I Drew a Rare Desert Bighorn Tag, and Killed One of the Biggest Rams in the State

This story, “Bachelor Bighorns,” appeared in the July 1970 issue of Outdoor Life.

FROM MY PERCH on the rocky ledge I could glass some of the cactus-studded terrain while I caught my breath. I had just climbed a 2,000-foot ridge that forms the back­ bone of Bennett Mountain in the San Andres Range of south-central New Mexico. Though hunting season was only four hours old, I ached as if I had already done a day’s climbing.

Nothing seemed to be moving, so I shed my backpack and rifle and then leaned back against a rock to soak up some midday sun and cooling breeze. At that moment I felt that I was one of the luckiest hunters in the country. I was hunting desert bighorns, one of North America’s most sought-after tro­phies.

As I relaxed on the rock, my eye caught some movement in a low saddle about a quarter-mile upwind.

“If that isn’t a sheep, it should be,” I muttered to myself as I propped the spotting scope on my packboard.

The 32X Bushnell revealed a ram with a three-quarter curl — a minimum trophy. As I watched, the ram dropped into a shallow canyon, then disappeared at the top of the ridge on the other side. I was amazed at how effortlessly he climbed the boulder-strewn canyon wall.

The ram was traveling alone, and he seemed to know where he was going. Perhaps he was moving from one band of ewes to another; or maybe the grass was greener in the next canyon. Any­way, I wanted a better look at him. And there was also a chance that he would lead me to other sheep.

It took me 45 minutes to scramble through the canyon. The ram had crossed it in 10.

When I neared the top of the ridge, I unshouldered my back­ pack and began to inch over the rim. I was well downwind from where the ram had gone, so I felt confident that he would be in sight. I edged over the crest of the ridge and glassed the can­yon below. Nothing. I assumed that the ram was farther down the canyon, so I followed the ridge for several hun­dred yards and then crawled over for a second look. Still no sheep. The ram was not in the canyon.

A strong wind was blowing along the ridge. I continued stalking upwind until I came to the end of the ridge where it dropped steeply into Bear Canyon far below. I climbed up on a rocky point and looked down. There, no more than 100 feet below me, were five rams. I had walked right into their bachelor apartment!

Much to my surprise, the rams didn’t spook. The three smallest rams were standing, and they watched me with curiosity, periodically pulling bites of grass from between the rocks. Now and then they would spar with one another or butt a rock.

The two largest rams were lying down, seemingly enjoying their cuds and the panorama of Bear Canyon and the rugged San Andres Mountains that stretched beyond them. Neither of these old rams gave me the slightest glance, and I could not judge the curl of their horns, which were partly hidden by cac­tuses and rocks.

Though I was in full view of the sheep, I managed by moving slowly to slip my rifle between my knees and ex­amine the rams with my binoculars. It was no good; I still couldn’t see the curl of the bedded rams’ horns. It was obvious that one of the standing rams and the two lying down had a legal three-quarter curl. The other two had half curls. But which sheep was best?

Recovering Sheep in New Mexico

Three races of sheep were originally native to New Mexico, but two did not survive the turn of the century. Both the Lava Bed bighorns and the Rocky Mountain bighorns were exterminated, early in the history of the state. Only two herds of sheep remained, and they were desert bighorns in the San Andres and the Big Hatchet Mountains. In 1939 Rocky Mountain sheep were reintroduced into the state from Alberta, and today these sheep make up five separate herds to­taling approximately 300 animals, ac­cording to the Department of Game and Fish. Only two limited hunts have been held for these Rocky Mountain bighorns. The herd roaming the Gila Wilderness, however, is expected to be hunted in 1970 and 1971.

The five desert sheep below me were part of the San Andres herd, which has been brought back from near extinc­tion by good conservation. The San Andres range parallels the old Chihua­hua Trail, which in the 1500’s linked Mexico City with the northern terri­torial capital of Santa Fe. Later, pros­pectors moved through the mountains in search of gold. Then came the cat­tlemen. All these people took advan­tage of the sheep population, but a rem­nant of the herd remained among the rocky crags of the San Andres, where grass is sparse and water rare.

In 1942 the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service established the San Andres Na­tional Wildlife Refuge to protect the remaining 30 desert bighorns there. The herd has now increased to more than 200 animals. In 1968 the Fish and Wildlife Service, in cooperation with the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish, issued five permits for mature rams. I applied for a permit that year, but my application was returned along with the $20 permit fee. That hunt was only the second legal desert-sheep hunt in New Mexico in this century. The first was in 1954, when 15 permits were issued for mature rams of the Big Hatchet herd (see “First Since 1887,” OUTDOOR LIFE, November 1954).

When the department announced that another five permits were to be issued in 1969, I applied again. This time my application was selected from among the 187 that had been received. When I was notified by phone, I could hardly believe my ears. I received the an­nouncement 10 days before the hunters were to meet for briefing. This was literally the chance of a lifetime. Once a New Mexico resident receives a sheep permit for either Rocky Mountain or desert bighorns, he no longer is eligible for another permit to hunt sheep in the state, whether or not he fills his tag. A New Mexico sheep hunt is all or nothing.

This would be my first crack at hunt­ing native North American sheep. Most of my previous hunting was for an­telope and deer in the Dakotas and Montana (see “Boating for Mule Deer,” OUTDOOR LIFE, July 1968). I have also hunted elk and Barbary sheep in New Mexico. I am 35 years old and live with my wife and three children in Albu­querque, where I publish American Taxidermist magazine.

On October 31, the day before the 10-day season opened, the four other hunters and I met in Las Cruces, New Mexico, about 30 miles from the hunt area. John Kiger, the Fish and Wildlife Service’s refuge manager, displayed several bighorn “pick-ups” and con­ducted a briefing session.

“We are able to have this limited hunt,” Kiger explained, “because the herd has grown large enough that we consider some of the older rams as sur­plus.

“Using the Boone and Crockett scor­ing method, we consider a score of one hundred forty-four as a minimum tro­phy,” he continued. “This is about a three-quarter curl. But it really isn’t that easy. Since the horn growth is quite rapid in young rams, a four or five­ year-old ram may score as high as a hundred forty-four. These rams are in their prime, and we want to protect them.”

How to Field Judge a Bighorn

Kiger explained that the average life span of the sheep is 10 to 13 years. These old rams are the trophies with well-broomed, massive horns.

We were given a number of tips to help us distinguish the old rams from the young breeding rams. Because des­ert rams broom their horns badly, an old ram has massive horns that are quite thick out to the broomed tip. Horns of a young ram are massive at the base, but they taper rapidly to a sharp point. The horns of an old ram curl below the jaw, while those of a young ram have a much smaller curl.

The rump and the ears are other indi­cators. An old ram has a bony, slop­ing rump; a healthy young ram has a more muscular, rounded rump. The ears of a young ram are more noticeable than those of an old ram, whose ears are largely concealed by the massive horns. In general, massiveness and amount of brooming are the two most obvious criteria. If the horns are heavily broomed and look 1 ½ to two inches thick at the tip, the ram is a trophy.

Kiger encouraged us to trophy hunt. “Since this is a once-in-a-lifetime hunt,” he said, “look for a real trophy. We estimate that ten to twenty rams on the refuge will make the current rec­ord-book minimum score of one-hun­dred fifty-five. All the rams taken last year scored between one-hundred fifty­ one and one-hundred fifty-seven.

“Four out of five hunters were suc­cessful last year,” he added.

The other residents making the same hunt I was were Wayne Clark of Roy, Darwin McCarty of Alamogordo, Pat Lavato of Santa Cruz, and Mrs. Betty Wolf, an Albuquerque house­ wife. All the hunters were in their mid­-thirties to mid-forties. None of us had
ever hunted native sheep before.

That afternoon we drove into the San Andres Mountains and pitched camp at the Fish and Wildlife range-camp fa­cilities. There we saw several addi­tional pick-ups and a sheep silhouette with horns, which enabled us to com­pare the horns with the size and shape of a ram.

It had been a long, busy day, and sleep came quickly that night. Looming over camp, Black Brushy Mountain was outlined by the early­ morning glow when the alarm clock rattled me from a sound sleep. The light frost was not enough to keep me in the sleeping bag, and before long I was scrambling ham and eggs over the camp stove.

The cloudless sky and light south breeze promised a warm day, and I was anxious to get started at 7 o’clock when John Kiger gathered the hunters together.

“Sheep are like antelope,” he said. “They don’t feed much during the night, so you don’t have to be on the moun­tain at sunrise or sunset. And after you get a look at the sheep country, I’m sure you won’t want to do much climbing in the dark.

“We’ll all drive over to Goat Springs, then split up from there,” Kiger added.

Goat Springs is nestled in a clump of piñons between the rolling mass of Goat Mountain and the seemingly ver­tical face of Bennett Mountain. Little more than cactus was growing on the mountain slopes, and the ground was littered with small, sharp fragments of gray limestone.

“Last year each hunter had a guide,” Kiger said, “but this year you’re on your own. I suggest that three of you split up on Bennett Mountain and the other two work Goat Mountain. Re­member, do a lot more looking than walking and your chances of success will be much better.”

Clark and Lavato headed for oppo­site ends of Bennett Mountain, so I de­cided to go up the middle. McCarty and Mrs. Wolf would hunt Goat Moun­tain.

By the time I had climbed the 2,000-foot scarp that formed the west edge of Bennett, I knew that my week of jogging had not been enough exercise to prepare me for such a lung-splitting climb. At the top I glassed several ridges and canyons without success, then sat down to rest on a rocky ledge and took off my backpack. A short time later I saw the ram that led me to the bachelor apartment.

The five sheep and I were at a stand­ off for nearly 10 minutes. (One of the other hunters, Wayne Clark, had been watching and timing the whole affair from a distant ridge.) Then one of the young rams simply stepped out of sight. The other rams followed.

Now I knew which ram I wanted, but when I looked down to where the sheep should have been, they were gone. They had dropped into the canyon below, and when I next saw them they were making a hurried, but stately, procession up the wall opposite me. Through my spotting scope I saw that one ram had massive horns, better than a three-quarter curl.

The distance to the sheep across the canyon seemed considerably more than the 200 yards for which my sporterized 1917 Enfield with 3X Weaver scope was sighted. I had 150-grain Sierra hand­ loads.

I centered the crosshairs high over the shoulders of my ram and fired. The shot kicked up rocks and dust above him. He spun around and raced across the canyon wall. I held the crosshairs lower, and the ram stumbled as my second shot echoed through the nar­row canyon. I could see a red stain on his shoulder as he fell off a 20-foot ledge. He slid a few yards down the steep, rocky slope and was still.

When I got to my ram I found a trophy that exceeded my expectations. Though the massive horns were badly broomed, they curled around tightly below the jaw, then started up and out. A tape I carried showed an out­ side curl of 31 inches on each horn, and a base of 15 inches. The ram had a scabby, scarred-up Roman nose, which reminded me of the ram in Robert V. Broadbent’s article “Scarface,” in the December 1967 issue of OUTDOOR LIFE.

It was nearly 3 o’clock before I had the ram field-dressed and caped out. I also had to package the heart, liver, and what was left of the lungs for ex­amination by the Fish and Wildlife Ser­vice. With these items tied to my pack­ board along with my personal gear and rifle, I began a race against time. I wanted to be off Bennett Mountain be­fore dark.

Perhaps my hunt had been too easy up to that point, but then I began to earn my trophy. I had 60 pounds on my back (the head and cape alone weighed 30 pounds), and the steep can­yon walls were covered with sharp rocks. Cactuses were everywhere. In addition to the jumping cholla cactus, there were two kinds of yucca — one that cut as you fell in and another that let you slip in and then cut when you pulled out. Another long-leaf cactus, the Spanish bayonet, was diabolically equipped with a blood groove.

Fortun­ately, I reached the steep west face of the mountain just at sundown and was able to scramble down to Goat Springs in the fading light of evening.

Our camp was still five miles down the road, so I was greatly cheered when I saw Wayne Clark and his hunting com­panion. They had been ready to head back to camp in their jeep when they spotted me coming down the mountain, so they had waited to give me a lift.

Wayne congratulated me on my tro­phy, then asked, “What in the devil were you and those five rams doing? We watched you walk up on them, but when you didn’t shoot we thought may­ be you couldn’t see them.”

I explained what had happened, then asked, “Did you see any sheep?”

“Yes,” Wayne said, “but not until we were running out of daylight. They weren’t spooked, so we’ll stalk first thing in the morning.”

Back in camp we learned that Pat Lavato had scored on a nice ram too. His trophy scored 151 when measured according to the Official Scoring Sys­tem. Pat bagged his ram close to Goat Springs, and he and his brother were able to get the whole animal back to camp that afternoon.

Parry Larsen, of the New Mexico De­partment of Game and Fish, and John Kiger examined my ram and agreed that it was at least nine years old. One of the ram’s front teeth was miss­ing — a sure sign of old age.

“He wouldn’t have lasted much long­er,” Larsen commented. “You have yourself a beautiful trophy.”

Larsen scored the head for Boone and Crockett at 158 3/8, and Kiger told me that the ram was the largest that had been taken in the San Andres Ref­uge. According to the current edition of the Boone and Crockett Club’s book, Records of North American Big Game, it was the third-largest ram ever taken by a hunter in New Mexico. What a way to start a Grand Slam!

The next day I packed my sheep into camp by horseback. Kiger made some measurements of the animal and weighed it in at 130 pounds. He told me that all the sheep taken on the refuge had weighed approximately the same, and he estimated the live weight at about 200 pounds.

That evening I had just finished salt­ing down the cape for mounting when the hunters began returning to camp. McCarty had seen a number of ewes and lambs but no rams. Betty Wolf had taken a quick shot at a ram that was standing on a ledge, but she failed to connect and the ram dropped out of sight. Wayne Clark and his compan­ion did not reach camp until late that second night. Wayne had bagged a good ram about 3 o’clock that after­ noon, then had worked until dark low­ering the ram down a series of cliffs and ledges on the north end of Bennett Mountain.

Read Next: I Finally Drew a Bighorn Sheep Tag. I Was Too Out of Shape to Fill It

The next morning I headed for home with the knowledge that I had bagged a trophy of a lifetime – the No. 3 sheep in the state.

Several weeks later I learned that Clark’s ram was an old monarch that measured 161 1/8 — a score of almost three better than mine. But I didn’t really care that my trophy had been No. 3 for only 24 hours. The beautiful mount would always remind me of a memor­able hunt.