We had backpacked 6 1/2 hours to a spike camp, where my guide, Jonas Guinn, and I spent four days sitting in the bitter cold, looking through binoculars, when I finally got my first shot opportunity at a Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep. Aiming at the ram 35 yards away, I knew this was the culmination of my lifelong dream.

But when I released, the arrow slipped harmlessly through the hair on the ram’s back, leaving a slight mark in the hair. Thus, we dubbed the ram Razorback.

I was hunting in the famous Bow Zone near Canmore, Alberta, with Rick Guinn Outfitting. Rick has a long history of big game outfitting, especially bowhunting for bighorn sheep. The hunt was scheduled for the last 20 days of November, ample time for me to bag a ram — I hoped. Also on the hunt was Michigan bowhunter Dr. Joel Johnson.

After that close call, Razorback disappeared. We figured he had found love somewhere else or had simply found a safer place to hang out. Whatever the case, for nearly a week we could find no other mature rams until we finally located a beauty in a canyon so treacherous it was given an unprintable name.

Dr. Joel and his guide, Logan “Low Gear” Peasley, would get first crack at this ram, and they spent a full day trying to approach the ram. As so often happens, they ran out of daylight before Joel could get within bow range. It was a long, arduous hike back to camp for hunter and guide that evening.

The next day — the 17th of our hunt — Logan and Jonas decided to swap hunters to see if it would change our luck. During the night, nearly 10 inches of new snow had fallen, and it was still coming down heavily as Logan and I labored into the unprintable canyon. I wore crampons and used trekking poles for traction and balance.

One of our biggest challenges turned out to be keeping tabs on the ram as clouds engulfed the mountain range, reducing visibility to near zero. Despite the terrible conditions, by midday we managed to maneuver within 100 yards of the ram and his band.

However, for two hours we were pinned down, unable to close the gap. As heavy snow continued to fall, the sheep moved to a new spot, and using the near-whiteout as cover, we followed. But, again, we were unable to slip within bow range. But now we were above the herd, and with darkness approaching, the sheep were beginning to move up the slope, in our direction, to reach protective rocky outcroppings for the night.

As we crouched in the driving snow, a number of sheep passed within 20 yards of us. Surely the ram would follow.

But he did not. Pursuing a ewe, he veered away to our right. Quickly, hoping to stalk more quietly, I removed my crampons, and then Logan and I moved ahead behind a lone spruce tree. The ram now stood slightly below me on a steep cliff at about 30 yards. I readied for the shot.