THE MOUNTAIN TO THE MOUNT
By: Dan Horath

When I began hunting the west in the late 60’s, I thought I’d never get the opportunity to hunt a Bighorn Sheep. After moving to Wyoming in 1971, my chances had to improve. They did, sort of. I got to hunt sheep with my son Dan in 1999 when he harvested his ram.

Years continued to go by and still no sheep tag for Leo. Then, that magical morning, I walked across the highway and opened the mailbox. An infinite number of letters from outfitters, congratulating me on my sheep tag, wanting me to book a hunt with them. I was going to call my son to tell him, but he had seen it on the internet and called to congratulate me. “It’s your turn Dad, we get to go again.” I’m not sure who was happier, me or Dan.

The day arrived and it was time to go. Camper hooked up and both of us fighting the horses to get them loaded in the trailer. Yep, hunting season! We make it to the Jack Creek trailhead on the Greybull River and prepare for the hunt. Wanting to get a spike camp set up the day before the season opens, we ride out at first light full of optimism and laughter. That was all about to change.

Riding horses in the country can be dangerous at times and you always have to be aware and careful. As we rode across a creek and headed up the trail, Dan’s horse blows up in a bad place.  I’m yelling at Dan to get off, he says he can’t. The horse is bucking and rearing up. Needless to say I’m scared. Finally, Dan jumps off the horse to the left, rolls down the mountain (not far, but far enough) and the horse rolls to the right. When the dust clears, Dan is ok but his rifle and spotting scope are broken, and we had to cut the cinch strap off the horse because he’s wedged in some downfall and rocks. To make a long story short, I didn’t hunt opening day for sheep. But we got back to camp safe and that’s what mattered to me.

Let’s jump forward to September 29, 2004. Back at it again, but with a new horse for Dan. I like to stop and glass a lot in the high country, around every corner, the country changes so much. “Dan, there’s a ram, how good is he?” 3/4 curl, broomed off, good weight. “He’s a shooter Dad.” We tie up the horses and take off after him. Two hours later we face that horrible scenario. The ram is just out of shooting distance and we’re rimrocked with no way to get to him. Back to the horses and on up the trail.

“Dan, let’s take a break and look around.” (Being 69 years old, I don’t sit in a saddle quite as well as I used to.) “Dad, there’s some rams. Eleven rams and two good shooters, but they are way, way up there, have a look.”

I looked through the spotting scope and saw a beautiful white horned ram, I had to take him. It took us two more hours to ride to the bottom of the valley we wanted to go up. I figured if we could work around this rim to the right, we might get close enough for a shot. We had to hurry because it was getting late into the afternoon.

We get into position, right where we wanted to be, but no sheep, they’re gone. Dan wanted to crawl out a little bit to see if they were in the creek bottom watering. Nope, but they were close. The rams were in a little depression and walked out just as Dan crawled out from behind the rocks. “You can use the rocks for a rest” he tells me. I crawled to the rocks, got a good rest and waited for the perfect shot. “When he gets broadside I’m going to shoot.” “No you’re not, he’s looking right at us, shoot now Dad!”

“CRACK!” off goes the old .338 and down goes the ram. Over forty years of waiting and it finally comes true. I look at my son and he won’t look at me. When we finally make eye contact, I notice my son has a tear in his eye just like his dad does. “I’m so proud of you dad,” he says. We take a moment to say a prayer of thanks for this wonderful moment, and then say another one to get back to the horses before dark.
Not only did I get to hunt with my son, but I also had it mounted by my son. He’s the owner of Horath Outdoors Tax-idermy in Riverton. That makes it even more special for me every time I look at my mount on the wall.