|
|
Article: Bighorn, bighorn, bighorn.
- Article from:
- Sports Afield
- Article date:
- October 1, 1994
- Author:
CopyrightCOPYRIGHT 1994 Hearst Communications, reprinted with permission of Hearst. This material is published under license from the publisher through the Gale Group, Farmington Hills, Michigan. All inquiries regarding rights should be directed to the Gale Group. (Hide copyright information)
|
Lying on my back in a shale slide at 13,000 feet, blistering under an August sun, I was right where I'd always wanted to be--25 yards from a bighorn ram. For an hour I lay in the rocks, waiting for him to move from his bed into the open. Then, at 1:00 p.m., the big ram stood, reared up onto a tablesized rock, and looked down on two other rams below him. He was enormous and beautiful. I raised my bow to shoot, but as I did so he caught my movement, whirled, and in a flash bounded down the mountain. Gone.
I felt disappointed, but also overwhelmed, because like many hunters I'd dreamed of hunting sheep for years; the simple act of making it reality that day last ...