The next morning after breakfast, Bobby had returned from Camp 1 with food, dry clothes, and my backup bow. I strung it and began practicing. It shot much better than my homemade bow, flatter and faster. But I quickly adapted to the changes and was extremely accurate with it. This was a relief as I would not hunt with a bow that I could not shoot.
Bobby was a strong young man, a logger from Southeast Alaska by trade. He had made the trip with a heavy pack in six hours which astonished Johnnie and me. We started feeling a bit old until we heard that he was being tagged by a brown bear along the way. The bear was a 9 footer and was behaving aggressively toward us - following our trail and ripping down our flagging tape. Bobby walked right into him by accident and the bear simply slipped into into the jungle. Talk about unnerving - you can't see 10 yards in the low elevation and I quickly understood why he flew up that mountain!
We discussed the day's plan which was to go back to the gorge and search for my bow. The weather was turning nasty, which is typical for this area, and the fog was rolling in. Still, we headed up to the high mountain pass to get a look down the other side.
It took us an hour before we were on top - by now it was early afternoon. The fog had socked making the rocks slick and the visibility zero. We hung at the peaks until the fog lifted. Through the mist we searched for goats and Bobby again spotted a big goat bedded in a snow bed. Johnnie stayed behind as I followed Bobby with my bow to check him out. I looked down to the snow bank but couldn't see anything in the fog. I moved a bit closer when the fog lifted suddenly and the big goat was in plain view 80 away. A cold drizzle sprayed down the back of my neck as I stood motionless in front of this massive white fur ball. He had the best coat, and largest body size so far this trip, but I could not tell what he had for horns or even if he was not a she? I crouched there motionless for over 30 minutes until the fog rolled in again giving me the cover I needed to move out of view.
By this time Bobby was back with Johnnie and studying the goat through the scope. A second big goat with larger horns and a filthy coat showed up as the big white one bedded down. Five more goats appeared including a young kid. We studied them through the spotting scope. There was no doubt that the big white goat and the dirty coated one were billies. Cool.
Video of this scene (128k) We watched the goats in the cold rain for over an hour. Then the big goat finally got up to feed and I got that predatory feeling. As the two goats fed on the hillside I moved into position. I was tempted to go after them but decided to stay put and see what they did. The wind was squirly and there was little cover between us. The big white goat was clearly submissive to the larger horned, dirty billy who was displaying his dominance over the other goats. He would lash out with his horns, making the other goats jump if they got too close. From a distance, he looked to have massive bases and good length in the horn - but I would take either goat if given the opportunity.
They fed on the hillside for another hour as I shivered in the rain. Johnnie and Bobby took a perch high above me where they could watch without disturbing any action. I moved down to a series of boulders in the cliffs when the goats decided to cross a snow patch and head my way. My pulse was growing stronger.
I lost the goats for a few minutes then found them again, below me, some 80 yards. They were feeding in the grasses and kept moving up a little closer every few minutes. I lost sight of the dirty billy but had the white one in view at all times. He was completely unaware of my presence as he moved to within 30 yards of my high vantage point. Goats seldom look up and this goat was no exception. I kept surveying the area to determine the best place for an ambush. But as I moved back to my ambush spot, I lost sight of the goats and had to sneak back again to identify where they were. They were gone.
I looked back up the mountain to Johnnie who held out his arms - motioning that he had no idea where they were. I moved around the hillside, staying low when I spotted the fuzz from the white goat's back. He was only 20 yards away and level with me. I crept closer to get my comfortable 15 yard shot and pulled it off. I could clearly see the white billy's horns in a calm, feeding position as I angled my body for the shot and started my draw. Then, an image appeared in my peripheral vision in front of the other goat. It was the dirty billy with the massive horns. He stared at me from 8 yards. I no longer had a shot at the white goat but drew on the dirty billy - waiting for him to do what all goats do...take a few steps forward to figure me out! I focused on the grasses waving in the strong wind where his vitals would soon be. I willed them to be there. It was like clockwork - he took three steps forward, I gave myself one second to focus and the arrow disappeared into that patch of hair that I was glued on. The goat bucked and they both ran down the hillside to the snow pass below. I clenched my fist - the shot was right there where I was focused and the goat was tagged.
I thought.
In a split second my jubilation turned to horror. The hard hit goat broke off from the big white one and headed for the one spot he was not supposed to go. The face of a 1000' cliff beneath us. I called for Johnnie. "Get down here with your rifle."
Johnnie and Bobby covered the distance quickly. My goat staggered across a snow field some 80 yards below. A trail of crimson was clearly visible underneath him. He stopped on the opposite side with his head hanging low. Johnnie mentioned, he's hurting bad he may not make it, just give me the signal. I said "wait." The goat was stopped and would be dropping any moment - I knew the billy was dead - he just didn't know it yet. The memories of last years' goat haunted me, along with the experiences from yesterday where I nearly bought it. I knew I needed to do the right thing if he motioned towards that cliff. He was only 40 yards from the edge.
The goat got a burst of energy before he died. He moved towards the shear drop off.
"Take him"
The shot rang out across our peaceful mountain and the goat dropped on the spot. Mixed feelings ran through my mind, and Johnnie's. Taking an animals' life is very personal to a bowhunter, more so than other types of hunting. Johnnie put his arm around my shoulder and with a good grip said "congratulations - you did the right thing" I said "Thanks - I know that."
We walked down to the goat who was dangerously close to the cliff. I admired the large billy, and confirmed that the shot I made was fatal. I smiled. Johnnie was relieved. After the pictures and respecting this magnificent goat, I walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. If he made it here, he would have fallen and been smashed to bits in the canyon below. This goat deserved more respect than that and I was at peace with my decision.
Video of the shot location (1.2mb)We finished the chores of caping and quartering then headed back to camp with my goat. The stalk took nearly four hours from when we first noticed the goat and we were all exhausted. The weather was turning ugly as we sat down in the rain to a freeze-dried meal and to relive the afternoon over again. Johnnie asked me what my plans were. I still had a second goat tag and another week left on my hunt.
"I'll sleep on it and let you know" I said, as we headed for our tents and a good nights' sleep.
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