The Eleventh Hour Ram

Mike scanned the horizon once more as time was running out on my first aoudad hunt. He concentrated towards the southwest, squinting through his ten power binoculars. He brought them down slowly, looked at me straight and said, “There’s your sheep”.

I love a good hunt and I am always searching for something different. My good hunting buddy and great lifelong friend, Andy Cobb of Oklahoma City, had asked me several times about an aoudad hunt. An aoudad/Barbary sheep is native to the Atlas Mountains in northern Africa. In the late 1940’s, they were introduced into the desert mountains of west Texas and southern New Mexico. They are well adapted to this rough terrain and their incredible eyesight enables them to elude most predators, including hunters. Andy did the legwork and we booked a free roaming hunt with Tays Guide Service out of Tinnie, New Mexico for February 1, 2008.

Andy and I met in Albuquerque and drove down to Tinnie, arriving at 7:30 PM. Mike Tays, his wife Linda and his son, Scott, met us. After dinner, he explained what would be required of us, his style of hunting and the time that breakfast would be ready.

After breakfast, Andy and I confirmed zero with our rifles. Immediately after shooting, we paired off; Mike with Andy and Scott with me. Scott and I headed north while Mike and Andy hunted a few miles south of us. We spotted our first sheep midmorning, two ewes and one small ram. They looked big to me, but as we glassed, Scott started my aoudad education. Check the length, check the bosses, check the width of the hair between the bosses, check the chaps (the long flowing hair that extends down the front legs), check the overall body size and when all else failed, I checked between their legs when they faced away from me. The ewes looked enormous to me, as did the rams. We worked our way northeast and back out. Mike and Andy spotted numerous sheep that morning, but no mature rams. After lunch, Scott and I headed out south of our morning hunt. In our second canyon, we stalked to within forty yards of a group of sixteen sheep. Next to the sheep were six mule deer does. One of the does was bouncing and sniffing at a sheep, within a few feet of each other. The deer spotted us and spooked, scaring off the sheep. We watched as they crested the next ridge. We made a large loop eastward and headed north, spotting nothing. We dropped off the ridges and headed west up through the bottom of Cherry Canyon. Scott spotted them first, the same sixteen sheep. We glassed them for a few minutes and continued down the canyon. As it dumped out onto the road, I spotted two sheep break out of the scrub oak. One was a ewe but the other looked like a nice ram. I immediately dropped into the shooting mode while Scott judged the ram. No go, but he sure looked nice to me. As we drove into Mike’s yard that evening, Scott said that Andy must have been successful, since the light was on at the skinning shed. Sure enough, Andy had taken a monster. It was the shot that Scott and I had heard at 4 PM. Mike and Andy had hunted northwest of us at Buck Lake. Andy had spotted the three rams. Mike determined that they were mature, so he and Andy stalked to within 250 yards of them. Mike determined the largest of them and Andy made a successful shot. He was nice, almost 28 inches with monstrous bases. This hunt seemed like a walk in the park, but I was in for a rude awakening.

The next morning, Scott, Andy and I started out south of Mike and Andy’s previous morning hunt. We hunted rims of canyons, being careful as we approached, glassing the sides a few feet lower every few steps. We spotted seven sheep, but no shooters. They spooked at something below them and trotted uphill, over the ridge. The afternoon hunt was at Dead Man. Dead Man gets it’s name from a dead man being found there shortly after William Bonney (aka Billy The Kid) and the Regulators chased down one of the sheriff’s men during the Lincoln County Wars. Scott and I went to southeast side while Mike and Andy scouted northwest of us. Scott spotted two sheep northwest of Mike. He focused his spotting scope on them for us. There was no way that I could see them through my binoculars. We worked down to the bottom and took our time heading back out and stumbled onto three sheep, two ewes and a ram. I thought that he was the one. Calm, propped, easy 200 yard shot, broadside. With plenty of time to take the shot, I was waiting for the call. “Tell me something, Scott.” He said what I didn’t want to hear. “He’s not quite what I want for you, but you may shoot him if you like.” And so ended the second day.

Morning of day three involved a lot of moaning as I tried to dress, especially as I threaded on my socks. The previous two days of strenuous hiking was taking a toll on me.  Linda was driving Andy into Roswell for a flight home. Unfortunately, a family emergency had interrupted Andy’s hunt. He had tagged out but his presence in camp and his scouting ability was missed by all of us. Mike dropped off Scott and me a little north of Buck Lake. He continued north to an overlook to scout while Scott and I worked the canyons for the two rams that were running with Andy’s ram. Nothing but a lot of sheep sign. The wind was starting to kick as we made it to Mike and the truck. We spotted some fresh mountain lion tracks in a creek, as we headed back to camp. Mike said that sometimes the lions venture off of El Capitan, but are rarely seen. We were hunting at the east side, near the base of El Capitan, the only ridge in the entire Rocky Mountain chain that runs east to west. Its tallest peak reaches 10,100 feet. El Capitan is also the birthplace of the famous Smoky the Bear and rumors speak of hidden Spanish treasures, the result of Mescaleros attacking Spanish soldiers as they traveled to Santa Fe. After lunch, Mike said that we should pack some warmer clothes for the afternoon hunt. I went out to the bunkhouse to retrieve my coveralls. As I rounded the corner of the garage, I saw a ram in Mike’s front yard, 100 yards away. He was at the windmill, getting water. I threw down my coveralls and tried to find someone… anyone to help me. Mike was behind the shop. Scott stepped out of the back door. “It’s a sheep, a ram.” Scott had a puzzled look on his face as he assumed the high altitude had taken a toll on my eyesight or sanity. “Is it tame? May I shoot it?” These were legitimate questions since Linda called the deer in her yard her babies and hand fed some of them. Scott said it was fine as I grabbed my rifle and went prone to see under the tree limbs. He was gone, but Scott glimpsed him as he made his way back up the hill. Scott gets me into a foot race around the pasture to try to cut the ram. Here comes Mike on the Ranger. “What is going on?” After a short explanation, Mike says the ram will probably cut across the saddle between the two ridges in front of us, but we should hurry. It wasn’t totally straight up because I didn’t use any ropes. Have I mentioned that I live at 72 feet elevation and Scott lives at 5500 feet elevation? We dropped over the top onto a more walkable terrain. Scott stopped as the ram crested the next ridge, grabbed his binos and tried to glass him before he disappeared. The wind blew Scott flat on his butt. The ram was gone. That afternoon, we searched the canyons south of the first afternoon’s hunt. I retrieved my Kestrel meter, which I use for competitive shooting, from my pack to measure the wind speed. 20 mph sustained with gusts that made propeller sing so loudly that evidently created a noise that ran off all the sheep for miles around. That was the first time I have ever felt frozen in sixty-degree temperatures. On the way out, Scott spotted eight ewes on the side of a hill in a group of cholla. Oh my aching feet.

I awoke the following morning to a crisp 26 degrees with a steady 25-mph wind. Please, Lord; let me shoot one quickly. These people never tire. Scott and Mike seem excited that this cold, harsh wind will have the sheep in tighter spots, out of the wind and seeking the early morning sunlight. The downside of this is that Scott and I will walk the rims above the canyons (26 degrees and 25 mph wind). Scott and I start our new walkabout in the same area that Mike and Andy hunted on the first morning. We left the jeep and started up the first hill, heading north, up the tallest ridge around, of course. There was a tall pillar of stacked stones at the highest point. Scott explained that it was an eagle trap from the old days when eagles were a plague to the sheep ranchers. The eagles would land on the tallest point (the pillar) to wait for easy prey. The rancher would set a snare on the pillar to catch the eagle. We dropped off the top of the ridge to scan the first canyon. Scott has this urge to drop over every rim at least 100 feet down. I’m thinking that we can see the whole canyon perfectly fine from the top and if you go down 100 feet you gotta come back up 100 feet to go to the next canyon. It was just a thought.

Now is a great time to explain how to condition yourself for a hunt in this terrain. Go to a football stadium, in the bleachers, preferably one that has steps that continue into the clouds. Now, pour 10,000 marbles down the steps. On a fourth of the steps, cover with hay to simulate grass as it hides the marbles. For added conditioning, set a large shop fan at the bottom, angled up the steps. After an hour of traipsing up and down the steps, move the fan to the top. Don’t forget your backpack, binoculars and rifle. A real plus would be to position stacks of broken dishes every twenty steps.

In the first canyon, Scott spotted eight deer. They spooked and ran over a short ridge to our northeast. As they crested the ridge, I spotted two sheep crossing the same ridge, but much closer to the canyon bottom. The mulies came out of the next canyon and headed up the next ridge, a mile away, still running as though they were being chased by a foxhound. We stood there a few more minutes and finally saw the sheep come out of the canyon, just like the mulies, still running. None of these animals had spotted us, but something sure had them spooky. After glassing several more canyons, Scott saw four ewes. They spooked and sped away like the previous animals. All of these animals were hundreds of yards away and several hundred feet below us. They had not seen us. I finally realized how the cold wind had changed their habits. They were huddled in lower areas, out of the wind, and in the sunlight and the slightest indication of danger (possibly our scent) resulted in their fleeing for two miles. We crossed a few more ridges and turned west. We were now hunting into the wind. No chance of anything sniffing us unless they stuck their nose to our hands. We walked up the first canyon (100 feet below the rim) and spotted one ewe bedded next to a juniper. Oh, I forgot, during your training, try walking up and down the steps sideways to simulate walking around the edge of these canyons. The ewe finally stood and limped off. We watched her a few minutes as she worked her way up a ridge. She never ran. We moved up another 100 yards and Scott motioned for me to drop. He had spotted some sheep 1000 yards up the canyon. We glassed them for a few minutes and agreed that there were no shooters among the seven sheep. They spotted us and ran over the ridge. We turned south and headed back to the jeep. That afternoon, we scouted a few canyons that we had hunted on Saturday morning. No sheep. We hurried up to Buck Lake with an hour of sunlight left, in hope that we could spot sheep coming to water. No sheep.

Tuesday, February 5, dawned a crisp 26 degrees with wind. Maybe no wind is what makes the 6 o’clock news. Scott and I drop Mike off at the far east side of Dead Man. Mike wants Scott and me to go southwest to a ridge that has a water tank centered in a large patch of cholla. He plans to scout through some deep canyons and work his way toward us. It should take a couple of hours. If he spots a ram, he’ll come to get us. If he bumps something, we should see it crossing the ridges and be able to form a plan to intercept it. Mike gets to the truck about 9:30. The wind is really whipping and I am miserable. I’m thinking that we should go back to the house, play cards and watch the Lonesome Dove video. Mike picks up his binos and scans southwest. He comments that the sheep are never in that area. He brings down his binos, looks at me and says, “There’s your sheep”. Scott scrambles for a spotting scope while I prop my rifle on the truck hood, dial my scope to twenty power and focus on the two rams. Through my scope, I can tell only that they are barrelchested sheep.

Scott and Mike came up with a plan. We could mark their general location by a fence that etched it’s way from the bottom. Mike said, “They aren’t to far past the fence. We can’t run the ridges because we’ll be exposed. Keep in mind that they are only a mile away”. I start trying to calculate what that means, sneaking up to a sheep a mile away, in this country. First, we dropped down into the canyon just below us, heading northwest. We pass by several finger canyons that turn southwest. We turn left into a canyon that looks like the other hundred that I have traipsed across for five days. They are on a mission with my short 30” inseam legs struggling to keep up. Mike has explained that we have to move quickly, since the rams are walking and feeding and that they could move enough to prevent us from ever locating them. He promises that we’ll have time for me to catch my breath before we move into position. We stay low in the bottom of the canyon and turn more westerly into a smaller canyon. Mike and Scott slow to glass. We creep up a little more, then suddenly, Mike and Scott drop to one knee. They have spotted a bedded ewe in the edge of the cholla up near the rim. We had not seen her when we had glassed the rams. We backtracked to prevent her from spotting us. Mike let me have my breather while he explains plan B. Thirty-five seconds later, we start off, Mike pauses and instructs me to chamber a round. There is a large patch of cholla next to the fence on a short rise. We drop to the lower part of the hill, and then turn straight up towards the cholla. Halfway up, we start picking our way through the cholla. Mike is two steps in front of me with Scott pushing me uphill. As we near the fence, Mike motions for me to come quickly. As I prop on the fence next to a post, Scott tells me 200 yards. I’m already set for 200 yards, so I move my crosshairs from one ram to the other, waiting for Mike to tell me if one was a shooter and which one to shoot, when he says, “You better shoot. He’s gonna get away”. I asked, “The upper one?” since I had noticed that the lower one had not moved. He confirmed that the upper ram was the largest. I was standing between Mike and Scott, with Mike to my left. The ram had moved uphill and to our left, stopping with his head behind a juniper. Mike didn’t realize that I could see the ram’s whole body and instructed me to move to the next post to my right. When I moved to the next post, it was downhill enough to keep me from seeing the ram. Mike motions for me to move back to him quickly, since the lower ram decided that he had seen enough and the upper ram dropped in behind the lower on their exit. Mike said, “You gotta shoot”. I took a quick rest at the original post. The sheep were running through a large patch of cholla cactus. I steadied the best that I could, the back ram, the back ram. My crosshairs were bouncing. BOOM-THUMP. Sounded like contact. He was still running as I racked another round. Mike said, “You hit a cholla”. I tried to steady for another shot, but my crosshairs wouldn’t settle as I tried to thread another round through the cholla. BOOM-THUMP. Hit another cholla. The rams were rounding the ridge, but were running 50 feet below the top, staying at almost the same elevation as me. I picked up my rifle to place it to the left of the fence post. As I did, I realized why my crosshairs were dancing. My Versa-Pod sitting bipod had snapped loose in the confusion and was hanging down, swinging. I hit the quick release. As they were falling to the ground, I chambered another round. No more dancing crosshairs. I didn’t feel the wind. I didn’t feel the cold. No heavy breathing. Steady prop. He’s running flat out, but steady, not uphill or downhill, but level. Only he was 100 yards farther than my previous two shots. With my mind reeling from calculations from years of hunting and shooting,. I pull the crosshairs even with the tip of his nose, forward slightly, and then wait for his nose to retouch the crosshairs, squeeze. My .308 rifle recoiled slightly, but not enough to keep me from seeing the result. He’s down. I chamber another round and ask Scott to range the exact distance; 275 yards. I add four clicks without taking my eye away from the scope, just in case a follow-up shot was needed. I stayed locked in as Mike and Scott try to convince me that the ram is down for good. I flipped the rifle to safe and sling it to my shoulder, finally allowing the handshakes, accompanied by a huge smile. Mike glanced at his watch, 11 AM. We helped each other across the fence for the long walk to MY ram. For the first time, my short legs matched theirs, stride for stride.

Randy Wood
Ivanhoe, NC

Rifle: Remington 700 PSS .308 with barrel chopped to 20”

Scope: Leupold Vari-X III LR 6.5x20x50

Bipod: Versa-Pod Sitting

Bullet: Scirocco 180

Food: 3 square meals daily. The best of any hunt in my life, especially all the homemade
breads.

Accommodations: First class, reminded me of a well furnished apartment instead of a
bunkhouse.

Outfitter and Family: The type of folks you hate to leave.