January 2026
Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep Hunting | Oregon
Story By: Kip Kochevar
As I cleared my head of the chaos, my Browning .270 barked through a light sprinkling rain—right as the ram was preparing to step behind a boulder 200 yards away. The moments leading up to that point seemed like a slow-motion dream and an imminent catastrophe all at the same time…
Backtrack three months to an unknown telephone number ringing on my phone. I hesitantly answered, preparing to hang up immediately upon confirmation of the unwanted call. To my surprise, the man on the other end of the line informed me that I had just won the statewide bighorn sheep tag during the Oregon Big Game Raffle. In all honesty, I didn’t believe him. I’d forgotten the drawing was that day, and, after a short visit, I informed him that I would return his call if I needed to. To my utter surprise, my wife had already pulled up the video of the drawing, and—indeed—I had won! Admittedly, I made my return call to the man on the phone, Dan Blankenship of Sheep Mountain Outfitters, with my tail between my legs, so to speak. My subsequent research and visits with Dan made it clear that my target animal would be a Rocky Mountain bighorn in Hells Canyon… Now, it was time to get myself ready during the short three-month turnaround.
Fast forward. August 1st, opening day of sheep season in Oregon, rolled around in very short order, but I found myself on the Western Slope of Colorado attending to another commitment I could not change. Two days later, my buddy and I were diving headlong into a 12-hour drive to Boise, with a commitment to meet Dan, his crew, and the jetboat midday on the 4th. That evening, while we were sitting in a room in Boise, Dan forwarded a video of what he believed to be our target ram with the notation, “Come running, we found him.” Game on!
Just before noon the next day, we found ourselves standing on a riverboat landing on the Snake River in Hells Canyon, watching the arrival of the jetboat that would take us upstream to camp and (hopefully) a shooter ram. Within the hour, camp was made, clothes were changed, the rifle was confirmed on target, and we were headed upstream to find “Chopper”, the target ram. A short, fifteen-minute ride upriver found us in the company of Dan’s crew, watching a trio of rams midway up the precarious slopes of Hells Canyon. After a period of glassing and planning, it was confirmed that Chopper was there, bedded on a vantage point high above; myself, my buddy, and a couple of guides led by Scott Coe crossed the river to the Oregon side to start an approach.
The ascent was relatively uneventful until we reached the bottom of the precipice the rams had chosen to bed down on. At that point, a young, vigilant sentinel ram pretty much had us locked down around 200 yards downhill from them. There was no more advancing. The wait was on. We could clearly make out the young ram on the rocks above us, but neither of the older fellows were visible for more than an hour. As always, however, when things start to happen, they go very quickly.
The first elder ram stood and started to move, which put us all into action. I laid out prone on the embankment, deployed my bipod, and settled into a shot for when the target ram exposed himself. Things were happening fast. It became apparent that my bipod legs were too low for the grass in front of me. In an anxious moment, I unscrewed the right leg too far, and it fell off the bipod. At the same time, the target ram came into view. A mad scramble ensued: I tried to re-attach the bipod leg while Scott frantically tried to clear the grass in front of me. As Chopper started to move off to the left into a large boulder field, my options were becoming limited at a breakneck pace. I whispered to Scott to forget it and get back; I was going to shoot.
As Chopper neared the closest boulder that would put him out of view and over the ridge to places unknown, I mustered my energy, took a breath, and squeezed off a free-hand shot to his front shoulder. The recoil jarred my scope vision, but a quick glance over the rifle revealed the large ram rolling down the hillside. It was only after Scott announced the ram was dead amid the cheers of the crew that I could grasp what had just taken place, and a flood of emotions took over.
However, the canyon had one more surprise for us. Within a matter of seconds, the skies opened into a torrential rainfall that lasted a good ten minutes. The King (Chopper) was down, the Canyon had just washed us all in his honor, and I thanked God that Dan had made that initial phone call!
Ram notes:
Right side: 42”, Left side: 38”; Bases: 15.25”
Gross BC: 189”; Net: 187 7/8”