The Legacy of the Chocolate Ram
The Chocolate Brown of His Wool.
What I first noticed was the contrast between the curl in his sun bleached ram horns against the chocolate brown of his wool. Like a bright light against a dark body, the roundness of his horns glowed in the morning sun. I had not seen a bighorn with a body this dark, dark brown like the creamy look of rich, deep, chocolate.
He was a beautiful animal, resting on a hillside watching me as I watched him through the viewfinder of my Canon camera. Then he shifted, and I could see the length of his spine running from his neck to his hips. Protruding, the bones stuck out against his hide, sunken on each side of the spine. Aged or unhealthy thin, maybe both, I suddenly felt a wave of sadness rush through me.
When he stood to walk, his hind quarters were just as thin, his stomach like an old man’s, shrivelled and weak. He was a ram who had once likely dominated during the rut, but today lived a solitary life, content and alone sitting majestically on his hillside.
I envisioned what his life must have been. Had he been a young ram, a lamb during the floods of 2013? Had his mother led him up onto the rocky cliffs to safety away from the rushing waters that did so much damage? Had he survived in the aftermath of the torrential rains that washed away the rocks he’d lived upon?
Had he been the playful young ram, the one bouncing from rock to rock chasing other lambs in the quest to gain strength earned by the energy of his youth? Had the summer of greens growing high up been his source of strength as his shoulders had tightened, his legs become more powerful, and his curl slowly begun to show itself?
By the fall had he begun to become the Simba of the bighorn herd, still youthful but with amazing promise? When he stood upon the rocks, had his chest pressed outward with the power of a child becoming a man? Did his chocolate coat make him look more bold, more capable, and did the young ewes look up to him?
Boldly Migrated Down into Big Thompson Canyon
Each June as he grew, did he lead the herd up into the high country to the cooler weather and green summer grass of the tundra? Was he the one the rest of the herd looked to for guidance? As I drove up Old Fall River Road in July, had I seen him across the valley on the cliffs? Was he one of the bighorns I constantly searched for hoping to see him jumping agilely from rock to rock on the precarious mountainside?
In early September had he moved down to Horseshoe Park feeding on the minerals in the mud around Sheep Lakes? I wondered if I had watched him when the moose arrived. Was he one that the moose tried to chase away, and did he stand his ground, unintimidated, or was he the leader who guided the ewes running from the aggressive moose back across the road and up onto Sheep Mountain where they found safety?
Maybe he had boldly migrated down into Big Thompson Canyon where he found himself to be a favorite during the rut. There he must have mated with the healthy ewes, building his own herd and teaching the young rams to live on the canyon cliffs as he had been taught.
Had he survived the Cameraon Peak Fire in 2021 and the Alexander Mountain Fire of 2024? Was he the older but wiser bighorn who pushed the herd away from danger crossing the highway and leaping into the Big Thompson River to guide others south away from the flames? Had he been that ram, still strong but wise as he aged?
And now, as the winter approached, I saw his physical dominance was fading. Still handsome, the power of his chocolate wool coat and curl of his battered horns showed they had served him well in the fall of each year. But he had begun to age. Slowing, he now sat quietly on the hillside where I watched him from behind my camera.
He was so thin. Saddened, I knew this was likely his last winter. He had been a leader, father, and champion to so many. He had stood out with his deep, rich color, and he had been powerful.
But now, his eyes were weary, his legs showed a bit of a wobble, but his face was still wise, still confident. I felt honored to watch him, to photograph him knowing he was giving me that chance to see a bold male of history and past capabilities quietly living out his life in solitude, alone on the side of a mountain.
