The Rams That Led Me Home
October is one of my favourite times of the year because it marks the beginning of the California bighorn sheep rut. It’s an incredible time to head out with my camera and capture the action while the hillsides are alive with autumn colour. The aspen trees glow golden yellow, the Okanagan hillsides turn red with sumac, and the Oregon grape carpeting the ground transitions to a deep ruby. Then, of course, there is the unmistakable sound of bighorn rams clashing heads as they battle for dominance.
My day began with a search of the Westbank hillsides to locate the herd. At this time of year, the sheep can travel a considerable distance in a single day as the rams pursue the ewes. After having no luck spotting them from the roadside, I decided my best chance of success was to put my boots on the ground and hike the high ridges where I usually find them.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, and the temperature rose with it, a typically warm autumn day in the Okanagan. These weren’t ideal conditions for photography, and they certainly weren’t ideal for climbing steep mountainsides with the sun beating down on me.
It had been a while since I’d hiked terrain this steep because I had spent the previous 14 months rehabilitating a foot injury. I knew I needed to take it slowly, but that’s easier said than done for me.
As I began climbing the ridges, something felt a little off. I couldn’t put my finger on it; I simply didn’t feel like myself. Beyond the obvious reminder that I wasn’t in the same physical condition as I had been in previous years when I could practically run up these hills…something didn’t feel right.
Before I could give it much thought, I heard the loud clash of two rams battling in the gorge across from me. I quickly raised my binoculars and glassed the ridges.
Found them.
Four beautiful, mature rams tending to three ewes.
My heart began pounding a little harder with adrenaline and excitement. I was about to witness a clash of the titans. All I needed to do was traverse one steep gorge with a challenging scramble to the other side.
Carefully, I climbed to the bottom, making sure I had a solid foothold so I wouldn’t tumble from one of the hard rock ledges. I couldn’t stop thinking about how easily the sheep made this look and how much I hoped I wouldn’t fall and break my camera gear, of course.
At the bottom of the gorge, I had to bushwhack through thick willow and thistles. With nearly every step came another sharp, needle-like jab from the thorny plants. Eventually, I reached the other side and began the few-hundred-foot scramble out of the gorge.
All I could think was, If only people knew what we photographers will do for sheep photos.
As I crested the far side of the gorge, I was welcomed by a young ewe curiously staring at me from about 20 feet away. Behind her stood a majestic full-curl ram.
I had made it.
I slipped off my camera backpack and reached for my camera. As I zipped the bag closed, I glanced back at the gorge and the steep terrain I had just crossed.
That’s going to suck on the way back.
With my camera in hand, I was ready to observe the show. I slowly made my way around the sheep, positioning myself to make the best of the harsh light. Typical bighorns as soon as I found my position, the rams chased the ewes higher up the mountain and into thick brush and rocky ridges.
If you’ve never witnessed a bighorn rut, it can be absolutely brutal for the poor ewes. The group of rams will relentlessly pester and chase them, trying to corner them for a breeding opportunity.
After about an hour of photographing the sheep running up and down the hillside, and capturing the occasional fight for dominance, complete with brief bouts of head-bashing, the herd finally bedded down in the shade. The rams stayed close to one ewe who was obviously approaching estrus.
Their rest came as a relief to me. I was tired from all the commotion and from trying to keep up with them. I removed my backpack and sat on the ground, thinking I would enjoy my lunch with the sheep.
And then it hit me.
That feeling of being a little off at the beginning of the day suddenly returned. Bright flashes of light pierced my right eye, accompanied by a stinging pain deep in my skull. My first thought was that my blood sugar might be off or that I was dehydrated. After all, I had just exerted myself climbing the steep terrain and trying to keep pace with the sheep as they ran across the hills.
I ate a granola bar and drank some water, hoping it would help. Then I laid down on the hillside, closed my eyes and tried to rest.
After about 30 minutes, as I laid there half asleep, one of the dominant rams interrupted my nap by walking toward me. I know this ram well; I’ve been photographing him for several years.
I sat up. He stopped, and we locked eyes for a few moments. He stood there for several minutes not stressed, but attentive to me.
That was my cue to get up.
The moment I stood, the world began to spin and the vision in my right eye splintered into flashes of light. I knew I was in trouble.
It was time to go home but how was I going to cross that steep gorge in my condition?
Panic began to set in. I knew only two ways back down: the route I had taken through the gorge, or a second route that led straight downhill before ending at a 100-foot cliff above the highway.
As I stood there trying to figure out what to do, a second ram approached and joined the first. Together, they turned and slowly began making their way down the hillside.
I found it strange that these two dominant rams would leave an ewe who was approaching estrus. Something inside me told me to follow them, so I did.
They would walk about 50 metres and then stop and look back at me. I would catch up, and they would start moving again.
Where are these guys going? We’re going to cliff out soon.
I followed the rams toward a lower section of the steep gorge, the same gorge I had been dreading having to cross. Both rams dropped over the ridge and disappeared.
Great. Now what do I do?
I slowly approached the place where they had vanished and was pleasantly surprised. A well-worn sheep trail cut across the steep hillside. It didn’t require any scrambling and led safely down through the brush and back up the other side.
I carefully followed the trail, keeping one hand on the rocks as I crossed the steeper sections. The rams were never more than 20 yards ahead of me, leading me through the terrain.
Once I was out of the gorge, I continued following them as they made their way toward the road. My head was throbbing, and I had begun to feel nauseous. Keeping my eyes on the ground to avoid the bright light, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
One of the rams stopped on a ledge and looked back at me before taking off. When I reached the spot where he had been standing, I looked down and saw my truck below me.
An overwhelming feeling of relief washed over me.
I made it back to my truck and pulled a U-turn to head toward town. As I did, I saw the second ram walking along the middle of the road in the same direction as if he were making sure I went the right way.
By the time I reached home, I was not well. Long story short, within the next hour I was being taken to the hospital by ambulance. I had been dealing with some health issues recently, and that day they came back with a vengeance.
I’m okay, and I’m now on a path toward recovery.
The morning after my hospital visit, I replayed the events of that day in my mind. It had been one of the scariest days of my life. If I hadn’t made it off that mountainside when I did, I could have been in serious trouble.
I kept thinking, Thank goodness those rams woke me from my rest and showed me a safe way down the hillside to my truck.
It isn’t normal for two dominant rams to leave a ewe approaching estrus, but they did. And what were the chances they would choose a trail that led directly toward my truck, one I could safely navigate in my condition?
Had it not been for those rams, I might have needed to call for emergency rescue. Or worse, I could have remained stranded on that mountain as the day ended in tragedy.
Some may call it a coincidence that the rams woke me when they did, or that they chose a path leading toward my truck and somehow convinced me to follow. Maybe it was. But I believe someone was looking out for me that day and led those rams to do what they did.
It is a moment I will never forget, and I will always be grateful to those sheep.
All my life, I have tried to honour wildlife through stewardship and by being a voice for animals that cannot speak for themselves. On that mountainside, when I was at my most vulnerable, the roles seemed to reverse. The rams watched over me. They waited, looked back and guided me safely through terrain I didn’t believe I could cross.
For years, I have followed bighorn sheep with my camera, hoping to honour them and tell their story. That day, they became part of mine. The animals I have spent my life trying to protect became my protectors. They led me off that mountain and safely home.
I will carry what those rams gave me that day for the rest of my life, a deeper connection to these animals and an even stronger commitment to protecting the land we share.
