It was August of 2015, and I had recently returned from my first sheep hunt. I had been fortunate enough to tag a beautiful Dall ram in the McKenzie Mountains. As incredible as this sounds, I had one problem. I had sheep fever. On the flight home, I found myself brainstorming about how I might be able to chase one of the three other North American sheep I had yet to hunt. Let’s face it, all I had to do was shell out a truckload of cash or get really lucky and draw a coveted tag. Neither of these options had me very optimistic, and I expected it to be many long years before I had a sheep tag in my pocket again.
Fast forward to June of 2017. The kids had just gotten out of school, and we were headed up to Oregon where Candy and Randy Yow were putting on their annual Ladies Hunting Camp. My wife and daughter were excited about participating in the camp and proudly showing off our new women’s rifle, the Camilla, which was the sponsor rifle for the weekend. While we were there, the Oregon draw results were released and that is when I found out that my second sheep hunt was about to become a reality. My tag was for a California bighorn for the first season in the South Central unit of Oregon.
After spending the weekend with the Yows, my wife, Brenda, suggested I give Randy a call. That was the best choice I made in my hunt preparation. Before I knew it, Randy and Candy began to help me plan this trip. Their friends and family were out scouting since the unit was right in their backyard. Brenda and I made it up there one weekend for a scouting expedition, and it was a chance for me to get the lay of the land. Randy had spoken with local wildlife biologists, and we had a pretty good idea where there were some decent sheep populations. We just had to figure out a game plan, and by the end of the weekend, we had things somewhat figured out. We said our goodbyes and knew the next time we would see each other would be opening weekend.
During the pre-season scouting, some nice rams had been spotted. However, as is often the case, once season opened, they were nowhere to be found. All in all, I had four stalks on rams, the first three of which I passed on. I knew I wanted to harvest a mature ram, and we just weren’t seeing any that fit my criteria. A few days into the hunt, we saw him, the ram I wanted. We blew a stalk on him that day as he winded us and took off, leaving for a couple days. During those days, we hunted several other areas in search of another nice ram, checking back from time to time to see if that ram had shown back up. It was the end of the fourth day, and I was beginning to wonder if I would have to make a compromise on the ram I wanted. The other three hunters in the zone had already tagged their rams. I was the fourth and final of the season, but I wasn’t about to give up.
The alarm went off at 4:00 a.m. for the fifth morning in a row, and we split up into three groups. Randy, my friend and photographer, Micah, and I went to the mountains where the “blown stalk” ram had been. The ladies headed to a different mountain range, and Randy’s grandson, Dylan, and Austin headed to yet a different mountain range. We hoped to see something that morning.
On the drive over that morning, I was exhausted. I dozed off a few times in the truck as Randy drove the bumpy dirt roads. Once there, we got out and headed for the mountains. After looking in all the usual spots for the ram, I had almost determined that he wasn’t back. As I sat back and pondered the situation, Randy set down his spotting scope one more time and blurted out, “Bingo.” The group of four rams was back, and the big one was there. With that, our daypacks were on and we were off on a stalk.
Everything seemed to be in our favor that morning. The wind was coming straight at us, the clouds came in to shade things, and the terrain was the best it had been for a stalk. The other few stalks we had done had put us between 400 and 550 yards of the rams. However, this stalk would put us within a few hundred yards of them. They were grazing and getting up and down from their beds as we began closing the gap. The stalk wasn’t long, but it was steep. As we approached our targeted position, I was completely out of breath. Most of it was due to the sheer altitude we had climbed, and the rest of it was due to the sheep fever I was now feeling. Fortunately, we had time. We sat down and began to get things ready. The pack came off as did the binos. Out came the bipod, and in went the cartridge into the chamber. With the safety on and lying in the prone position, we waited. If the sheep kept grazing the way we thought they were headed, they should come into view any minute. As the minutes went by, the rams were coming slightly in and out of sight. Randy had the spotting scope on them while I looked directly through my crosshairs at them. We were just waiting for the big one to pop out. I had to rest my head and eyes from time to time to keep myself from fatigue. We had studied this ram over and over, and once he revealed himself in a good position, I was going to squeeze that trigger. He was the biggest and most mature ram we had seen since opening day, and the decision had been made.
It all happened so fast. That large ram had been walking closer to us, and we didn’t know it. He stepped out broadside at 220 yards, and I knew it was him. The mass and curl on his horns were different than the other three, and now he was closer than ever. With the zoom all the way in to 14 power, it was an obvious choice. In fact, I squeezed the trigger so quick that it alarmed Randy and Micah who were still figuring out what was going on. The ram immediately dropped in his tracks at 200 yards out and rolled about 20 yards down the hill to his final resting spot.
The rest of the group showed up, and it was quite the celebration on the side of the mountain that day. Photos were taken, the animal was quartered, and we packed down the fruits of our labor, ending with grilled backstraps at camp. The group effort that was put forth to help fill my tag is one I will never forget. Never before had I been a part of such teamwork all for one tag. Randy and his friend, Neil, who was also along, had each put in as Oregon residents for over 40 years in a row for a sheep tag and had never drawn. Although Randy and Neil didn’t pull the trigger that day, I feel that our experience in Oregon is one that none of us will forget. I truly believe the success was equally shared, and this includes my amazing wife who came along for the journey as well. The whole team put in hours of scouting, glassing, hiking, and planning for this moment, and I can honestly say that the deepened friendships were the highlight of the hunt.
I am truly thankful for the conservation efforts that have gone before me to make a hunt like this a possibility. The efforts of those at the Wild Sheep Foundation, along with those at the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, were truly evident. Although recent droughts, predation, and disease continue to be a threat, the efforts of many conservationists allow for hunts like this to take place, and more importantly, continue to help the bighorn sheep population thrive. As I visited with local wildlife biologist John Muir after the hunt, it was evident that the future of sheep hunting was in good hands. People like Mr. Muir are closely monitoring these amazing animals to help ensure that folks like Randy and Neil may someday be as lucky as me and log in to their computer and see the word “Successful” next to the words “Bighorn Sheep.”
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