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Eighty days is how long it took me to be looking at a great legal ram to complete my Grand Slam. But first, let me take you back five trips and tell you how it all began. Both my brothers have already shot bighorn rams but I just couldn’t connect on finding a legal ram.
Trip 1 was a total learning experience. I think I actually broke or lost every single piece of sheep hunting equipment I owned, and I really learned a lot about how horses can affect a good hunting trip. I broke my rifle, broke my tripod, lost my gps, lost my headlamp, lost my rain suit, and of course, came home with no sheep.
Trip 2 was about the same. It was a backpack trip that went well until I physically drained myself and actually couldn’t see across the valley because of my old 8x42 binos that were clearly not good enough for sheep hunting.
Trip 3 was a lot better and now I had a Swarovski spotting scope with some good binos and I was ready for sheep hunting. That was until the all mighty sheep Gods decided to send me down five trails that had no end to them, resulting in a couple of very lost and confused sheep hunters. Oh yeah, and then they decided to pour rain and snow down on us until you could hardly feel your fingers. I had about 40 days in the mountains by this time with actually not even having had a chance at seeing a ram let alone killing one. But I was told this is the hard times that one has to pay to kill a bighorn ram.
In the meantime, I was fortunate enough to kill a Stone sheep and then went for Dall’s sheep two weeks later. Once the recession hit, I was able to afford the desert sheep, so as I sat at three-quarters of a slam; it was my home province ram that I just couldn’t seem to catch up with.
Trip 4 I was turning the corner on animal number 23 for my North American 29 when my wife suggested I just hire an outfitter to show us the ropes and take us deep into sheep country with a ton of experience. So that’s what I did.
August 25 rolled in and we started searching. Seven days, 14 days, 21 days, 28 days, 37 days go by and I still haven’t seen a legal ram. October 31 came fast that year and once again I ate tag soup.
In 2011 that was all about to change when my brother Brian did the unthinkable and packed up two big Yukon horses and traveled three solid days to the end of the trail deep in the heart of the Alberta mountains by himself.
The 2nd day of his hunt, he shot a great ram way up high on a ridge. After packing up the ram, he got turned around and with all the mental and physical wear on him, he accidentally ventured 16 kilometres downstream from camp. In the meantime, he spotted what he thought were two more big rams high up in a basin tucked in behind some bluffs.
I quickly researched the area and told my wife I have to go alone because I can’t find anyone to go with me. Brandie said, “Well, you’re not going alone. I’m coming with you, that’s too dangerous.” Two days later found us heading west on the trail with five horses loaded up with camp and tons of food... I was staying until I found the rams.
I had all the gps coordinates from Brian who had just come out three days prior, so getting there wasn’t too bad. When we came around the corner to where he had been, you could just tell it was sheep country with high, big Rocky Mountains all around.
That next morning, Brandie and I left our spike camp with water bottles and light packs; it was going to be a day trip up a steep ridge and then slowly glass our way to the back of a bowl where I thought the rams would be.
When we got to the top, Brandie took her boot off to find she had a blister about the size of my thumb. She looked up at me and said, “Just find a ram!”
I knew I was in the zone so I would hike 30 yards and glass, hike another 30 yards and glass, and then do it again. This was my plan, so I could take my time and make sure I wasn’t going to spook anything.
Then all of a sudden, there was a big old ram looking down at me from high above; the ram of a lifetime, his dark, big old broomed off horns were clearly legal and massive!
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| Brandie and Pat Garrett with their Grand Slam Ram. |
I quickly threw my pack off and loaded the 300 Remington ultra mag. Brandie settled in steady with the video camera. I lay the crosshairs right on his shoulder, slowly squeezed off and with one smack of the 165-grain Hornady, the old warrior dropped in his tracks.
“Oh my god! Where is he Babe? Where did he go?” asked Brandie.
“I don’t know! I lost him.”
Suddenly I saw my ram. “There he is! He’s down! We got a ram! We did it, a Grand Slam!”
I quickly became overwhelmed and started shaking uncontrollably. My breath was taken away and my arms went numb. I can’t believe I was finally able to shoot my Grand Slam ram.
Eight days of straight sheep hunting over five trips and we finally had my ram, way up high in the most gorgeous country you could ever imagine. The Grand Slam tears started rolling and I thanked my brother Brian for spotting me a ram of a lifetime. If it weren’t for him, I would still be searching for one.
As I walked up on the ram, I couldn’t believe the huge mass and big broomed off curls. They were the biggest I had ever held. He had 15-inch bases and was 34x34 with a gross score of 161-total inches.
I absorbed the moment as long as I could. We took great photos and then had the rest of the day to pack him off the mountain. Brandie and I never laughed and played as hard on that mountain as we did that day with my ram in our packs.
I would like to dedicate this hunt and ram to my brother Brian and to my wife Brandie who ventured so deep into the mountains on such big horses in search of that ram. Thanks to the sheep Gods for finally allowing me to finish the Grand Slam and for relighting the fire inside that we sheep hunters like to call “The Sheep Bug.” ■
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