At 65, I wondered how many more years I was going to have to maintain this workout regimen to keep within reach of sheep shape. It had been 17 years since I started a journey that seemed an impossible dream. It had been nine years since my last sheep hunt, and I had to draw a bighorn tag to have a chance to complete my Grand Slam. May 18, 2022, I was thinking, “How many more years...” during cardio. I returned to work and looked at my personal email. I saw the subject “Reissue Sheep License” on an email from Colorado Parks and Wildlife. It said a hunter had turned the tag in and I was next in line. I had 24 hours to respond and accept the tag if I wanted it. After making my wife think I was having a heart attack with my reaction, I could not dial the number and accept fast enough. I was going to have a shot at my dream!
Leveraging Huntin Fool data, I had been applying in eight states every year for units that fit my desired profile – better odds and challenging terrain in a wilderness setting. Unit S17 was a good fit in Colorado. A friend and highly skilled taxidermist, Cliff Carney, also encouraged me to apply in this unit with which he had first-hand knowledge.
The scouting began right away with the help of my friends the Campbells, Mark, Chris, and Brandon, and Duane Newton. Mark and I had gone on joint Dall and Stone sheep hunts. Mark’s two boys, Brandon and Chris, came along on the Stone sheep hunts and had the bug bad. I had hunted elk with Duane for 45 years. When I drew this tag, they were all as excited as me.
Late August, the tag was weighing on me and the potential of a ram seemed very far away. Multiple trips to the unit and 23 days of scouting had produced zero sheep. We knew we were looking in the right spots based on info from the game biologist, game warden, previous hunter list, and Cliff. Climbing to remote ridges, looking into hidden basins, camping on the mountain for early and late glassing on multiple trips, nothing. Then, two days before the season opener, Chris and Brandon went back up to keep looking. Arriving late, they changed the glassing plan, and as fate would have it, they spotted 10 rams. We had spent a lot of time looking in this basin, but now there they were, and four looked promising. The spirits of the crew skyrocketed.
With rams spotted, my mind shifted to high excitement with new pressure. I had to perform for this dedicated team. That tidbit weighed on me. Despite my strict workout schedule, I still wondered, “Can I do this?” Everything was straight up, access was very limited, there were only about 60 sheep total in this large unit, and there were six tags with a 50% success rate. I shot often out to 600 yards and trained very hard. Regardless, my most challenging hunt in the toughest terrain was here.
As the sun came up opening day, Chris spotted 12 rams about 800 yards from where we left them. We loaded up and drove to the spot I had identified on onX and Google Earth as potential access to and up the south ridge of the huge basin the rams were using. About 50 minutes later, we had our packs on. Starting at 10,100 feet, the first part of the climb was easy and then it got steep. Next, we hit a wall of aspen quakies, thick as dog hair, and steeper still with piled up boulders covering the ridge. Eventually, we got though it and proceeded higher over the ridge into some scrub pines at timberline. With a great vantage point for the entire basin, we glassed and saw nothing. We glassed until sunset started approaching and headed back down. Later in camp, Chris said watching through the spotting scope two bull elk we probably bumped had run right through the rams and blew them out before we got there.
The next morning, we found seven rams at first light from the distant glassing spot. We watched them, paying close attention to where they went, when they bedded, and what parts of the basin they preferred. Patterns emerged. After several hours watching the rams, we left to find an alternate route that would allow easier access to them. Amazingly, a stout trek confirmed our first approach was better. Back at the glassing spot, we watched the rams until sunset and confirmed their pattern and favorite spots. They were very comfortable in this remote, inaccessible basin.
Confident we would find them, on day three we broke the rules and started climbing without putting our eyes on rams first. Brandon and I started the climb before dawn. With cooler air and adrenaline, we covered the two-mile ascent from 10,000 to 12,400 feet in four and a half hours, 30 minutes faster than day one. Brandon quickly spotted four rams across the basin at 990 yards. One looked good to me, but it was hard to tell through my shaking binoculars. We had both jettisoned our tripods and spotters in camp to accommodate more food, water, and shelter in case we had to make a night of it. We watched as the rams fed, bedded, and mulled around. Suddenly, the four rams lined out and headed up the basin. We had a chance if they went to their favorite midday beds in the sand strategically set in the middle.
We backed over the ridge, careful to not get skylined, and started up and across the massive rockslide. Gaining altitude to 12,995 feet, we closed the distance, hidden with perfect wind. Seeing a small saddle with sparce grass, I was optimistic we would be about 300 yards away. After carefully crawling to the edge, the rams were where we had hoped, except at 495 yards, it was too far for this shot.
We backed off again but with limited options. Moving about 40 yards further up the ridge was doable, but then it got very cliffy. We noticed a seam in the rockslide running down towards the rams that could provide some cover. I had to get to it and close the distance. With Brandon watching from above, I had my rifle in one hand and backpack in the other. Crawling slowly down the slide, hidden at times from the rams by taller rocks, I made progress. As I got closer, I was much more exposed. Trying to set up, I could not get a solid rest. The rockslide pitch and angle were wrong for setting up on the rams. Moving time and again, I could feel the hourglass sands running out. Finally, I settled on a position. Focusing on pack adjustment, I got steady enough to make this 378-yard shot. Then the mind garbage set in. If I missed, I would let down this team of great friends that worked so hard for my success. It took 17 years to draw a tag. I was not as steady as I should be.
The ram I could see well was legal but young. I would not take him. The two younger rams that faced me were obviously out. The other ram was facing away, and he looked heavier but was laying down. Without a side view, I couldn’t tell if he had my most important criteria – age. If he was also young, I would have to pass and try to back out up the rockslide without blowing them out of the only place we had seen rams.
After 50 minutes, the two small rams stood. My mind focused, and the crosshairs settled. A few minutes later, the mystery ram stood and turned broadside. He was beautiful, chocolate, 5/8 curl, heavy, and heavily broomed. He was a dream ram for me. He dropped and rolled at the shot. Hitting just high, it took another finishing shot. The weight of the tag lifted, and I felt the blessing it was. I had come through for the team.
Descending the rockslide, we got to our ram at 12,300 feet elevation. Thunderstorms brewing and four hours to dark, we had to limit time basking in the moment and taking pictures. We had to climb back up completely exposed to the ridge to get out and then down with the lightning approaching. Loading all of the meat in Brandon’s pack and the head, horns, and cape in mine, on top of our extra provisions and gear, we climbed up and out of the basin. Pure joy and adrenaline carried us down the mountain.
The biologist aged our ram to at 10 years old. He was a heavily broomed old warrior. This hunt was perfect in every way. Lowest lows, highest highs. It was a hard hunt that began in May and ended September 8th. It was a summer in the mountains with great friends, hard work, and many blessings, including a supportive family. It was my final ram and perfect.
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