Three hours of butt-puckering, steep climbing behind us, I finally reached my guide Travis who was quietly counting age rings on the big ram’s horns through his spotting scope, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 repeatedly. The ram had to be a minimum of eight years old. I carefully slithered up over the edge of jagged rocks piercing the sky. Staying low and out of plain sight, I removed some of the smaller rocks that were gouging my ribs and sunk in for the shot. Travis whispered, “510 yards,” as he ranged the ram several more times. Before counting age rings again in his more Irish sounding than Canadian accent, he told me he was sorry this was the closest he could get me to the ram for a shot. He knew I was confident shooting 500 yards. I did it when checking zero at the lodge upon arrival and often practiced longer shots back home with my rifle.
Now with my Mark 5HD scope dialed to 500 yards, zoomed in to 25x power, focus adjusted clearly, bipod steadily holding into the rocks, and my non-shooting arm folded underneath the stock, my crosshairs did not budge. All that was left to do was endure holding this distracting position until the ram stood out of his bed for the shot. Playing through my mind were practices of breathing and the slow squeezing of my trigger, praying and considering the strong wind gusts crossing from rim to rim. Being day 11 of the hunt, it was finally time to trust my rifle had stayed true despite the brutal beatings we both took to reach this moment.
Nearly 12 minutes passed as the wind slapped across the cliffs, drying my shooting eye. It felt like we were hunting somewhere near heaven with bright white cloud patches hovering as the deep blue sky circled almost below us. My right shoulder and neck were cramping from the position, but I was not willing to budge, I was locked in. While occasionally comforting my wind-scorched eye with long blinks, flies used my face and ears as a salt lick.
Without wavering, I looked for the ram to show signs of preparing to stand. The discomfort caused a brief recollection of a 28-minute stare down I once had with an old cape buffalo near the gates of hell in Zambia. That time, sweat flies dive-bombed and crawled around my eyes in the orange 100+ degree smoke-plagued air while I was hunched over my 375 H&H rested on shooting sticks, waiting for the bull to present his vitals. This moment now on the windy cliffs in the sky, waiting for the ram to stand, was not so uncomfortable or dangerous but was just as exhilarating and took a similar kind of endurance.
Finally, the ram rocked his head a little and stood up. Boom! Riley the wrangler was astonished the shot was so immediate upon the ram standing. I smiled and assured him I had my crosshairs cemented for over 12 minutes on where his vitals would be once he stood, so the second he got up, I was already dialed in. The scenery was worth soaking up some more with rich blue resting on shark teeth-like rocks and ridges.
One last sketchy climb was required. To reach sheep country, we had to go beyond the mountain goats, but I was used to it by now, and this time, it was at the climax of excitement! Only a few steps up from where I took the shot, I found myself standing on a patch of perfect green grass that would make a golf course tee box envious. I laughed and thought how nice it would have been to shoot from that spot. Oh well, something about having to hold position for 12 minutes with rocks shanking your ribs, muscles cramping, and flies crawling around your face makes the shot even more special because of the focus and discipline a situation like that requires.
Excitement grew as we worked our way up and along the upper rim. It was a giant half bowl or half dome shape mountain made of rocks. Travis climbs like a sheep and was at least 100 yards or more ahead of Riley and me. Eventually, he turned back towards us with a confused look on his face while still looking for the ram, causing my heart to sink. The thought of possibly losing an animal is difficult enough, but the thought of losing this sheep felt 10 times worse. After a minute or so, Travis thought maybe we hadn’t gone far enough to where the ram was, so we kept climbing along further around toward the highest point of the rim. I was keeping an eye on Travis and looking for the ram at the same time. Suddenly, Travis victoriously shot his arms up in the air. My worried heart was immediately resuscitated and filled with relief and joy! The ram had only taken a few steps after the shot. He was down!
Travis nervously counted the age again to verify. “Nine!” he shouted. The ram was nine years old. Travis exclaimed this was the biggest ram he had ever guided, and it even had a black coat. While taping the non-broomed side of the sheep’s horns, he asked our guesses. Riley or Travis guessed 39", and I guessed 41". The tape measured over 40 1/4". What a ram! A brutal hunt and possibly the most difficult experience I’ve ever had was now the greatest hunt of my life. Each day had stretched me to the point where I was pushing myself physically and climbing places that only days prior would have seemed impossible. What had scared me to the point of spider crawling previously was now walkable. To get this shot at this ram on this day took full body physical and mental exertion for an intense three hours, all preceded by 10 hard days of not seeing a mature or legal ram. Struggling to the point of frustration and exhaustion more each day has a profound strengthening effect.
If you’ve read the book “Comfort Crisis,” you’ve read about the Japanese word Misogi, which can be interpreted as doing something extremely difficult and life changing, almost purifying. Like a mirror or a reflection of myself, this hunt allowed me to see the ugly side of me, to see my faults and my weaknesses, to see myself when things are beyond tough. I’m not proud of it, but I can admit I turned into a negative, winey baby at times, especially in the first several days. Every time the experience got more difficult or I faced a new stretching challenge, I complained, mostly on the inside, but occasionally even out loud. By the last couple days of this hunt, however, the things I let frustrate me early on bothered me no more. Things that previously seemed hard or almost unbearable or scary had become the daily routine, just another day, and I now saw them in a positive light. There is no point in getting upset. It doesn’t help to get angry or frustrated or to complain when things suck, even when things push to the point of being all you can physically and mentally bear. Although easier said than done, no matter how difficult something is, we might as well stay positive, try to smile, learn what we can, and soak it all in. Then we will like what we see in the mirror.
Now looking back and seeing the big picture, it was the working, the pushing, the struggling, the slipping, the falling, the sweating, the bleeding, and the suffering. It was the immense difficulties that gradually generated the eventual strength and painted a far deeper beauty and richness in the overall experience. Even to the making of it something possible and extraordinary! Without having to first face those challenges, it would have been far less meaningful, less possible, and not extraordinary at all in the end. Such is life!
Now with my Mark 5HD scope dialed to 500 yards, zoomed in to 25x power, focus adjusted clearly, bipod steadily holding into the rocks, and my non-shooting arm folded underneath the stock, my crosshairs did not budge. All that was left to do was endure holding this distracting position until the ram stood out of his bed for the shot. Playing through my mind were practices of breathing and the slow squeezing of my trigger, praying and considering the strong wind gusts crossing from rim to rim. Being day 11 of the hunt, it was finally time to trust my rifle had stayed true despite the brutal beatings we both took to reach this moment.
Nearly 12 minutes passed as the wind slapped across the cliffs, drying my shooting eye. It felt like we were hunting somewhere near heaven with bright white cloud patches hovering as the deep blue sky circled almost below us. My right shoulder and neck were cramping from the position, but I was not willing to budge, I was locked in. While occasionally comforting my wind-scorched eye with long blinks, flies used my face and ears as a salt lick.
Without wavering, I looked for the ram to show signs of preparing to stand. The discomfort caused a brief recollection of a 28-minute stare down I once had with an old cape buffalo near the gates of hell in Zambia. That time, sweat flies dive-bombed and crawled around my eyes in the orange 100+ degree smoke-plagued air while I was hunched over my 375 H&H rested on shooting sticks, waiting for the bull to present his vitals. This moment now on the windy cliffs in the sky, waiting for the ram to stand, was not so uncomfortable or dangerous but was just as exhilarating and took a similar kind of endurance.
Finally, the ram rocked his head a little and stood up. Boom! Riley the wrangler was astonished the shot was so immediate upon the ram standing. I smiled and assured him I had my crosshairs cemented for over 12 minutes on where his vitals would be once he stood, so the second he got up, I was already dialed in. The scenery was worth soaking up some more with rich blue resting on shark teeth-like rocks and ridges.
One last sketchy climb was required. To reach sheep country, we had to go beyond the mountain goats, but I was used to it by now, and this time, it was at the climax of excitement! Only a few steps up from where I took the shot, I found myself standing on a patch of perfect green grass that would make a golf course tee box envious. I laughed and thought how nice it would have been to shoot from that spot. Oh well, something about having to hold position for 12 minutes with rocks shanking your ribs, muscles cramping, and flies crawling around your face makes the shot even more special because of the focus and discipline a situation like that requires.
Excitement grew as we worked our way up and along the upper rim. It was a giant half bowl or half dome shape mountain made of rocks. Travis climbs like a sheep and was at least 100 yards or more ahead of Riley and me. Eventually, he turned back towards us with a confused look on his face while still looking for the ram, causing my heart to sink. The thought of possibly losing an animal is difficult enough, but the thought of losing this sheep felt 10 times worse. After a minute or so, Travis thought maybe we hadn’t gone far enough to where the ram was, so we kept climbing along further around toward the highest point of the rim. I was keeping an eye on Travis and looking for the ram at the same time. Suddenly, Travis victoriously shot his arms up in the air. My worried heart was immediately resuscitated and filled with relief and joy! The ram had only taken a few steps after the shot. He was down!
Travis nervously counted the age again to verify. “Nine!” he shouted. The ram was nine years old. Travis exclaimed this was the biggest ram he had ever guided, and it even had a black coat. While taping the non-broomed side of the sheep’s horns, he asked our guesses. Riley or Travis guessed 39", and I guessed 41". The tape measured over 40 1/4". What a ram! A brutal hunt and possibly the most difficult experience I’ve ever had was now the greatest hunt of my life. Each day had stretched me to the point where I was pushing myself physically and climbing places that only days prior would have seemed impossible. What had scared me to the point of spider crawling previously was now walkable. To get this shot at this ram on this day took full body physical and mental exertion for an intense three hours, all preceded by 10 hard days of not seeing a mature or legal ram. Struggling to the point of frustration and exhaustion more each day has a profound strengthening effect.
If you’ve read the book “Comfort Crisis,” you’ve read about the Japanese word Misogi, which can be interpreted as doing something extremely difficult and life changing, almost purifying. Like a mirror or a reflection of myself, this hunt allowed me to see the ugly side of me, to see my faults and my weaknesses, to see myself when things are beyond tough. I’m not proud of it, but I can admit I turned into a negative, winey baby at times, especially in the first several days. Every time the experience got more difficult or I faced a new stretching challenge, I complained, mostly on the inside, but occasionally even out loud. By the last couple days of this hunt, however, the things I let frustrate me early on bothered me no more. Things that previously seemed hard or almost unbearable or scary had become the daily routine, just another day, and I now saw them in a positive light. There is no point in getting upset. It doesn’t help to get angry or frustrated or to complain when things suck, even when things push to the point of being all you can physically and mentally bear. Although easier said than done, no matter how difficult something is, we might as well stay positive, try to smile, learn what we can, and soak it all in. Then we will like what we see in the mirror.
Now looking back and seeing the big picture, it was the working, the pushing, the struggling, the slipping, the falling, the sweating, the bleeding, and the suffering. It was the immense difficulties that gradually generated the eventual strength and painted a far deeper beauty and richness in the overall experience. Even to the making of it something possible and extraordinary! Without having to first face those challenges, it would have been far less meaningful, less possible, and not extraordinary at all in the end. Such is life!