hear the shouting 200 miles away. BEST. HUNT. EVER. (My second three favorite words.)
Hugs, handshakes, fist bumps, you name it. Most important was photo ops. I enjoyed the team photos the best. With all the pictures sent to family and friends, I thought I’d share my favorite response from Donald Trump Jr., “Wow, that’s amazing. Congratulations on a wonderful sheep. Very cool. I need my bighorn to finish off my Slam, so I’m jealous.”
My thanks to those who make hunts like this possible. When I say government doesn’t make it easy, I blame the federal government much more than state and local. The problem is in Washington D.C., not in Nevada. The local game managers and biologists for these federal agencies do a darn good job. Many times, their hands are tied by the bureaucracy back east. My hat’s off to Nevada Bighorns Unlimited, Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, and Mule Deer Foundation, and to one of my favorites, Hunter Nation. I’m involved with HN because of their efforts to provide good hunts to those who otherwise couldn’t afford it and to provide quality youth hunts, so get involved! Find your favorite group and lend a hand. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find your RICO.
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