April/May 2013 EHJ (Issue 136) - My mouth was so dry I could taste the unforgiving dry heat. Beside me, on a rugged, shade deprived mountainside in Oregon’s relentless Hell’s Canyon, lay a twentyyear- old woman with her rifle and one giant dream. For four hours we waited out the bighorn people would dream about. Bedded comfortably under a juniper, enjoying his view of Oregon’s Snake River is where Shelby’s story begins.
Goliath, as we had named him months ago, just needed to stand up and step out to offer Shelby a broadside shot. Twelve solid weeks of scouting, the countless miles on the the boots came down to the moment he stirred.
Goliath rose from his bed and, like he had a sixth-sense, walked straight to cover, never offering her a good shot. The Bighorn ram that consumed our lives those past few months crested the hillside out of sight. The look of defeat covered Shelby’s face and I couldn’t help but feel it myself.