Redemption Ram — A Second Chance in Wyoming Sheep Country

With only one preference point, I never expected to see the word “Successful” next to my Wyoming bighorn sheep application. I refreshed the page again and again, convinced it had to be a mistake. When it finally sank in, the calls started coming in.

Drawing a sheep tag changes everything. Advice poured in from friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers — all sharing hard-earned knowledge. That generosity mattered, because summer fire season left no room for scouting. This hunt would be built on research, maps, and trust in the process. The unit wasn’t known for giants, and I knew early on this hunt would be about the experience as much as the ram.

I put together a crew I trusted completely. My dad was in without hesitation. My close friend John joined, bringing along his father — both seasoned packers with solid stock and decades of mountain experience. Jake and Landon rounded out the team, hunters I’d trust anywhere. We were going in unguided, and we knew what that meant.

On October 3rd, we rode fifteen miles into base camp before Jake, Landon, and I split off to backpack a high-country loop. None of us had ever seen this unit in person. Everything was built off maps and satellite imagery.

Within minutes of hiking, I spotted a group of ewes just 600 yards away. Soon after, I glassed our first rams more than a mile out. I had expected days of empty glass, so seeing sheep this early lifted a huge weight. Just being there felt right.

Two rams looked mature, but heavy winds and distance made judging tough. Something told me they weren’t the right age class. Going after them would also pull us away from the terrain we wanted to cover, so we passed. That decision didn’t sit well with everyone — but sheep hunting is about patience.

Less than a mile later, we found ourselves cliffed out and pitched camp wherever we could find trees. That night, sustained winds hammered us. Sleep never came. At first light, Landon’s climbing skills got us through terrain I wouldn’t have touched otherwise. This was real sheep country.

In the next basin, we found the remains of a ram — likely six years old — washed down from the cliffs. Whether it was a fall or a predator, it was a reminder of how brutal life is at 11,000 feet. Later that day, we glassed more rams, again likely five to six years old. I stayed committed to waiting.

At last light, Jake and I spotted new sheep lower in the drainage. We couldn’t judge horns, but body size stood out. By morning, they were still there. One beat-up ram earned the nickname “Scar,” but another stood apart — darker, heavier-bodied, clearly dominant. That ram was different. That was the one.

By the time we broke camp, they vanished. We searched all day with no luck. Then, just before dark, Landon whispered, “I’ve got sheep.” They were lower than expected, moving through timber. I rushed to set up… and missed.

Twice.

For the first time in my life, I missed a big game animal. On a sheep tag. The rams escaped into the cliffs, and my confidence took a hit.

We camped right there, carving a flat spot into the mountain with trekking poles. No one said much. We waited for daylight.

Morning brought one last chance. We picked them up across the drainage, high again. Food and water were running low. The wind wasn’t perfect, but it was now or never.

I cut a fresh track near the ridge. Moments later, I spotted Scar bedded below. Two other rams were nearby, partially hidden. When one turned his head, I knew instantly — the dark, heavy ram. I settled in and took the shot.

At nine and a half years old, he was everything I hoped for. The frustration of the miss made the redemption mean more. Messages went out. The crew met us lower on the trail. Near midnight, we found an old bottle of whiskey hidden in a tree hollow — left by another sheep hunter long ago. We shared a few quiet pulls and kept moving.

Some hunts are about inches. Others are about earning a second chance.

This one was both.

— Activearo Field Stories