January 2026
Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep Hunting | Wyoming
Story By: Jason Quick
As I walked toward the opening with my friend Mark, I thought, I don’t remember that white rock. Just then, Mark said, “That’s your ram!”
I started applying in Wyoming over 25 years ago with the dream of one day hunting bighorn sheep. In early 2025, I spoke to my friend Robert Hanneman at Huntin’ Fool, and he said I would be crazy not to put in for Wyoming sheep—what if they change the rules of the game again? I might never draw!
I called my friend Mark Nelson, a Wyoming resident, and asked if he’d be interested in helping me get into the backcountry and kill a ram if I drew the tag. He said sure, so I put my name in the hat for Area 3 knowing it was a longshot—even with 26 points. To my surprise, the posted results read, “Congratulations!” I’d gotten my Wyoming ram tag!
My first call was Mark, to tell him about the tag. Then Robert, to say, “Thanks for pushing me to apply.” He sent me a list of past hunters to reach out to, so I started calling and emailing everyone for any information they could supply.
Many of the hunters I spoke with went guided—there is a Wyoming rule that requires out-of-state hunters to be accompanied by a guide or a resident to hunt wilderness—and only a few shared where they’d taken their rams. But then I got a call from Bill Hinz. He’d done the hunt a few years earlier, and he’d done it by himself. He gave me the trailhead, a good source of water, and the area he took his ram. It wasn’t in the wilderness, but it seemed like a great place to start.
Fast forward to August 28th. I met Mark in Wyoming, and we picked up horses from Clay and Logan Chumway. Blue would be my riding horse, and Buck would be Mark’s. Cisco and Yukon would pack our gear. Looking at the OnX map, I estimated a four-mile ride in.
Six hours, two train wrecks, 6.8 switch-backing miles, and 5,000 feet of elevation gain later, we hit the top of the ridge. It was just as Bill had said: “A beautiful opening with a running spring and a cool old camp to set up in!” It was too late to get an evening scout in, so we ate a Peak Refuel meal and went off to sleep.
The next morning, we headed out to start scouting. It was August 31st, the day before rifle season opened. At the first spot where we set up our optics, Mark said, “I’ve got a sheep—and boy, is he in a bad place.” It was just a young ram, but I couldn’t help but wonder… If I found a good ram in those cliffs, how would I ever get him out? Just then, I looked up toward the top of the ridge and spotted two mature rams moving over the crest. My heart jumped. I tried to explain to Mark where I saw them, but they disappeared. Given the opportunity, I’d shoot either of those rams.
The sky was clear with a few patchy clouds, though some smoke was drifting in from fires out west. We worked our way up to the spot where I’d seen the rams cross the ridge and set up to glass. Soon, we found another three-quarter curl ram and another younger ram—super exciting!
On the way back to camp, I noticed a torn-up patch of ground. It almost looked like hogs had been rooting around. When I asked Mark about it, he said, “Grizzlies.” After that, I started to notice grizzly sign almost everywhere! We ate another Chad Mendes Peak Refuel meal and talked about the morning plan. We decided to get up early and hike to the top of the ridge where I saw the two rams cross. That night, I didn’t sleep very much.
We headed out under a clear sky and bright moon. Climbing at 10,000 feet, I was out of breath the entire time, but—slow and steady—I made it to the top. We got in position. As gray light turned to sunrise, I noticed Mark looking back towards camp. He said, “I think I have a deer, or maybe a sheep, but it’s back towards camp way below us.” I set up my Swarovski spotting scope just in time to confirm it looked like the bigger of the two rams I’d seen the day before. I looked at Mark. “I think we should move back down and try and take that ram.”
As we started back down the mountain, I kept thinking, This is opening morning, and we’re inching closer to a goal that’s been twenty-five years in the making. But when we popped out into an opening, the ram was gone! We found four fresh beds and plenty of sign, evidence that more than one sheep had been feeding in the area. When I checked my OnX map, I realized we were less than 700 yards from camp! Mark said, “Let’s get out of this area and hope the sheep come back so we can get another look at them.” We spent the rest of the day glassing and spotted a group of lambs and ewes, two grizzly bears, and one cow elk.
Our plan for September 2nd was simple: get to a vantage point where we could watch the spot the ram had been the morning before and hope he came back. As the light broke, there was no sign of anything, not even a chipmunk. About two hours before sunset, we were working our way back along the ridge and decided to stop to glass one more time. Just as I rounded a tree and could see where I wanted to sit, I glanced toward the opening and thought, I don’t remember that white rock. Mark said, “That’s your ram!”
I ranged him at 317 yards. I started to get out my phoneskope to film the shot, but Mark said, “Hey, let’s just move up behind that tree and shoot the ram. You can film it after we’re done.” As I eased out from behind the tree, I realized there were two. The upper ram was staring straight at us. I figured he sensed something was there, but—with the sun setting behind us and the glare in his eyes—he couldn’t tell what.
“Which one do you think?” I asked, looking back at Mark.
“The lower one—the one with his butt toward us.” I cranked up the power on my Nightforce scope. The lower ram was feeding, slowly shifting to his right. I clicked the safety off my Sako 75 300 RUM. He made a hard step right and went broadside. The McGuire Ballistics Copper Rose 168 grain bullet left my barrel at 3,250 feet per second and hit the ram with a solid “WHAP!”
The ram went down, and I jumped up in disbelief! A goal I’d chased for more than a quarter of a century had just come true! I looked back at Mark and grinned. “Hope you don’t mind; you’re about to get a big hug!”
As we walked up to him, I was stunned by the sight: he was a true monarch of the mountains. I snapped pictures as the light began to fade, and we took turns running up to a rocky point to call our families. “We’re in grizzly country,” Mark reminded me, before I started preparing the sheep for skinning. “Keep that gun loaded and your head on a swivel.”
After a long night processing the ram with my new Hogue Expel Folder, we finally got the meat moved from the kill site and headed back to camp. Once there, we changed out of our bloody clothes, sealed them in a bag, and washed up as best we could. We had another Peak meal and climbed into our sleeping bags. My mind kept replaying everything that had happened, and before I knew it the sun was coming up again. As we broke camp, I was struck with the bittersweet feeling that I would most likely never return to that basin.
The following day, I headed to the Wyoming Game and Fish office. I’d placed the ram’s age at nine to eleven years, and they confirmed he had eight rings with an estimated age of ten years. They were impressed that we’d accomplished this outside of the wilderness—and without an outfitter.
I want to thank my family for supporting me on this quest, as well as Mark, Robert, Clay and Logan (for providing some incredible horses), and Bill. Without great people like them, this dream would have been much harder to accomplish. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart—I hope one day I can return the favor.