A Winter Wildlife Photography Story of Patience, Wet Snow, and Bighorn Sheep
If you’ve ever chased wildlife in winter, you know this truth: the forecast is a suggestion, not a promise.
On Tuesday night, I checked the weather. Snow at 7 a.m., then clouds. Manageable. Predictable. I felt confident heading into the park before sunrise with Levon, my six-month-old puppy, beside me.
By mid-morning, that confidence had been tested in every possible way.
This is a story about heavy, wet snow. About animals that ran away. About frustration. And about what happens when you decide not to quit.
The Snow Wasn’t Gentle — It Was Wet and Relentless
We left before sunrise, driving into thick, heavy flakes. Not the light, powdery kind. This was wet snow — the kind that clings to your jacket, seeps through your gloves, and soaks you slowly without asking permission.
Visibility shrank by the minute.
Our first stop brought a powerful sight: a coyote feasting on an elk near the bighorn sheep area. It should have felt like a win. But the coyote was skittish, constantly alert. The snowfall intensified until we could barely see a few meters ahead.
Beautiful? Yes.
Easy? Not at all.
Still, I kept going.
When Wildlife Photography Tests Your Patience
Next, I drove to find a herd of elk. I walked half a mile through deep snow, each step heavier than the last. My boots were already wet. The cold had started to settle in.
I finally reached them.
They ran.
Just like that.
Then came a moose — quiet, steady, powerful. My heart lifted again. I parked carefully and prepared my gear. Two tour vans and several visitors were respectfully watching from a distance.
And then someone pulled directly in front of everyone.
She blocked the view, stepped out of her van, moved constantly, ignoring the stillness wildlife requires.
The moose disappeared into the trees.
That was the moment I almost quit.
I looked at Levon and said, “Let’s go back to the sheepies. If nothing happens, we’ll take a long walk and head home.”
Hundreds of Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep — and a Lesson in Staying
When we returned, everything had changed.
Hundreds of bighorn sheep stood close to the road. So close that I had to gently move a few away from my vehicle — they like licking the salt off cars, and you’re not supposed to let them.
For 45 minutes, I sat on my small stool in heavy, wet snow, completely surrounded.
The snow clung to their curled horns. Steam rose from their nostrils. The world softened into white silence.
And I was soaked.
My gloves were wet. My pants were wet. I could feel the cold sinking deeper into my layers. At one point I knew I should probably stand up — but I couldn’t. It was the closest I have ever been to wildlife, and they were calm. Unbothered. Present.
It felt sacred.
Levon, Freedom, and Joy in the Snow
While I photographed, Levon waited patiently. He didn’t care about the sheep. He cared about his walk.
When it was finally his turn, he pulled against the leash like he was fighting for freedom itself. Snow flying, nose to the ground, completely alive in the moment.
There is something about a puppy in fresh snow that reminds you what joy looks like.
What Wet Snow Taught Me About Faith
The day began with confidence.
Turned into frustration.
Almost ended in defeat.
And finished in abundance.
I came home with more bighorn sheep photographs than I expected.
But more importantly, I came home reminded that the Lord’s plans are rarely revealed at the beginning of the story.
Sometimes He allows:
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The elk to run.
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The moose to disappear.
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The snow to soak you through.
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The view to be blocked.
Not to discourage you — but to teach you to stay.
To try one more time.
To drive back instead of going home.
To trust that something better may be waiting just down the road.
Yesterday I learned a lot about wildlife photography in winter.
But I learned even more about patience. About surrender. About faith.
And about Levon.
He was such a good boy.
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Your support allows me to keep showing up before sunrise, sitting in wet snow, and sharing these stories with you.
Thank you for being here.
