Hunter: Kelby Anderson
Species: Dall, Stone, Desert, and Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep
Location: Alaska, British Columbia, Mexico, and Alberta
Method: Rifle
My sheep hunting experience began by chance in 2016. My buddy Cody Carr won a raffle Dall sheep hunt at the Western Hunting Expo in Salt Lake City. The outfitter, Aaron Bloomquist of Alaska Outfitters Unlimited, happened to have another open spot for the same hunt. Cody asked if I wanted to join him on the North Slope of the Brooks Range. Who could say no to that? Not I.
I had six months to prepare, and it felt like the time disappeared in a blink. Before I knew it, I was on a plane headed north to “The Last Frontier” for my first sheep hunt. Even getting to the Brooks Range was an adventure—landing on a gravel bar, loading gear into a raft, and floating downriver through some of the most pristine country I had ever seen. I had been on a few mountain hunts before, but nothing even close to this scale. Thankfully, I had trained for several full and half marathons that summer; those miles helped prepare me for the mental and physical grind ahead.
The North Slope was vast, intimidating, and humbling. Every step felt earned. Because the berry crop on the South Slope had failed that year, grizzlies were everywhere on the North. We had daily encounters and a few close calls. Day after day, we looked at sublegal rams, and before long, my hunt was nearly over. We made the twelve-mile hike back to the river to meet the plane, only to learn that the river had swelled too high to float out. The outfitter had to build a makeshift runway instead—which meant I got a few extra days to hunt.
When we met back up at the river, I still hadn’t taken a ram. Cody, who had already tagged his, mentioned that he’d spotted a group of rams from camp a few miles away and thought they were worth checking. Because the plane couldn’t take all the gear in one trip, I had to stay one more day, so my guide and I headed out to look for them.
After a four-mile hike, we found a group of thirteen rams—several promising—still three miles away. We pushed on, closed the distance, and confirmed there were legal rams. We crawled to within 662 yards. It was now or never. I settled into a prone position, took the shot, and made it count. That was the moment sheep fever set in.
I felt truly blessed to harvest a ram on day twelve of a ten-day hunt. When I arrived in Fairbanks a day later, Cody and Dan couldn’t believe their eyes when I unloaded that ram off the plane.
My second sheep hunt was for Stone sheep in 2019 with Brandon and Rena Ponath of Fire Mountain Outfitters in British Columbia. I brought my seventeen-year-old son, Ty, hoping a little of that sheep fever might rub off on him.
We flew into a mountain lake on a Beaver and hiked ten rugged miles into sheep country through massive boulder fields. We camped on a ridge overlooking prime ram country. Overnight, heavy wind and snow slammed into us. Gusts hit at sixty miles per hour, and our tents were fully exposed, so we scrambled to build a rock wall just to keep them standing.
The next ten days were pure survival. Two-man backpacking tents, cold to the bone, food running low, and weather so bad that we couldn’t hike out and a plane couldn’t get in. When a small break finally came, we hiked out to a pickup spot. I assumed that the fourteen-day hunt was over and I was going home empty-handed.
Back at base camp, Brandon walked up and said he wasn’t done with me yet. He and Rena arranged for family to stay with their kids so they could take me back out. Their commitment meant a lot.
We trekked back into the mountains, and on the first morning—after a close encounter with a grizzly—we spotted three rams about six miles away. Two looked legal. We watched them climb into cliffs to bed for the night. Brandon said we’d have to “sleep on them.”
We had no camp, no shelter—just the three of us huddled among the rocks through a long, cold night, taking turns running around to warm up.
At first light, the rams were already up and feeding. We climbed to a rock pile and got set up. One legal ram finally offered a shot at 504 yards. My bullet hit true. I had my second ram.
I will forever be grateful for Brandon and Rena’s determination. Two years later, I returned with my wife, and she harvested an incredible British Columbia moose not far from where I took my Stone ram.
In February of 2023, I traveled to the famed Desert sheep mecca, La Palmosa, for my third sheep hunt. To register my Grand Slam, I needed a free-range hunt, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the heat of Mexico’s desert country.
After arriving at the ranch and settling into the incredible lodge, we enjoyed a great meal and went to bed with high anticipation. Morning brought freezing temperatures in the twenties, but as soon as we began climbing into remote basins, the heat returned. We covered more than ten miles that first day and never saw a ram.
Day two brought warm overnight temperatures, so we stayed lower and immediately began seeing ewes and lambs near water. Rams soon appeared. Late in the afternoon, we found a group of four and closed to 800 yards, but the biggest ram wouldn’t give us a shot. We backed out and planned to return in the morning.
Before we could reach that spot the next day, we glassed another canyon and immediately spotted two mature rams. After a long hike, we got into position. The rams bedded, then eventually stood and started walking away. At 538 yards, they turned to look back. I fired, and the bigger ram dropped. My cousin Trent was with me, and sharing that hunt with him made it all the more special.
Then came the final chapter: the Rocky Mountain bighorn. This was the toughest—logistically, mentally, financially. I’ve built nearly twenty-five points in every western state, but drawing a tag feels harder than winning the Powerball. I needed a new plan.
I reached out to Brandon Ponath and Isaiah Joner from Huntin’ Fool. They’d given me great advice before. I wanted a small, family-run operation, and Alberta offered the best odds. I found my outfitter, but he was booked for three years and hesitant to commit beyond that. After some persistent nudging, he finally locked me in for 2024—until Thanksgiving Day 2023, when he called to say he’d sold his concession and couldn’t fulfill the contract.
I was crushed. Thankfully, he recommended a few outfitters he trusted. I ended up booking the late 2025 hunt with Scalp Creek Outfitters—a small, tight-knit family with a remote concession. Exactly what I wanted.
I trained hard all year for the eighteen-day horseback hunt, knowing it would test me physically and mentally. On September 18, I arrived and began the two-day ride into camp. The mountains were stunning, and the overnight at “halfway camp” felt like something out of a storybook.
On the first day of actual hunting, we planned a two-hour ride followed by a steep hike into a basin that hadn’t been hunted in years. But an hour into the ride, we entered a burn from the previous summer. My horse, Harley, had one speed—slow—so I let the reins hang and started glassing.
Up high in a patch of green on the burnt slope, I spotted a ram. I stopped my horse, raised my binoculars, and saw a second ram bedded behind the first—both looked big. I whistled for my guide, Glen. In seconds, I was off the horse, grabbing my rifle. Glen got the spotting scope on them and confirmed the bedded ram was legal.
We had no shooting lane, so we slipped quietly thirty yards uphill to a small opening in the burned timber. It was an extremely steep angle. I dropped behind my tripod, locked my rifle into the ARCA rail, and braced against a tree. The ram rose to his feet and stared down at us—another “now or never” moment.
Glen ranged him at 558 yards. I squeezed the trigger. The ram tumbled down the mountain.
Just like that, it was done. One hour and twenty minutes into day one. My Grand Slam—complete.
We celebrated together, and I realized how lucky I was: this was Glen’s first guided ram hunt. He was only eighteen. His first ram, my final slam ram. Hunting with the Erickson family of Scalp Creek was a gift—they are hardworking, genuine, and as solid as they come.
During the days I lingered in camp afterward, I had time to reflect on what it took to complete this quest. I was incredibly fortunate with each outfitter I chose, and I put real effort into finding the right fits. I’ve learned that the older I get, the stronger I become mentally. These hunts carry a tremendous amount of pressure, and staying grounded was essential.
And finally, I want to acknowledge my wife, Tracy. She’s a saint for supporting this dream. It took years of time, sacrifice, and commitment. Her willingness made this possible—she is the real champion.
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