That afternoon we set up behind the glass. For hours we scanned the mountaintops and ridgelines for those tell-tale spots of white. The work was rewarded when a heavy ram appeared about a mile and a half straight above our camp. He had one broken horn, a trait that I'd been looking for. I have killed rams with perfect horn tips, and rams with both horns broken, but never one with one intact horn and one broken. It didn't take too long before I decided that he was the one. My partner Tim and I left camp at about 9:00 p.m. to put a stalk on the ram as the fog was rolling in. When the clocked ticked passed midnight, he was in my sights.