Wednesday Morning:

Woke up to ground fog but the alpine elevation looked clear. Time to hunt! We wolfed down some oatmeal and headed across the muskeg to the mountain directly opposite our camp. Johnnie and I had spotted a goat near the top of this mountain which looked like a shooter so we found a route up through the muskeg which eventually led us to a well worn bear trail snaking up to the high country. After several hours of climbing we took a break at a high perch and some 800 feet below the summit and snap some photos of the surrounding peaks and fogged in valleys. Breathtaking!

We continued on up to the summit, through an extremely dense valley of jungle before breaking out above treeline at 3000 feet. Immediately we noticed a goat, probably the one we saw much earlier from camp, milling around feeding in the bushes close to the peak. Johnnie set up the spotting scope and immediately said ‘he’s a good one". I took a look and noticed the heavy basis and large hump – no question this was a shooter. I watched the goat for about 40 minutes and carefully attempted to visualize landmark rocks, bushes and terrain features as they would look once I was up there. I took one last swig of water and munched on a power bar before leaving Johnnie for my first goat stalk.

I worked my way along the steep side of the summit, opposite from where the goat was feeding. After climbing through yet another tangle of bushes I found a goat highway that was pure mud from all the use. It snaked between ledges and in back of trees, through several goat-bedding areas until I was near the summit. Just as I reached the summit at 3600 feet, I spotted a billy walking quickly along the top at 30 yards. Within a few seconds he was up and over the top. I assumed that my goat caught a whiff in the swirling wind and took off to the sheer side of the Mt. I continued along where I last saw him and the summit turned into yet another summit. It was very deceptive from the ground but there was actually a good bit of ground up here on top. I never did see that goat again so I continued along a deep drainage until I was on the real summit of this mountain. I looked down and there was my billy, not 75 yards away and looking in the opposite direction. Not wanting to spook him, I simply sat down and watched him with my binoculars for nearly an hour. I had a good stalk route and the optimism was growing. I needed to know that there were no other goats bedded which would blow my stalk so I simply waited it out. After I was sure that he was alone, I took off my boots and began my stalk in my socks.

The hardest part was getting off the summit because I was in full view of the goat and the wet rocks turned my socks into skis on the steep stuff. I slid down a ten-foot rock and into a small drainage ditch. From that point on it was a belly-crawl. I followed a goat trail for many yards until I was unsure of just how far I was from the goat who had since bedded. So I got on my knees and looked out over the ledge – which was much closer than I thought. The goat was in front of me – not twenty feet away – looking in the opposite direction. But was he standing on a ledge or bedded? I needed to know that so I simply sat there and waited – and waited – and waited; for nearly 20 minutes. Finally the goat either winded me or just sensed me then stood up. I pulled back, picked a spot then shot. The goat peeled off the cliff and out of site. Knowing the hit was a fatal one, I ran to the cliff in my socks and immediately looked below for the goat. Instead I saw Johnnie motioning about the goat. I was pumped. I circled around to get different vantagepoints but still could not see the billy. He was a dead goat – that was for sure and by the looks of Johnnies gestures he knew where the goat went.

After putting my boots back on I started back to Johnnie but to my surprise I intersected a profuse blood trail on the way back. I started following it and it soon ran to a radical ledge. At that point, I thought it best to get Johnnie and discuss the situation.

Johnnie had no idea I shot and simply saw the goat peel off the ledge but then turn back in my direction and head for the suicide part of the summit. We both became uneasy knowing full well what that could mean. We climbed back up to the blood trail and followed it along a cliff edge. The goat showed signs of stumbling and was bleeding heavily – I was feeling good. Then the trail showed sings of where the goat had jumped off a small ledge and into a very steep area of trees which clung to the uppermost section of a sheer 90-degree cliff with a 500-foot drop off.

Now we were nervous. The bloodtrail was easy but the terrain was becoming increasingly radical. Both Johnnie and I had to drop our gear to have both hands free for the remainder of the trail. The blood trail and prints showed the goat stumbling . A slip could mean a straight drop and instant death several hundred feet below. With each step we took more risk until I was far beyond my comfort level – and so was Johnnie. We agreed at that moment, to continue would be suicidal. That was one of the toughest decisions I ever had to make while hunting, but it was the right decision.

 

The climb back down off the Mountain was a tough one with both of us feeling pretty bad. We both knew that goat was dead and probably lying not far from where we had to turn back. And while I know that these things happen on goat hunts, it did not ease the pain of having lost a tremendous animal. The normal feelings of ‘what if’ crept into my head as I lay in my sleeping bag most of the night. Everyone who hunts long enough has a mishap, but this was the first time I knew the animal was dead and when I still had a heavy blood trail. One thought of my two boys made the pain a bit easier on me as who knows what could have happened if we tried to make those last yards to the goat.

I spent most of that night staring at the roof of my tent.