On June 12th, I was at work when my friend, Dylan, jokingly texted me that he had drawn two B zone deer tags again. The California draw was out. I told him I’d check it after work. When I finally did, I was dumbfounded by the mysterious Y next to "Desert Bighorn Sheep." It took me a long while to believe this could possibly be true. I had started hunting late in life, one year after California started preference points, so I had one less than max. Somehow, I had drawn the one random tag for zone 9 Cady Mountains. Even though I'd hunted for 15 years, I felt like a newbie. I’d been making up for lost time, though taking deer, antelope, and elk across the southwest; wild pigs and blacktail bucks in northern California; and Pope & Young mule deer in Colorado. I owe my success to the expertise and patience of many wonderful guides and some very fortunate friendships I’ve fostered along the way.
When my disbelief on drawing the tag subsided, I got in touch with Dry Creek Outfitters and secured their services for my hunt. I would leave on the 27th right after Christmas. Between this time and my hunt, I was laid off from my job, killed my first elk with a bow in Wyoming, and ultimately found a better job that started right after my sheep hunt. It seemed I already had so much to be grateful for.
Getting closer, the excitement built. The DF&W orientation in Sacramento was well done and gave me new appreciation for all the hard work these folks have done to allow this hunt to even take place. I didn’t know about the history and their successful efforts to open the hunt in 1989 after 114 years. They do a super job, and it gives me some hope that our unfortunate abalone closure won’t be permanent as I also enjoy abalone diving and spear fishing.
News of Jason Hairston slaying a new state record ram. "Goliath" wasn't the first biblical reference I’d find on this epic adventure. Other pictures of rams in social media fueled my excitement. I was anxious to see how my own story would unfold.
I arrived at camp at 3 p.m. and got the tour. I showed Tim my rifles and gear. He offered me use of a walking stick made from a saguaro cactus rib. It was strong and extremely light. The stick was perfect for negotiating loose rock on steep hills or as a monopod in the field. Later in the hunt, I noticed a well-worn inscription, Joshua 1:9. I don’t know my Bible verses, but in this best of all worlds we live in, it’s no further than my phone. The passage includes, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” This was a great theme for any hunt, and as I read it, I couldn't help but hear Tim’s voice. He lead us in a brief blessing before dinner each night and in the morning before we all headed out. I really appreciated Tim sharing his words of faith with us, and he did so with grace and humility.
Our team consisted of Tim Mercier, Cliff St. Martin, Kirk "Sawyer," Tom "Tanto," his son, Luke, and Ben "Grizzly" from Arizona. As night fell, they each returned from scouting to compare notes. Several rams were discussed with names like "The Broken Horn Ram," "Juicy," and "The Short Horn Ram." However, none were quite the class of ram we were looking for.
On our first morning, we left at 6 a.m. with an hour drive out to a point for glassing. We spent all day glassing the opposite mountainside. It was bitter cold in the mornings. I was pretty sure I had every layer of KUIU gear I owned on at one time. If there was one thing I should have done differently, it would be to buy or borrow 15 power binoculars and a tripod. My early efforts of free-hand glassing with my 10 power Leicas could best be described as moral support. Eventually, I was startled when what I thought was a sheep actually stood up. I did get better at it, and it started to get fun.
The next day, we left camp in separate trucks, driving for about an hour until we parked and all piled into Tom’s lighter rig to make it up a steep sand dune. This necessity made for some entertaining discussion about the relative merits of Dodge vs. Ford trucks. Having arrived in my Toyota FJ Cruiser, I elected to stay out of it. We left the truck near some hills they call "The Three Sisters." Not far in, we spotted two legal rams bedded in parallel one above the other, both facing left. They looked like two sentinels guarding the entrance to their world, and we gave them a wide berth so as not to spook what giants might lurk behind.
We trudged through sand dunes with our walking staffs, like sojourning desert pilgrims. The dunes were periodically pocked with some sort of rodent holes, and every now and then, the ground would collapse and my foot would sink down, giving a stiff jolt to my back or knee. I tried to follow Cliff through this minefield, hoping he’d clear my way, but I seemed to still hit just as many holes as he did. It was alternatively annoying and comical as we each hit one hole after another.
On our long hikes, I appreciated having my light Cooper Backcountry rifle and frequently forget it was attached to my day pack until I tried to sit down with it on. Soon, Cliff informed me that we were pinned down on a rocky hill between other sheep. We spent a long day on a hill covered with loose, sharp, jagged rocks, trying not to blow a good ram out of the country. On our way out, we all joined up and saw several rams put on a great show for us on the distant skyline. In silhouette, they worked a cactus barrel with their horns, butting it open, pawing at it, and fighting over it. It was a beautiful show.
Saturday, we made the same drive in, and this time, we were seeing rams but nothing big. Cliff decided to go scout it out solo and see what was behind the mountain, trying not to spook anything. I stayed glassing with Ben. This time, I was finally finding some sheep with my Geovids, which made it a little more exciting. I proudly announced to Ben as he returned from nature's call that a ram had stood up. I was just doing my part.
Later in the day, a single bee found a drop of water on my drinking tube, and pretty soon, I had all kinds of bees hovering around me. Luckily, that was the only plague I had to endure. I managed to ignore them, and after tucking my drinking tube in my pack, they eventually moved on. Again, as the evening came, more rams were seen on the skyline. Cliff returned and said he never saw any better rams. We appeared to be done with this part of the country.
Sunday, we decided to head to another spot where another group of rams had been seen before. We drove to a plateau with a lonely, old rod iron-fenced grave. The crude wooden headboard displayed "T-Bone Albright – railroad man 1933." Another rock pile grave with a cross beside him was perhaps his wife. We were seeing rams right off. There was a group of 10 only a mile away on Cave Mountain. Ben, Cliff, and I all sat and looked through our binoculars and spotting scopes. There were two good ones in the bunch. They were close enough that I could see them pretty well with my Leicas, and better yet, with a spotting scope Cliff lent me. I started to get pretty interested in one ram. He was a little bit broomed on the right side but seemed heavy and wide. There was another pretty good looking one. After much discussion, Cliff advised that he might go mid-160s, depending on his bases. Cliff also reminded me that he’d be the only California Desert ram I would take in my life. I still thought he looked great, so we decided to take a closer look.
We drove off from the plateau and got to the base of Cave Mountain. We hiked in very slowly, often stopping to look for sheep so as not to get busted and blow out the rams. Ben left us for another vantage point, and Cliff and I proceeded to a ridge where we thought we’d see the rams. At this point, they had moved off, leaving a lone ewe on the other side. We backtracked to come up another way and got the wind on our side. We had a long trek up a gradual rocky ridge, and finally, we were at a point we where we thought we'd see them. Cliff slowly advanced to see, and sure enough, they were there. I followed him slowly until we found a nice spot to set up for the shot. My Cooper Backcountry rifle was settled on my pack on top of a rock large enough for me to sit behind. My scope was a Leupold VX3i 4.5-14 with a turret made for my 165 grain Barnes TTSX in .300 WM. Cliff ranged them at 350 exactly on a rocky hilltop in the distance. After looking at the rams, Ben suggested that the other ram was much better and cleaner, and after getting a look up close, I quickly agreed.
I was on the ram bedded at 350 yards, trying to steady my gun, when the sheep all bolted upright and started cavorting down the hill right to us, like someone had just rang a dinner bell. I had feared when we peeked over the ridge that they would all alert and I would have an urgent distant shot. Now they were closing the distance towards us and fast. Cliff said 260, and I was out of the scope, adjusting my turret. Now I was trying to get on the right ram again. Cliff told me he was rubbing a bush with his horns. I finally located him. I was glad to have Cliff by my side, calm and cool, giving me all of the necessary information. Soon, they were all just walking and feeding together. I waited as a small ram stood behind. I was on him, and as soon as he was clear, I squeezed. Boom! He was hit. My shot was good and took him in the right shoulder. He stood a little longer than I liked, so I put in another shot slightly higher and he was down.
I couldn't believe it! I’d shot my Desert bighorn. I was so happy to have taken a beautiful, mature ram with an exciting stalk and clean shots. He was down in a sandy wash. I got up to him, and there was no disappointment. He looked perfect, holding his heavy horns. I couldn't believe my good fortune to have drawn this tag and to have been able to spend the past five days with such a great group of hunters. The rest of the crew eventually joined up, and Tim said some touching words of thanks. I echo his sentiments and thank the Lord and our team. I am so grateful to everyone who helped me make this happen.
Night fell as we headed back to camp, and New Year’s Eve fireworks were bursting colors in the distant horizon. This hunt truly exceeded some very high expectations. I can only hope I’ll draw Desert Sseep once more in another state and share this experience again with Tim, Cliff, and the great Dry Creek team.
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