Even though the Tibetan horses were extremely sturdy and well-mannered, the hunters and guides still had to lead them up and down the steepest places.

The next day we visited the Ming Tombs, about an hour out of Beijing. The tombs of 13 emperors of the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) lie in a valley surrounded by mountains on three sides. So far only one tomb has been excavated, but its caverns and catacombs are every bit as awesome as the Valley of Kings in Egypt. And then we climbed the Great Wall.

It's impressive to say that the Great Wall of China is more than 3,700 miles long and that it's the only man-made structure visible from outer space. But these are just words, and they mean nothing when you actually see it. We saw it where it guarded a series of deep valleys north of Beijing. In this locale it ascends near vertical ridges, its top a staircase rather than walkway. From the top of the highest watchtower we could see the Wall vanishing over the farthest ridges in either direction. And then you imagine that this hand-built structure extends roughly the width of the continental United States. It was almost worth the trip just to see it.

From Beijing we flew by commercial plane to Xining in the Qinghai province, the edge of the incredibly high Tibetan Plateau and an altogether different China. Beijing is a huge city, and although we were all struck by how clean and orderly it was, it has a "big city" aura. Xining is a much smaller town, clearly more rural in its roots. We overnighted there, and in the morning headed for the high country in two brand-new game department SUVs--a marked and comfortable departure from the old Russian army vehicles that are the normal mode of transportation in such places.

In the sheltered valleys of Xining it was springtime, with orchards starting to bloom and farmers planting crops. From there we ascended steadily, eventually leaving the main road to find our camp alongside a high, linear lake that forms the headwaters of the Yellow River.

Here, in early March, it was still winter. The lake, at about 14,500 feet elevation, was still frozen solid. Jagged ridges rose steeply on both sides, with plenty of snow on top. We bumped along the eastern edge of the lake for about an hour, seeing a number of pale, long-haired Tibetan gazelles along the way. And then we turned away from the lake, ascended a low ridge, and ahead of us lay our camp: a neat row of colorful yurts, the heavy circular felt tents that nomadic herdsmen have used for centuries.

Each yurt heated with a stove fueled with dried yak dung (just as frontier folk in the American West once used buffalo "chips"). Our sleeping tents had comfortable beds, the food was great and the people were wonderful. There was even a young doctor in camp. The altitude here is a great concern for flatlanders, and our vital signs were checked carefully before we were cleared to go up into the mountains.

I knew we'd have to climb to at least 17,000 feet to get to the sheep. Eighteen months earlier, in Tadjikistan, I'd had a serious problem with altitude sickness at somewhat lower elevation. However, this time I had taken the prescription drug Diamox to ward off the fluid buildup that is a common symptom of altitude sickness, and I actually felt surprisingly good and ready to face the mountains.

In for A Penny...
So we bailed off the narrow bench and went after the pair of rams, slipping and sliding our way through the rocks to the streambed far below. The next hillside was steep, and in the thin air I could make only a few steps without pausing for breath, but my clearly amused guide was patient, and we inched our way up. Just short of the saddle I gathered myself for a few moments so I could shoot if I had to, and then we strode across the top and looked over.

China is home to many unique game species. Tibetan gazelles are small animals, and their long winter coats make them an unusually attractive trophy.

We were on a steep-sided intervening ridge. The next cut was similar, except the far hillside rose to the top of the main ridge, and there were several chutes on both sides that could hide an army of sheep. This wasn't good, because the two rams weren't in sight. We paused for a moment, and it was clear that my friend thought we were beat--or at least thought I was beat. I figured the sheep were nearby, and I gestured that we should work our way up the ridge we were on, looking down into the chutes. His eyebrows went up as he looked at me, obviously wondering if I was up to it or not. Then he grinned, and we started up the ridge.

There was nothing in the first cut or the second. But when we peered down into the third I heard rocks roll, and two sheep appeared in the bottom, just starting up the far side. The first ram was small, but the second carried extremely heavy horns--surely the same two, and the bigger ram looked just as big. Forgetting how winded I was, I scrambled down a few steps to get clear of some rocks, then dropped into a sitting position.

The ram had climbed up a little way onto a little bench, and then he stopped and looked back, quartering away. It was an easy shot--something over 200 yards--but no shot is easy at this altitude. I got the big Lazzeroni on him, remembered to hold a bit low for the steep downhill, and I was sure the wavering crosshairs were right behind the on-shoulder when the trigger broke.

At the shot, both rams launched into high gear and disappeared around a corner of rock. Long seconds passed, and then a lone ram appeared far up the main ridge--the smaller ram. Mine must lie just around the outcropping, and indeed he did. The ram had taken a 168-grain Sierra from a Lazzeroni Warbird--one of the fastest and most violent loads I know of--the bullet entering just behind the on-shoulder, exiting the off-shoulder and wrecking everything in between. And yet there had been no visible reaction at all.

He was a beautiful ram. The tips were broomed, so he wasn't as long as I had imagined, but he was the kind of old, heavy-horned ram that sheep hunters love.

That day turned out to be the day of the blue sheep. Hunting on horseback in different directions, we all saw a tremendous number of sheep, in both big herds and smaller bands, and by the end of the day four excellent sheep--including John Chaves' 27-inch ram, which is one of the biggest Chines blue sheep ever taken--were on the ground.

Tibetan Gazelles
China holds a tremendous wealth of wildlife. There are a number of other varieties of sheep (not all importable into the U.S.), several types of deer, ibex and unique animals such as the takin (a distant relative of the muskox).

The challenge is that it's a huge country, and the various types of game may lie hundreds, even thousands, of miles apart. Still, most areas do hold more than one type of game. A variety of red deer ranged near where we were, but in March the stags would not have antlers. There were also Gansu argali close by, but this variety of wild sheep is not currently importable into the U.S. This left the small-bodied, shaggy-haired and exceedingly elegant Tibetan gazelle.

We had seen a number of them on the way into camp, and we had all seen a few up in the sheep country as well. These you could hunt in the high valleys much like pronghorns, so after we got our sheep skinned and the capes properly salted we divided into two-man teams and went gazelle hunting. I went out with Kim Kutsch, and he drew first shot, securing a fine gazelle.

The author's Chinese blue sheep, taken with a Lazzeroni L2000 in .308 Warbird, was an old ram with exceptionally heavy horns. The tips were a bit broomed, so the length isn't exceptional, but he's still a fine specimen.

These gazelles were a whole lot spookier than the sheep--very difficult to approach in the broad, short-grass valleys and more difficult yet if you mess up the first time. We found another really good ram, and I shot right over him at about 300 yards. That made getting a second chance a lot more difficult, but we did and this time I did it right.

With four good sheep and four good gazelles (all of the latter record-book specimens), we opted to begin the long journey back to Beijing a day early, arriving on Saint Patrick's day. Yes, there was an Irish pub. And there was also a day for shopping before our return flights to the States.

It was a fun trip, one of those golden hunts where everything worked, everybody got great game, and although we started as strangers we parted best friends--and we all vowed we would return to China to hunt together again. I hope we do.