Cinnabar Slim
FNG
I've been wanting to tell this story for a bit now, but couldn't ever sit down to properly put it to paper. My dad and I shared many hunts over the years, but my this one still echoes in my head. Apologies if it got a little wordy.
In early 2022, dad had been given a rather difficult diagnosis. Originally diagnosed with brain cancer in 2012, Dad was given 6 months to live. He defied the odds, but the cancer never fully went into remission. After two brain surgeries, he enjoyed a few relatively cancer-free years. Unfortunately, by 2022, the cancer returned with a vengeance. He had been losing some brain communication to his legs, and was starting to have issues hiking or walking. Treatments began again, and he scheduled a third brain surgery in August. In May, dad drew his Missouri Breaks sheep tag. I remember when he called me about it, and how I could tell how excited he was to have finally drawn a sheep tag after 20+ years of applying. I could also tell how it was bittersweet for him because there was no guarantee that he would be in a position to be able to hunt at all following his brain surgery.
As the days ticked down to his brain surgery, we began to plan the hunt. Before 2022, this kind of hunt would have been a no brainer for us. We would have set up camp for a week or two, and covered as much country on foot as possible to take in as many rams as we could before deciding on one. However, seeing as his mobility was going to be the biggest factor, we started looking around at getting access through private land to be able to cut down on the walking. I had a college friend whose family farm extended up to the edge of the Breaks, but the rams that wandered through their farm generally weren’t the trophy quality that the unit is famed for. Then, an outfitter that grew up with my dad reached out, and said he that would be willing to take us out through some property that he had hunting leases on. He didn’t have any sheep hunters in 2022, and could get us into an area that would be easy for my dad to get around in.
Dad’s brain surgery went as well as it could, and he bounced back quickly mentally and physically. His legs were still an issue though, and had been steadily getting worse. He had been going on daily walks, but was starting to use trekking poles to maintain his balance. It would be a race against the clock to see if he was able to even walk by the time his hunt came around. However, his condition stayed much the same, and in October we headed north to the Breaks to see if we could find him a sheep. We had rented a small cabin not far from the hunting area, and we would go meet the outfitter in the afternoon to do some glassing the day before the season opened. We turned up a few mature rams, but nothing worth going after in the morning. We headed back to the cabin, and ran into town to grab a few supplies to sustain us for a few days. Dad had brought two rifles, unsure of what kind of shot he would be taking. The first was his trusty x-bolt in a 300 wsm. Dad had used this gun to take most of his best animals, and was used to taking shots out to 600-700 yards. The other was an old model 70 of his grandpas, passed down to him from his dad. As long as he was reasonably sure that he could get within 400 yards, he wanted to take a sheep with the model 70. Between the 3 generations that hunted with it, the model 70 had been used to take every big game animal in Montana, including a grizzly bear back in the 70s, but it hadn’t taken a sheep.
The next morning, we met up with the outfitter an hour before light to check out a different location. We hiked up on a spine that overlooked a large area with the river to the north of us by about a half mile, and settled in and spotted. We saw a few good rams, but mostly out of reach of dad’s mobility. As the sun rose behind us, I picked up the outline of a ram sitting under a tree close to the skyline to the west of us. He looked to be big bodied, but the shade of the tree prevented the horns from being exposed. We got off of the spine, and got to a point that might offer a better view. We set up our scopes and watched as he started feeding across the hillside. Between us and him was about 2000 yards and a deep ravine, typical of the country in the breaks. It didn’t take long to confirm that he was a great ram with heavy horns. He was out of range for the moment, but we carefully wrapped our way around a small hill with the hopes that if we set up and waited, the ram would feed around the corner and pop out at 400 yards. Dad was a trooper, and I could tell that the prospect of a large ram helped him overcome the difficulty of hiking to get set up. After a few minutes of waiting, the ram popped out. Dad settled down on his pack, clicked the safety on the model 70, and fired. He missed slightly low, and the ram wheeled to the right and trotted up the hill. After about 50 yards, he stopped broadside again, and slowly turned his head and looked at us. Dad shot again, and dropped him. He skidded down the hill, and out of site into the ravine. The outfitter and I quickly split up to see if we could get eyes on the ram. Dad and I walked out onto a point parallel to where we last see the ram, and were able to locate him down below. He was clearly dead. Dad was elated, and he couldn’t stop grinning. After a nightmare of a year, he had crossed off one of his life’s biggest bucket list hunts.
Unfortunately, the ram was in a spot that would be impossible for dad to hike down into. Dad sat up on the ridge and watched the outfitter and I hike down into the bottom, cape out the ram, and pack him back up to the top. From the moment Dad set hands on him it was clear that he didn’t want to let go. We took a few pictures with the head, and then headed back to the truck. We left town the next day, checked in the ram to be plugged in Lewistown, and headed back to home. I’ll never forget the long drive home with Dad in the truck, reliving the hunts we had shared together and eating antelope jerky a hunt a year prior.
While dad held on for a bit longer, the cancer again spread fast and a few months later he was told that a fourth surgery wasn’t possible and the only hope were some clinical trials in Dallas. Seeing the writing on the wall, dad opted to stay at home and live out his life surrounded by his family. He passed in late 2023. I miss him dearly, but thinking back on all the good times we shared together makes it a little easier.
In early 2022, dad had been given a rather difficult diagnosis. Originally diagnosed with brain cancer in 2012, Dad was given 6 months to live. He defied the odds, but the cancer never fully went into remission. After two brain surgeries, he enjoyed a few relatively cancer-free years. Unfortunately, by 2022, the cancer returned with a vengeance. He had been losing some brain communication to his legs, and was starting to have issues hiking or walking. Treatments began again, and he scheduled a third brain surgery in August. In May, dad drew his Missouri Breaks sheep tag. I remember when he called me about it, and how I could tell how excited he was to have finally drawn a sheep tag after 20+ years of applying. I could also tell how it was bittersweet for him because there was no guarantee that he would be in a position to be able to hunt at all following his brain surgery.
As the days ticked down to his brain surgery, we began to plan the hunt. Before 2022, this kind of hunt would have been a no brainer for us. We would have set up camp for a week or two, and covered as much country on foot as possible to take in as many rams as we could before deciding on one. However, seeing as his mobility was going to be the biggest factor, we started looking around at getting access through private land to be able to cut down on the walking. I had a college friend whose family farm extended up to the edge of the Breaks, but the rams that wandered through their farm generally weren’t the trophy quality that the unit is famed for. Then, an outfitter that grew up with my dad reached out, and said he that would be willing to take us out through some property that he had hunting leases on. He didn’t have any sheep hunters in 2022, and could get us into an area that would be easy for my dad to get around in.
Dad’s brain surgery went as well as it could, and he bounced back quickly mentally and physically. His legs were still an issue though, and had been steadily getting worse. He had been going on daily walks, but was starting to use trekking poles to maintain his balance. It would be a race against the clock to see if he was able to even walk by the time his hunt came around. However, his condition stayed much the same, and in October we headed north to the Breaks to see if we could find him a sheep. We had rented a small cabin not far from the hunting area, and we would go meet the outfitter in the afternoon to do some glassing the day before the season opened. We turned up a few mature rams, but nothing worth going after in the morning. We headed back to the cabin, and ran into town to grab a few supplies to sustain us for a few days. Dad had brought two rifles, unsure of what kind of shot he would be taking. The first was his trusty x-bolt in a 300 wsm. Dad had used this gun to take most of his best animals, and was used to taking shots out to 600-700 yards. The other was an old model 70 of his grandpas, passed down to him from his dad. As long as he was reasonably sure that he could get within 400 yards, he wanted to take a sheep with the model 70. Between the 3 generations that hunted with it, the model 70 had been used to take every big game animal in Montana, including a grizzly bear back in the 70s, but it hadn’t taken a sheep.
The next morning, we met up with the outfitter an hour before light to check out a different location. We hiked up on a spine that overlooked a large area with the river to the north of us by about a half mile, and settled in and spotted. We saw a few good rams, but mostly out of reach of dad’s mobility. As the sun rose behind us, I picked up the outline of a ram sitting under a tree close to the skyline to the west of us. He looked to be big bodied, but the shade of the tree prevented the horns from being exposed. We got off of the spine, and got to a point that might offer a better view. We set up our scopes and watched as he started feeding across the hillside. Between us and him was about 2000 yards and a deep ravine, typical of the country in the breaks. It didn’t take long to confirm that he was a great ram with heavy horns. He was out of range for the moment, but we carefully wrapped our way around a small hill with the hopes that if we set up and waited, the ram would feed around the corner and pop out at 400 yards. Dad was a trooper, and I could tell that the prospect of a large ram helped him overcome the difficulty of hiking to get set up. After a few minutes of waiting, the ram popped out. Dad settled down on his pack, clicked the safety on the model 70, and fired. He missed slightly low, and the ram wheeled to the right and trotted up the hill. After about 50 yards, he stopped broadside again, and slowly turned his head and looked at us. Dad shot again, and dropped him. He skidded down the hill, and out of site into the ravine. The outfitter and I quickly split up to see if we could get eyes on the ram. Dad and I walked out onto a point parallel to where we last see the ram, and were able to locate him down below. He was clearly dead. Dad was elated, and he couldn’t stop grinning. After a nightmare of a year, he had crossed off one of his life’s biggest bucket list hunts.
Unfortunately, the ram was in a spot that would be impossible for dad to hike down into. Dad sat up on the ridge and watched the outfitter and I hike down into the bottom, cape out the ram, and pack him back up to the top. From the moment Dad set hands on him it was clear that he didn’t want to let go. We took a few pictures with the head, and then headed back to the truck. We left town the next day, checked in the ram to be plugged in Lewistown, and headed back to home. I’ll never forget the long drive home with Dad in the truck, reliving the hunts we had shared together and eating antelope jerky a hunt a year prior.
While dad held on for a bit longer, the cancer again spread fast and a few months later he was told that a fourth surgery wasn’t possible and the only hope were some clinical trials in Dallas. Seeing the writing on the wall, dad opted to stay at home and live out his life surrounded by his family. He passed in late 2023. I miss him dearly, but thinking back on all the good times we shared together makes it a little easier.
