Because of the rugged terrain and my age, the boys kept the pace reasonable. We found sharp crevasses that were created by erosion that allowed us to painstakingly descend the first cliff. We crossed the boot-sucking waters of Dog Creek and used similar crevasses to ascend the cliff on the side where the sheep were. Once on top of the bluff we carefully kept track of the wind direction as we quietly advanced to where we had last seen the rams. We approached a clearing in some trees, and there were the four bighorns. We watched as they climbed a bare, steep pinnacle and bedded down with a ram facing each direction of the compass. All we could see of the largest ram was the very top of his horns. The crest of the pinnacle prevented a clear shot, and it was impossible to get any closer without being seen. We ranged the distance at 257 yards and decided to wait. It was the longest 90 minutes of my life until a sudden a shift in the wind or some noise startled the rams and the four were on their feet instantly. After a few seconds they started to mill around and the largest ram began to move to the edge of the pinnacle. My sons quietly gave me the range and verified that this was the ram we had been watching. I will remember the sight picture through my scope for the rest of my life, as I pulled the trigger on my Kimber .300 Win. Mag. The sound of the 180-grain Barnes Vortex bullet delivering a fatal shot behind the ram’s shoulder and seeing him drop was like a dream come true. The jubilation from the three of us could be heard for a long ways. Fifty years of applying, hoping, and dreaming had just become a reality with my family at my side.