Reader-Submitted Story
One in Ten Part II
by Kyle E. Short of Spruce Grove, Alberta
For Part I of this story, click here.
As our afternoon wore on, we did manage to spot a few sheep and elk on far-off ridges. Far too far away to even think of going after, yet close enough to keep us entertained and our hopes of sheep alive. Somewhere between Psalm 23 and Matthew, I decided that a rather sheep looking rock in our basin needed further inspection. Much to my surprise and elation, the sheep-like rock was in fact a real sheep, and not just any sheep but a ram! After a look through the spotter, we decided that this ram warranted a closer look.
Scrambling onto the backside of our ridge, we were hidden from the ram’s view, allowing us to quickly move into range. Reaching a large rocky prominence, we ever so slowly edged out from behind the rocks. Feeding just over four hundred yards away and oblivious to our presence was the ram. Scott had the spotter and while he set up the tripod for a closer inspection, I gave the ram and area around a quick spot of my own. No sooner had I brought my binos up than another ram appeared, above and slightly behind the first. Focusing my attention now on this new ram, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. As I repositioned and adjusted in that small cleft in the rocks, I found myself staring down at the ram of my dreams, his horns appearing massive in comparison to the younger ram below. At 435 yards, the sheep was within range, but as he turned, giving us a side profile, I could see that while clearly mature and massive, he was broomed off. Everything in us told us that this was a legal ram, but I needed to know beyond a shadow of a doubt. I think maybe Scotty thought I was a bit crazy but supportive as always, he agreed, and we backed off the ridge out of sight of the rams.
The terrain was perfect, and it was not long before we came to the last knoll between us and the rams. Handing Scotty the range-finding binos, I readied my rifle and chambered a round, trying to calm my breathing, as we cautiously approached the crest. Crawling the last few yards we came into the sight of the rams, and immediately knew the gig was up. At 323 yards and facing us head on, the old ram’s eyes bore a hole right through me as I struggled to find a steady rest on the steep side hill. The old rams don’t get old in the high-pressured zones of Alberta for no reason and while the young ram fed calmly below, the old boy had seen enough, turning to make his way straight back up the steep shale towards the safety of the cliffs above.
Watching that ram walk away, I could feel panic begin to set in. Trying to remain calm, I told myself that at some point there would be a shot, a chance thirteen years in the making. Just as I thought it might be over, the ram turned, quartering back towards us one last time, and my shot was there. I watched as the ram ran, faltered, and then fell, tumbling down the steep shale slope before coming to rest in the heavier rocks of the valley floor.
The emotions and thoughts of a dream come true flooded over me in that moment. The surreal feeling of accomplishing something that had at times felt like such a distant hope is one that I’ll carry with me forever.
Walking up to my ram and placing my hands on his horns, tracing the lines and chips for the first time is a moment that is hard to capture in mere words. To sum up the feelings of joy, awe, admiration and thankfulness into one all-encompassing word or feeling is an impossibility that would not do that moment justice. It is a moment that I feel truly blessed to have experienced.
Looking back on my sheep hunting journey that started all those years ago, I can’t say how true all the old adages and sayings are. For some, perhaps it is one in ten hunts, while for others maybe their ram truly is born the year they start hunting sheep. In the end, what I do know is that every sheep hunter’s journey and story is as unique and different as the horns of the rams they pursue. Like the stories of hard winters and battles etched on the horns of a ram, so too are the stories of a sheep hunter’s journey etched on their bodies and in their minds. Written in the weathered lines on their face, in calloused and blistered feet, worn-out knees and tired backs. In their eyes those stories come alive, lighting up as they recall their time spent in the vast untamed ranges in pursuit of the most majestic of all the animals in God’s creation.
So it is for me, as I sit here writing, looking up on the wall at my ram. Recalling all the hunts along my own journey, I think of my daughters, who at the ages of fourteen and thirteen have only just begun theirs. I pray that the opportunities to venture into the mountains and challenge themselves in the pursuit of a ram of their own will be there for them as they were for me. And while they have yet to ask, I look forward to the day that they come to me with questions of the mountains and sheep. I’ll smile to myself and respond like only a father would, “One in thirteen my girlies, one in thirteen.”
For the previous Reader Story, click here.
