I SET OUT on my first sheep hunt the August after I graduated from high school. My cousin and I had a few pieces of hand-me-down gear and a kick in the right direction. We were enthusiastic. And we had no idea what we were getting into.
I was wet behind the ears: I’d never backpack hunted for more than a night or covered such long distances under such rugged conditions. The mountains looked impossibly big and insurmountably steep.
But with plenty of work and a dose of luck, I killed my first ram on opening day in 2004. By the time we enjoyed fresh-sliced backstrap cooked on