Story and photos by Dwight Schuh, Editor

THE DALL RAM lay on a point some two miles away. As I looked through binoculars, he appeared to me little more than a white speck amid green tundra and gray boulders. Yes, that speck was a Dall sheep, but at that distance it appeared insignificant -- and unattainable.

"That's a big ram," my guide, Clay Lancaster, said as he studied the ram through a spotting scope. "He's nine years old and has heavy horns. Take a look, Bo, and see what you think."

Clay's 13-year-old son, Boden, has roamed the mountains with his dad since he was old enough to walk, and Clay has taught him to camp, hunt, observe -- and judge sheep. Bo slid behind the scope and studied the ram.

"He's big, all right," Boden said. "But looking at the Roman nose, the sway back, and the sagging belly the way you've taught me, Dad, I think he's 10 years old."

As Boden moved away from the scope, Clay looked again. "No, I don't think so, Son. He's nine," Clay said. "And for sure he's big. We need to go after that one. You guys ready?"

While stuffing things into my daypack, I glanced at my watch -- noon on July 23. Our biggest obstacle was a band of 20 ewes and lambs below the ram. The fact is, if you can see sheep, they can -- and will -- see you. Any careless move on our part would send those ewes and lambs into flight, and the ram with them.

To prevent that, we backed off the rim onto a flat, out of sight of the sheep, and circled a mile west of the ram. Returning to the rim for another look, we were happy to see the ewes and lambs feeding down the mountain, leaving the ram by himself.

That cleared the way for us, and an hour of clambering down through a boulder field brought us within 250 yards of the ram and at his level. For a rifle hunter this would have marked the end of a successful stalk. For us, the stalk had yet to begin.

And for now it seemed to end. Given the ram's position, we could move no closer. He would see us. Unless he moved to a more favorable position, we were stuck.

Finally the ram rose to feed and then lay next to a big rock that blocked his view. While keeping an eye on the sheep, we scrambled quickly up a draw out of the ram's sight and crawled up behind a huge boulder.

That put us within 150 yards. As Clay and Bo stayed above me to shoot video, I slid down a rocky chute on my rear end to a big rock where I could hide and evaluate my final move. My Nikon rangefinder said the ram was now 80 yards away, about twice my effective shooting range.

Seeing no way to move closer, I hunkered behind the rock, studying the situation -- and fretting over the wind. In this broken terrain, it shifted constantly.

Suddenly the ram jumped from his bed and walked suspiciously uphill, stopping several times to look back. Clearly he had smelled me. The stalk was over. Again I glanced at my watch -- 6 p.m. We had spent six hours stalking this ram, all for naught.

Perfectly silhouetted against the evening sky, the ram stopped on the ridge above us for one last look back. What a sight. His left horn swept out in a classic flare. With his right horn broomed back a couple of inches, he was not a perfect 10, but he was a solid nine. I would be elated to take such a ram.

As we walked back to camp in the prolonged Arctic twilight, Clay reassured me. "Don't worry. I know where's he's going. We're not done with that ram yet." I liked his optimism. But would we really get a second chance at such a fine ram?

Continued -- click on page link below.

The Tlgacho Mountains are not physically difficult to hunt. We walked the flats and glassed for sheep in the surrounding canyons.