CHRONICLES

of a sheep hunter

by Randy Johnson

What is there about sheep hunting that causes grown men and women to become infected with a contagious disease named "Wanderlust" that sends them on adventures around the world? Why do they temporarily lose their sanity to willingly sacrifice hard earned financial resources, then risk life and limb to cross raging rivers or climb rugged mountain ranges that laugh at their insignificant human challengers?

I caught the incurable "Wanderlust," better known as "Sheep Fever,” years ago. It's my personal bias that each of us become addicted for a variety of reasons. Personally, I love the unmatched physical and mental challenges as I venture into a sheep's domain. Where can you find such an unprecedented, natural, pure adrenaline rush as when you match yourself against the unpredictable forces of mother nature and the majesty of animals who in-habit the most formidable yet beautiful country on earth? From the wild splendor of Canada to the jagged volcanic canyons of Baja, the vast steppes of Asia to the maze of unforgiving sandstone gorges in Southern Utah, wild sheep have captivated man with their priceless grandeur for unspoken centuries. They capture our imagination and dwell in our dreams with hypnotic spells that cannot be broken. These are the factors that cause each of us to continuously seek to inhale the infectious virus labeled “sheep hunting.” It permeates our souls, leading us on new adventures and undaunted explorations. It gives us the will, the determination to promote, preserve, and dedicate ourselves to the preservation of wild sheep in the 21st century.

Taking a Stone sheep has always been a lifelong dream of mine. It was one of those ellusive goals that I didn't expect would ever become reality. These hunts are expensive and normally beyond the grasp of the average person’s financial ability. What would life be, however, if we didn't have goals to shoot for? I just felt lucky to have had the opportunity to take a magnificent Dall sheep six years ago in the Northwest Territories after making the decision to accompany my daughter Marissa on her mountain caribou hunt after she won the Youth Essay Contest sponsored by FNAWS. This caribou hunt is graciously donated by Kelly and Heather Hougen of Arctic Red River Outfitters each year for our youth. What a great experience for a young person who may never get such an opportunity! Several years prior to going on my Dall hunt I had the privilege of taking a coveted desert ram after winning a drawing for a tag donated by the local chapter of FNAWS in my home state of Utah.

Believing I might not have the good fortune of ever taking another ram by myself I began guiding hunters for desert sheep in Southern Utah a few years ago. I chose to do this because of my absolute love for sheep hunting. The fact that I’ve spent most of my life learning the secrets of the remarkable Escalante Canyons and Kaiparowitz Plateau country was also a factor in my decision. Helping someone else to take a ram is a real honor and gives you the opportunity to continue experiencing the excitement of sheep hunting.

In early June of 1999 I was preparing to take a lucky permittee out scouting for a desert ram in the scorching summer heat. When you have sheep fever the weather doesn't seem to matter. One morning at work I was surprised to receive a call from a good friend of mine. Co¡ncidentally, last year at the FNAWS Convention he had booked his second Stone sheep hunt and was scheduled to go with Jerry Geraci, owner of Upper Stikine River Adventures in Northern British Columbia. They were planning on hunting some new country that Jerry had never been in before. My friend was booked to leave on his hunt the last of July. Because he wanted to concentrate entirely on scouting for his Utah desert ram that he had drawn, he was looking for someone to purchase his Stone hunt. He wasn't worried about finding a taker. Garth knew that killing a Stone was a goal high on my list and thought the price for this hunt was a real bargain. It just might be within my price range. Well, I swallowed hard, told him that I would get back by the end of the week, looked at my schedule (as a superintendent in a rural school district I wear a lot of hats), reviewed my hunting funds, took my wife out to dinner, then did the unthinkable, I jumped at the opportunity. I phoned Garth to tell him he could count on me! The sheep virus had struck again. I had wanderlust! I couldn't believe I was actually going after my Stone.

With less than two months before I was due to leave I began experiencing unpredictable anxiety. I phoned Jerry Geraci to finalize all details,purchased my airline tickets, researched topo maps of the Stikine Mountains, and even studied weather patterns for the region I would be hunting. I also contacted other hunters who had booked with Jerry. I was a nervous wreck knowing this would be a "once in a lifetime opportunity" for me and that I couldn't afford to blow it. The clock was ticking. I was fortunate that physical conditioning wasn't a problem due to the fact that I stay in good shape scouting for desert sheep and trophy mule deer the year round in Southern Utah.

Time moved at a snail's pace. It seemed as if the days and weeks were twice as long. Finally, the departure date, July 28, was in sight. I bribed my wife by offering her a shopping trip if she would drive me five hours to Las Vegas. She was more than happy to accommodate my request, dropping me off at McCarran International Airport so she and my daughter could go to the malls. It wasn't surprising that I arrived at the terminal five hours before my scheduled 11:00 p.m. flight. I flew into Vancouver that night arriving at 2:00 a.m. where I had a four hour layover. Nervous I would sleep through my connecting flight at 6:00 a.m., I wasn't able to get a wink of shuteye. You might say I was a little wound up. In the airport I met a fellow sheep hunter from Austria who didn't speak a word of English. Somehow we found a way to communicate, finding that we had a lot in common (must have been the gun cases). He was scheduled on the same morning flight as me, although he was booked with a different outfitter. We shared pictures and stories then helped each other board the plane that flew us into Smithers, a picturesque little town nestled in the heart of the Canadian Rockies. I quickly waved good-bye after my new friend was met by his outfitter who hurried him to another flight. I was relieved when one of Jerry's assistants introduced herself to me, but was upset when we discovered that the airline had flown my duffel bag back to Vancouver. Luckily, I got it back later that day.

In Smithers there were some problems with the float plane, so three other hunters and I were driven eight hours via the Alaskan Highway to Dease Lake. I enjoyed seeing the country and wildlife but was definitely getting tired of sitting. Finally, our chartered Turbo Beaver arrived the following afternoon, and we were flown out to base camp at Tucho Lake. After meeting Jerry's staff, getting acquainted with the facilities and eating a gourmet meal of moose tenderloin, we sat outside in our shirt sleeves, swatted a few kamikaze mosquitoes, then admired a spectacular flaming orange sunset. The tranquil setting was invigorating. Later that night in my cabin I listened to a pack of snarling, growling wolves who seemed to be much too close to camp. Apparently, they had pulled down a calf moose in the willows. There was no mistaking the chilling, blood curdling noises of the predator's feeding frenzy. Later, I fell into a deep sleep as my dreams were filled with visions of finding a big ram.

The Storm

spied a lone ram out on some slickrock below us. The youngster was getting a drink from a slight depression in the sandstone. He was a young two year old with lamb tips. We slowly crouched down and ducked into a group of sparse cedars for cover. Soon we were able to make out two ewes and another larger ram. The larger ram appeared to be a five or six year old that would score in the low 150’s. My miracle was starting to take shape. The young ram had spotted us and just couldn’t take his eyes off our location. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he climbed up through the ledges to within 30 yards of the group of cedars we were hiding behind. He paced back and forth in front of the cedar trees trying to get a reaction from us, snorting and stomping. Finally, after thirty minutes he headed back down to join the other sheep. While this was going on the larger ram ran down a steep slide and out of our sight into a narrow box canyon below us. Randy took this opportunity to try to scare the other sheep off of the sandstone swale so we could make a stalk on the larger ram. Of course, the small ram and ewes were not going to scare easy. Randstood up, waved his arms, chucked some rock, all to no avail. We then rose from our hiding place and moved further down toward the canyon. I got myself into a shooting position on a flat boulder 500 yards above the slide where we had last seen the older ram disappear into the narrow box canyon. Suddenly, a fierce storm raised his ugly head with the wind gusting furiously, the sky darkening, and the temperature dropping 25 degrees. I started to tremble from the cold and both Randy and I were forced to dig into our packs for more clothing and rain gear. Randy suggested that I use the cover of the storm to move quickly down off the ledges onto the rim of the box canyon with the hope that the big ram was hunkering down to avoid the sudden storm. With time at a premium Randy would then follow behind me carrying both of our packs. Under camouflage of the approaching storm, with its microburst winds and flashing lightning, I quickly made my way down out of the ledges and across the sandstone swell. The rest is history. . . Unbelievably, I found two great rams locked in combat. Unable to unlock their horns they were tearing up everything in sight. I took a deep breath, placed the cross-hairs of my scope on the ram furthest from me and touched off the shot. What an unreal sequence as both rams dropped onto the slickrock. Time appeared to be in slow motion as it felt like hours although it was only seconds before the second ram was able to free himself from the horns of his dead opponent. He must have thought that he was one tough ram to have dropped his combatant in his tracks. My shot had broken the other great rams neck killing him instantly. After my successful shot, I must have been in a daze as I glanced up to see Randy making his way across the slickrock with our packs. I raised my gun over my head to signal success. He yelled his congratulations as I tried to explain what had transpired. Meeting at the mouth of the steep chute leading down into the narrow canyon, we exchanged high fives and war whoops of joy. Shortly afterward, Randy was surprised to see the ram that we had spotted earlier run past us, followed by some ewes, and then the tremendous ram that had been locked in combat with the trophy I shot. Randy said this ram would have scored over 165. They all ran by us at less than thirty yards. We had to rope down two near vertical ledges before lowing ourselves down onto the narrow floor of the canyon to reach the trophy of a lifetime. The storm passed as quickly as it had appeared and my miracle was complete.

After Randy had caped the ram for a full body mount and we had deboned the meat we labored under the weight of very heavy packs to get out of the canyon. It was pitch black when we finally made it back to where we had pitched the tent two days before, very happy but bone dead tired. Then, the following morning it was another strenuous eight-hour hike to get off of the Moody Plateau and back to the trailhead where Randy’s truck was located. After twelve physically demanding days in the field, Randy and I had lost twenty-five pounds of combined weight in pursuit of my desert bighorn sheep and the experience had left me wondering if I had another sheep hunt in me. I guarantee that I would do it all over again in a fraction of a second!

The Utah Fish and Game scored my ram at 163 2/8 and aged him at 13 years of age. What an incredible animal. Looking back now, all the pain and sacrifices were an insignificant price to pay for the achievement of a lifetime goal. I am now applying for a coveted rocky mountain bighorn permit with fingers crossed hoping to pull a tag and complete the final leg of my “Grand Slam”. I’m definitely prepared to head into the mountains again. The joy of sheep hunting is indeed indescribable. A special thanks, to my family for their support, to Randy Johnson for providing me with a hunting experience that I will treasure the rest of my life, and finally to FNAWS for their efforts in putting wild sheep back on the mountains.

Prizefighter of a Ram

By Klen Brooks

Having been born and raised in Utah into a family that has loved and cherished spending quality time in the great outdoors, exposed me an early age to those incredible adrenalin highs that come from pursuing big game. Hunting with family and friends has provided me with experiences that I will treasure and remember forever. These “out on the mountain” experiences have played a very important role in shaping my identity. Knowing that my father and uncle had completed their Grand Slams of North American Wild Sheep gave me the desire to follow in their footsteps as I set an individual goal to accomplish the same, very difficult feat.

At age 22, I had my first experience hunting wild sheep in Alaska. I was fortunate to be successful in completing the first step of my lifelong Grand Slam goal. A couple of years later I was lucky enough to harvest another Dall ram, then a beautiful Stone sheep on an incredibly difficult and physical hunt.

I was then able to obtain a sheep permit for the Kaparowitz Unit located in the rugged high desert of southern Utah. This available tag was a direct result of the efforts from the Utah Foundation of North American Wild Sheep and their commitment to putting sheep out on the mountain. I knew that this opportunity would be a once-in-a lifetime experience that required my complete personal commitment to be in top physical and mental condition.

I became acquainted several years ago with Randy Johnson and Brett Caldwell of High Desert Wild Sheep Guides. I knew that if I wanted to be successful in taking a quality ram that it was essential to have them be a part of my experience. I knew that they were the best and most experienced guides in Utah. Randy and Brett knew the area I would be hunting well and had guided sheep hunters successfully in this diverse unit in the past.

I spent time with Randy and my dad on Memorial Day weekend looking over the unit and then Randy and Brett took advantage of the Labor Day weekend to scout the area with me several weeks before the opening of my hunt. We saw some rams but none were the quality that we were looking for.

The season began on Saturday, September 20th. Randy and Brett mapped out a plan to leave for the unit on the 18th so that we could spend several days before the opener to look for the ram that I had dreamed about. It was decided that each of us would look at different targeted areas, covering as much terrain as possible. This time we had better luck, as we located several large rams though none were of the caliber that I had my sights set on.

On Friday evening, the night before the hunt my cousin, Mark, joined us at sheep camp. He came to spend the weekend with me to help and to experience those special moments that only come with hunting wild sheep.

On opening morning we were in a different area still searching for my special ram. We did find sheep, and one ram with great potential, but not the bruiser that met my high expectations. That evening while in Randy’s camp trailer, enjoying a great home cooked dinner we planned the next day’s hunt. Randy suggested that we focus our efforts in a completely new area that he felt could be hiding the ram of my dreams.

The next day Mark and my dad were sent into separate areas while Randy and I glassed a large, rugged canyon. After glassing for about 30 minutes across the canyon into an endless maze of broken up washes and talus slopes that eventually fed into a larger drainage below, Randy motioned to me that he had found some sheep. I quickly moved to his position. He had glassed four rams and eight ewes, some bedded and some on the move along the edge of a large, rocky cirque. The rams were in hot pursuit of the ewes while competing with one another. After studying the sheep for a moment one ram stepped into view that instantly drew my attention. I knew immediately that we needed to get a closer look at him.

The next hour passed very slowly as Mark and my dad joined us at our glassing point. Randy, Mark, and I gathered our packs and equipment while my dad positioned himself in a position where he could signal any movement of the sheep to us. The heat was stifling. The rams finally bedded in a ravine of boulders out of sight. This allowed us the opportunity to make a long stalk without being in view of the rams. We wound our way down a very precarious, steep slope into the wash below. After crossing the wash we then climbed up a very steep canyon on the backside of the mountain, doing a little ledge walking, all the time remaining out of view of the sheep. After about an hour and a half we finally neared the top of a shallow saddle that Randy felt would place us just above the rams. We stopped to take off our packs as I chambered a bullet into my Christensen Arms 270 Winchester short mag.

Crawling inch by inch through the sharp rocks and puncture weeds on our bellies, we reached the crest of the saddle. I could now see into a hidden pocket that had been out of view from our original spotting point several miles away. Randy immediately picked up a couple of rams and ewes. Somehow the sheep sensed that we were above them. The rams,

WHAT A DREAM!

By Mark Butler

For me, it doesn’t get any better than spending quality time on the mountain with family and friends. I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by an entire “herd” of sheep huntin’ fools! Wow, “what a dream” to have recently completed my quest for all four North American bighorn sheep by taking an incredible Utah book ram to finish my lifelong mission. It was also icing on the cake to have been accompanied by my son, dad, uncle, several cousins and close friends on the hunt.

Hunting bighorn sheep is a goal that most of us diehard, fanatical hunters dream about but may never have the good fortune to experience. My dream began in 1991 while sitting in the office of my uncle, a classic sheepaholic, with me asking the question, “What bighorn sub-species should I apply for in my home state of Utah?” At the time, as a resident of Utah, he felt that the rocky mountain bighorn would give me the best odds to draw a tag.

Unbelievably, destiny knocked on my door 11 years later, as the first opportunity to live the adrenalin highs and butt kicking lows of sheep hunting came to fruition when I drew a Utah Rocky Mountain bighorn tag in 2002. From that unforgettable day in November seven years ago when I experienced first hand the physical and mental challenges that only sheep hunting can offer by taking a trophy rocky, I knew that I would make whatever sacrifices it took to keep my sheep hunting dreams alive in the future.

Fast forward to 2009 when I have a tag in hand that will culminate my 18 year dream of completing a full curl. Randy Johnson of HIGH DESERT Wild Sheep Guides was with me on my first sheep hunt and I wanted him there on the final leg of my “full curl” dream journey. Although Randy knew the unit I would be hunting like the back of his hand, we spent countless hours studying maps, emailing, looking at sheep surveys, and overall devising a winning game plan that would give me the best chance for success.

I’ve learned over the years that in many, if not all cases, scouting early and often is the key to finding quality big game. This hunt was stacking up to being the best ever! Beginning in early May, when I had the opportunity to take my youngest daughter Amanda (8) with me scouting, I spent a total of fifteen days exploring the desert. Although we didn’t see any sheep on that trip we had an awesome time eating dehydrated food, catching lizards, and watching falling stars under the dark canopy of several crystal clear desert nights.

Next, I took my “huntin’ fool” son Andrew (14) with me where I walked his legs off… still no sheep sightings however. At this point, after six days in the unit, I began to question my glassing ability. However, on the third trip in with my daughter Lauren (11) we found sheep! We saw nine rams on this excursion, but none that I would want to “tag.” On a separate scouting adventure on Memorial Day Randy found a group of rams that had what he felt was a 170 pt. ram in it. I was pumped! The dog days of summer slipped by more slowly than I can ever remember.

In mid August, Randy and I planned to take a trip deep into the heart of the unit, knowing that the rams in this area start into the rut early. Boy, am I glad we made the trip! We located a huge ram that we believed would book. We dubbed him, “Shooter”! As you can imagine, the thought of waiting until September 19^th to actually hunt “Shooter” was killing me!

Mother Nature was in a foul mood after that and the weather on weekends where additional scouting reconnaissance were planned prevented us from getting into the unit again until 3 days before the opener. We had a great team assembled to accompany us that included my son and father. The heat, bugs and terrain are oppressive obstacles on the desert and after three days and numberless miles we were seeing plenty of rams, but no sign of Shooter. Deep within I was deflated knowing that my son and father could only hunt the opening day because of school and work commitments. I really wanted them to be with me when I fulfilled my dream.

Opening day found us greeting another brilliant red sunrise. Randy had decided to concentrate on an area where he felt Shooter might be holed up since he had located a group of rams fighting in a rugged canyon the evening before. A game plan was devised to have everyone helping with the hunt to meet for lunch so we could compare notes. That morning, Randy and his partner, Brett, led my cousin Jeff, Andrew and I on a marathon hike from the end of one peninsula, to up and over the next and the next…Lots of tracks but no rams.

Lunch came late but with exciting news……. My cousin Brian and Uncle Ken thought they had spotted Shooter! The stalk was on, so we thought. Brian had watched Shooter bed down with three ewes, believing there was no way for him to escape from the protective shade of the ravine without seeing him. We took the next two hours getting into position by sneaking, crawling, and sweating in 90+ degrees to within 100 yards of “Shooter’s bed” only to find that he had evaporated like Houdini into thin air.

Brian couldn’t believe that Shooter had somehow escaped their watchful optics. Disappointed, hot, and tired, we pressed on over the next ridge where we located a ewe in a tier of rugged white ledges, then another ewe, then another! Suddenly, Shooter appeared from behind a truck size giant boulder! Was it really the ram I had been waiting so long for? Having left our spotting scopes at the top of the craggy canyon, it was now difficult to tell whether we actually had the right ram.

We glassed intently as the sheep jumped from rock to rock, not knowing that human predators were watching their every move. Wild sheep are simply amazing animals and live in some of the most unforgiving, gut wrenching country on earth. Frustratingly, the ram would not give us the view we wanted to convince us that he was truly Shooter. Because my unit had the potential to produce some giant rams by Utah standards Randy and Brett were being extra cautious in giving the go ahead to “pull the trigger.” However, going into my hunt, I had determined that if I saw a ram that scored over 160 I would be extremely happy to take him. Without the aid of their spotting scopes both Randy and Bret felt this ram would possibly go 165. His mass was deceiving. That’s all the encouragement that I needed.

I prefer to shoot prone so laying my rifle over my pack, I settled the scope’s reticles of the 300 ultra mag onto the front shoulder of the ram which had been ranged at 430 yards, a comfortable shot for me. Two ewes were standing behind him preventing me from taking the shot. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the ewes moved, presenting the ethical opportunity I was waiting for. I slowly squeezed the trigger. Time literally stood still although it was just a millisecond before the roar of my rifle reverberated off the sandstone walls of the canyon. The shock wave from the shot blew dust into my eyes as the big ram bolted, then leaped over a deep chasm in the cliffs. He disappeared behind a rocky outcrop. Suddenly, three ewes came racing out of the deep arroyo but not the ram. Randy said that he was sure my ram was down. Believe me, 430 yards is a long walk when you didn’t see your trophy drop although we were confident that he was dead! When I climbed over a rock strewn ridge to see my amazing trophy lying before me, upside down in a deep, erosion worn crevice, I almost cried in pure joy. Emotionally, this was not because I had just taken Shooter, but because I was able to experience my dream along side my father, son, as well as friends and relatives. After paying respect to this great animal we celebrated and took dozens of photos. Now, the work really began as we hurried to complete the caping and debone the meat before the blackness of dark descended upon us. Although it took several hours to climb upward through the ledges of the canyon I didn’t feel fatigued as adrenalin surged through my body. My dream was complete.

Upon checking my ram into the DWR offices, Shooter was officially scored at 175” right on the button and was aged at 8.5 years old. No ground shrinkage on this toad! His mass was incredible. I couldn’t be happier with the ram that completes my pursuit for all four North American Wild Sheep. I would feel remiss if I didn’t thank Utah FNAWS and the DWR for providing this hunt, my sweetheart Kim for allowing me to spend time in the field, an understanding employer and HIGH DESERT Wild Sheep Guides (435)590-8139, Randy Johnson and Brett Caldwell for being with me every step of the way.

On the Trail of MEGA MULIES

Discovering some of the most massive antlers ever recorded would put any mule deer hunter in a world-record frame of mind!

By Randy Johnson

I have lived my entire life in the heart of some of the greatest mule deer country in the western United States. Growing up in a small, rural community in Utah, I developed a love for hunting mulies at an early age. From the time my father took me into the mountains on my first hunt at age six, I have been captivated by the mystery, intrigue and physical challenges of outsmarting trophy bucks.

I’ve spent years studying the habits of mule deer, and along the way I’ve witnessed first hand a significant decline in the numbers of big bucks. Our mule deer in Utah, like others elsewhere, have suffered from dwindling winter range, increased predation, severe winters and even a few mistakes by biologists in their management, making it increasingly tough to find a trophy buck. Many of the animals remaining have retreated into terrain that would frighten off a casual hunter.

During the past 10 years, I’ve adopted specialized tactics for hunting the most remote inhabitants of Utah’s rugged rincon country, and they have put me in contact with some of the biggest mule deer that have ever lived. Finding these extreme bucks requires thorough scouting. I’ve backpacked into the most isolated country I could find and have investigated such evidence as tracks, scrapes and especially shed antlers. In gathering all the evidence at my disposal, I’ve gained further appreciation for how elusive trophy mulies are and how utterly difficult it is to hunt them.

EXPLORATION

In late June, 1993, my daughter Marissa and I labored under 65-pound backpacks as we ventured three days into desolate Rincon country. It was a picturesque, isolated and very rugged region that I believed could hold giant bucks. The small thermometer attached to my backpack registered 107 degrees, and the waves of heat radiating from the bare rocks sucked precious moisture from our bodies. I was beginning to worry about our water supple when I spotted a damp area in the formidable terrain through my binoculars. Fearing it might be a mirage, we moved in closer to check it---sure enough, it was a small but life-sustaining seep. And right beside the very limited water source were some of the biggest mule deer tracks I’ve ever seen. Immediately, I knew I would return to the area at some point to locate the bucks that had made them.

After studying contour lines, landmarks and other terrain features on a topo map, I set out for the area of the seep in May of 1994 with my

“THE SLEDGEHAMMER RAM”

By Mitch Olsen

Sweat dripped from my brow, stinging my eyes, as I followed my guide, Randy Johnson, upward through a series of steep sandstone ledges. For the past six days the oppressive desert heat and rugged terrain had kicked our butts and taken a toll on leg muscles that strained to push us onward. I have been on some tough hunts in my life but this one was shaping up to be one of the roughest I have ever encountered. Stopping briefly for a quick breather, Randy whispered to stay quiet and nodded that the area we were approaching was a prime location for sheep to bed down in, protected from the blistering heat of the blazing afternoon sun. I watched as Randy cautiously inched his way around a ledge to peak at the terrain in front of us. What happened next captured my complete attention! I saw my guide turn, crouch, and motion for me to get low! In one motion Randy was by my side, whispering that he had seen some ewes bedded directly in front of us. In barely an audible tone, I ask if I should put a bullet in the chamber? He nodded, quietly telling me that he expected there to be some rams with the ewes. As I noiselessly chambered a round Randy belly crawled to a small bush and glassed through it with his binoculars. It didn’t take him long to wiggle backwards to me. The expression on his face told the story. “There’s a massive ram bedded just in front of the ewes, crawl up to that bush and kill him!” “Make sure that you don’t hit a ewe.” As I inched my way forward a flood of thoughts rushed through my brain. This was the moment I had been waiting for all my life. Getting in position, I inched the rifle to my shoulder and poked it through an opening in the small scraggly brush. All I could see was a bunch of sheep milling around. There were at least 3 or 4 rams bunting each other among the ewes. I moved back, then anxiously ask Randy, “which ram, they are all standing up?” Randy slipped to a different brush alongside the ledge to look, then motioned for me crawl forward. “The ram I want you to shoot is now standing in the front looking at us, take him.” He spoke in a quiet, confident and reassuring voice. Within a second I raised my .270 Weatherby, placed the crosshairs on the ram 100 yards in front of me and slowly squeezed the trigger!

After waiting 18 years for my chance to draw a Desert Sheep tag, I knew over a year ago that I had to be getting close to “winning the Utah lottery” and bonus point system. I did my research, asking knowledgeable people I trusted every question I could think of. I had known who I wanted to guide me on this hunt long before I even drew my tag and had actually called Randy Johnson of HIGH DESERT WILD SHEEP GUIDES last year to get on his list. I was still in total shock in late April when I received official word that I had drawn a desert sheep tag, one of the most coveted hunts that a hunter could possible dream of having the opportunity to go on. It didn’t take long for me to get on the phone with Randy again and my adventure of a lifetime kicked into high gear. He didn’t mince words in telling me to “get in the best shape of my life,” encouraging me to check out the HIGH DESERT WILD SHEEP GUIDE’S gear list and conditioning program on their website. To complicate matters just a little, I had also booked a Stone Sheep hunt for August so I was going to have an extremely busy fall.

My summer wore down ever so slowly. I worked harder than I thought possible to get in great physical condition, ordered some new gear, a light weight rifle, and felt confident that I was prepared to go sheep hunting. I left for British Columbia on August 10 to hunt my Stone and after some really wet, foul weather harvested a beautiful salt and pepper ram with Moon Lake Outfitters. Returning to Utah, I received a phone call from Randy to see how my Stone hunt had went and to confirm a date for my desert hunt. He had me scheduled for October 14. Wow, I was getting nervous. Would I be ready for the challenge ahead of me?

On September 23, while out doing some chores, my cell phone rang. I was surprised to hear Randy’s voice. He explained that one of his hunters with a tag on the Escalante Unit had gotten really sick and couldn’t go that weekend. Because Randy and his team were booked so tightly he was trying to reschedule and move hunters around to make the short two month long sheep season work out for everyone. He ask if I could get my gear ready and be willing to meet him to go hunting on Monday? Apprehensive, I phoned him a couple of hours later to ask if he felt like this was a better time to try and find my ram than the date he had me booked for me earlier? He explained that he expected the weather to be a lot hotter but we would find rams. I trusted in Randy’s knowledge and said, “let’s do it.”

After the long drive I knew I was in for one of the most physical hunts of my life as Randy explained his game plan. Meeting up with Randy’s brother Bryant and a friend, Gayle Eyre, we quickly strapped on the backpacks and pushed into a location that Randy wanted to glass from. That evening we saw some sheep on the top of some gnarly cliffs but nothing that looked good. The next day we strained against the heat and backpacked even further. With water being an issue Randy and his brother hiked off into a deep canyon to fill up our collapsible containers. Again, that evening, we saw sheep, but not the ram I had set my mind on. The next day was brutal. We were up before daylight and hiked for hours. Randy led us on an “adventure” that none of us will forget for the rest of our lives. We literally crawled up through a near vertical crack in some cliffs to access the country that my guide felt was hiding some big rams. After locating a small, life sustaining water source and setting up camp, we accessed some high vantage points and put the high powered optics to work. Bryant told Randy that they had jumped a group of sheep and to keep an eye out. It wasn’t too long afterward that we practically stepped on the band of sheep as they spooked out of a rocky pocket in front of us. I threw my gun to my shoulder quickly but Randy said, “those rams thin out too much on the ends, don’t shoot.” I was a little disappointed to not see anything bigger but knew that we had made the right decision. After a hot night, and some fitful sleeping, we stumbled out of our beds before daylight. Bryant and Gayle had to leave and left in the opposite direction on the difficult hike back to their truck. Meanwhile, Randy and I were prepared to stay for the duration and began to hunt some rugged pockets of ledges that Randy had seen a great ram in the year before. We located old tracks, but saw no sheep as we moved steadily up a long peninsula, having to maneuver our way through some very difficult terrain. After shading up beneath the branches of a giant ponderosa for lunch, I ask Randy, “how much further are you planning on going today?” He responded, “to that point in the far distance.” I didn’t question his desire to find me my ram, gritted my teeth, and followed him on our “hike into hell.” Boy, am I glad I had the determination and will to keep pushing myself onward!

As I placed my crosshairs on the huge ram standing in front of me and lightly pulled the trigger I saw the ram drop like he had been hit with a freight train. Sheep started running everywhere onto a steep sandstone slab just to the right of the depression in the trees where they had been bedded. Randy grabbed my shoulders and excitedly yelled “your ram is down.” Moments later his voice changed to a whisper as he told me that the ram was back up , hidden in the trees. It was unbelieveable. We both watched anxiously as at least 30 confused sheep, nervously walked and ran around on the sandstone. We couldn’t believe there had been that many animals bedded in the small depression in front of us. There were at least 7 rams in the group, with 2 really mature big boys, and one other bruiser that was persistently pushing a ewe in a circle. The ram and ewe moved back down into the trees to apparently check out the ram I had shot. Randy could still see my ram moving in the trees. After what seemed like an eternity he said that my trophy was going to follow the ewe and other ram out onto the sandstone slab and to get ready to put him down for good. Slowly, painstakingly, the sheep moved out into the open. My ram moved hesitantly but was making progress toward escape. My .270 Weatherby roared again. As Randy was telling me to put another round into him the ram suddenly keeled over backwards on the sandstone and my dream was complete. The other sheep disappeared over a dome. I could feel Randy’s hand literally shaking on my shoulder as we expressed our congratulations. What a rush!

As tough as this desert sheep hunt was, it is definitely one of the most thrilling and memorable hunts I have ever been on. There is nothing more exciting than walking up to a huge monster ram that you have worked and sacrificed so much to get! I think Randy was every bit as excited as I was and he quickly nicknamed my ram, “The Sledgehammer,” which

THE “SPARTACUS RAM” GLADIATOR OF THE DESERT

By Randy Rosenthal

Raised as a 3rd generation logger in the small community of Leggett, California, I’m well accustomed to hard work, good times, bad times, and relentless wet weather with downpours that would force a duck to search for dry ground! 2011 was definitely one of those years where life chose to keep my corner of the world very busy with life’s coastal storms that made each and every day an epic adventure.

With the nation’s economy throwing fastballs, curveballs and even an occasional knuckler at all of us I found myself trying to stay one step ahead and was so busy trying to complete several personal construction projects that there were days I hardly had enough valuable time to breathe. Unexpectedly, I received some very exciting and positive news when I drew an Arizona archery bull tag. Then, several months later, I got completely blindsided when I received a letter from the State of Utah notifying me that I had drawn a “Once In A Lifetime” non-resident sheep tag. Wow, my adrenalin was really pumping as I scrambled to try and figure out how in the world I was going to find the time for two major hunts?

It didn’t take long for my son-in-law Dave Felton to complete some valuable research for me on Utah sheep guides and I was soon on the phone visiting with Randy Johnson of HIGH DESERT WILD SHEEP GUIDES. We immediately hit it off in discussing our personal perspectives on life, the fact that he and I were both raised in hard, blue collar working families and the absolute importance of a man’s word! Although Randy and his team were very busy with bookings for the fall he and I were able to settle on a hunting date in October that would work for both of us. Too busy to get the necessary paperwork back to Randy he and I trusted each other completely and our word became our bond. In today’s world it seems that in many instances a man’s word can be lost in the confusion of a rapidly changing society. This wasn’t the case with Randy and I.

I found a few spare minutes to check out the HIGH DESERT WILD SHEEP GUIDE’S website. To say the least I was impressed with their experience. Although I had never been on a backpack hunt before I began to make the necessary preparations for gear and to get myself physically and mentally ready for the challenges of what would be a very busy fall for me.

Believe me, I can’t remember a crazier summer as the months literally disappeared. In just a flickering heartbeat, before I even realized it September had arrived and I was hitting the highway for a long drive to Arizona for my elk hunt. At a gas station in Bakersfield I received a call from Randy to check up on me and wish me “good luck.” He said, “I will be out on the mountain a lot over the next month but would touch bases again in early October.

My elk hunt started off at a slow pace. Early season dates, seven days of monsoon rains, and lack of rutting activity kept me in Arizona longer than expected hunting hard to find a good bull which put me even further behind on my work projects at home. I looked at some emails from Randy that indicated they had been taking some killer rams and then, in a flash of time, it was only days before I was to leave for Utah. Believe me, I was stressed in preparing to leave on time because I hadn’t even found a spare minute to pack. I literally had to have my kind wife throw all my gear into my outfit before I was burning rubber to meet Randy in southern Utah for “Once In A Lifetime” desert sheep hunt. With my frenetic schedule I had someway misunderstood our meeting date and when I phoned Randy while approaching the Utah/Nevada border he was at work expecting to see me the next day. Well, he quickly adapted and changed his schedule. Upon arriving at his work office in Cedar City we drove another 1½ hours to his home in Marysvale to get his truck that was already loaded and ready for action. We even found a few minutes to try out my new Gunwerks rifle at his local shooting range. After a quick homemade meal that his wife Jodi had prepared for us we met Randy’s brother/partner Bryant with a friend and were off. It was 12:00 am when we eventually got into camp and a warm bed. Man, what a long day! I was exhausted but excited for this unique hunting opportunity.

Several hours before daylight the early morning darkness found us climbing up a route through some difficult ledges to access the area Randy wanted to hunt. What a crisp, beautiful dawn as Randy showed Bryant a high point that he wanted him to glass from. We moved further up the ridge to check out a rock strewn canyon that wound upwards to dissolve into a sandstone, circular basin. It wasn’t long before Bryant got Randy’s attention to come down and look at some rams that were working their way up through the ledges below him. One of the rams was a solid looking trophy, Randy looked at me and said “What do you think?” I said, “It’s a beautiful ram, but being the first day, and not wanting the hunt to end so soon as well as knowing that there was possibly a bigger ram in the unit--I’m going to pass.”

With backpacks on, Randy decided we should check another location. While Bryant and his buddy Mike hiked into a spot that Randy wanted them to glass he and I took a difficult route into an incredible, but very rugged canyon. For the rest of the day we cautiously worked our way upward through some gnarly side canyons before climbing over the summit to descend back into the area we had started from that morning. I learned several things that day: (1) The air in Utah is very dry compared to northern California and (2) following Randy across those steep sandstone slabs requires the traction of a mountain goat. Although the day was long I felt good about what we had accomplished as well as the country we were hunting. I was confident that Randy and his team would find me the ram I had been dreaming about for months. I also decided that when I saw Randy get excited about a ram that it would be a good indicator for me to pull the trigger.

That evening, back at camp, Randy’s other partner, Brett Caldwell, joined us. After a good meal and enjoyable conversation I listened as they discussed possible options for the next day. Although Brett wanted to separate from us and drive to a different location that he had been wanting to check out Randy convinced everyone that we needed to finish hunting the area we were in. Because Bryant and Mike had to leave early the next day Randy assigned them to glass some rough talus slopes in a canyon to the north of us while we maneuvered our way up through those difficult ledges to hunt some nasty breaks that hadn’t been checked out yesterday. The light of early morning found the HIGH DESERT TEAM locate a group of sheep with their long range optics but the rams didn’t seem to generate a lot of interest. By 9:00 am Randy lead us across a canyon so that we could access a long, very thick Pinyon Juniper covered ridge that angled out to where he wanted us to glass from. As we descended the ridge, in just a split second, there was a band of 4 bedded rams that jumped up 100 yards in front of us in the thick undergrowth. As the rams spooked Brett and I broke after Randy as he started to run down the ridge. Suddenly, there the rams were again staring at us. It didn’t take long for all three humans to hit the dirt! Brett and I were mesmerized by the mass of one ram in particular. Although Randy was sitting in a cactus I heard him tell me “We’ve got to kill this ram! Shoot the one on the right!” There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice. In all the excitement, my rifle was still in the scabbard on my pack so I asked Brett to hand it to me. It seemed like it took an eternity for Brett to pull the gun out but I quickly had it in my hands and was noiselessly as possible working the bolt back to load a live round in the chamber!

In front of me, partially obstructing my view, was a large, dead cedar tree that created a limited alley for me to shoot through. I reaffirmed that Randy wanted me to take the massive ram on the right. Time stood still. All I could see of the ram, with the angle we had, was his chest and head facing us. I found one limited opening through the tree, settled the crosshairs of my scope at the base of the great ram’s neck and lightly pulled the trigger. I didn’t feel my rifle kick against my shoulder as the 6.5 284 broke the absolute stillness of the desert air. It looked to me like the big ram broke to the right but I also heard Randy yell that he had dropped in his tracks. As Brett, Randy and I hugged and high fived one another we also kept a close watch on the exact location where the ram had disappeared. Working our way down the ridge it didn’t take long for us to cover the 100 yards to where we had last seen what Randy was calling my “Spartacus” ram. There, piled up in a patch of mountain Manzanita was a huge, massive, desert bighorn. This trophy animal exceeded my expectations as I heard Randy say, “you are going to be really happy with this ram.”

One Day, Once in a Lifetime

By Paul Anderson

SOME DREAMS DON’T COME TRUE…

By Bruce Kirkpatrick

Three Trophies in One Season

By

Shane "Sundog" Rogers

The 2006 hunting season was to be an awesome year. I had already booked a moose and caribou hunt with Stan Lancaster’s Kawdy Outfitters and had nothing else planned for my hunting season. However, I was completely surprised when I was drawn for a desert bighorn sheep tag in Utah for the San Rafael unit. What an amazing year this would turn out to be.

It all started in northern British Columbia at the beginning of September. I flew into one of Stan’s wonderful camps and was met by my good friend and guide, Neil Graham. I have hunted with Neil several times before and was