Story By: David Day
The time had finally arrived. My daughter, Madeleine, had the weekend with me to hunt. I felt there was no time to waste. The plan for after school was to drive to the trailhead, hike into camp, get set up, and glass and scout before dark. The mountains towered over my young daughter and me, and the reality of a grueling trip began to set in. Although camp was only about four miles from the trailhead, we encountered a creek crossing that required me wading and carrying her across. The three and a half inches of rain the drainage had received just a couple days prior left the creeks raging like spring runoff conditions. After another 1,000 feet of vertical elevation gained over the course of a mile by bushwhacking, we neared our destination.
As nightfall approached, Madeleine and I set up camp in an alpine meadow. The pikas were vocalizing from the nearby rock field in their high-pitched “eeps.” Madeleine returned their call in a surprisingly accurate, yet comical imitation. As the sun began to set, a goat presented itself on the steep, rocky mountain above camp. The goat’s white coat glowed a brilliant ivory in the remaining sunlight. This mountain was ideal for a goat haunt with a series of cliffs below making it a challenge for a hunter or predator to navigate up through them, let alone traverse the face the goat was on. I fixed the Swarovski spotting scope on the goat. It was indeed a billy. There was no time to go after him tonight, so we devised a plan to go up in the morning if he was still there. There was a stringer of trees in the cliff band that, although steep, appeared passable. This passage would give access to the main ridge and hopefully the upper part of the mountain. Hopes were high for the day to come.
The next morning, I was up well before daylight. It was a cold, clear, and frosty morning. Ice crystals on top of mud that collapsed an inch or more when stepped on were the product of recent rain and the cold night. I packed for the day’s hunt with calculation and care. I vowed not to shoot a goat on the mountain past 4 p.m., thus reducing the possibility of needing to spend the night up there since travel after dark could be too treacherous. I had rehearsed basic emergency navigation and communication with Madeleine the day before. In the back of my mind, I replayed stories of goat hunts gone wrong in these mountains, leaving hunters stranded for a frigid, lonely night above cliffs, and even worse, falling to their death under the veil of darkness. It was my responsibility to get both of us off the mountain safely.
The morning light gradually filled our little basin. I scanned the mountain with binoculars. There was a goat up there! I focused the spotting scope, and it was indeed the same billy from last night. Madeleine was still curled up at the bottom of her sleeping bag, and I coaxed her out of the bag and the icy tent, offering her HotHands foot warmers and the promise of unlimited tasty trail snacks throughout the day. After a simple breakfast, we were on our way up the mountain. Fortunately, we made it through the gap in the cliffs by following the timber stringer. Upon reaching the ridge, we scanned the surroundings for other goats, locating nannies, kids, and a different billy. I still felt the billy above camp was our best chance.
After navigating up the steep, rocky spine ridge, we now stood at 9,400 feet elevation. We had reached tree line. Trees transitioned to rock fields, and my stomach got a little uneasy as this mountain was beginning to seriously push my comfort level.
For all the times I persuaded Madeleine to overcome her fears as she grew up, this was the day she would encourage me. She was a positive little voice telling me the mountain wasn’t too steep and that we could do it. I had reached my vertical limit and presumed the goat had to be close. I reassessed and dropped down about 20 yards to a small overlook requiring a sketchy traverse. The goat was visible from the overlook. I assessed the situation, asking her what she thought of this mountain and if she thought I should shoot the goat. She informed me that she felt fine traversing this mountain and that I should shoot the goat. At this moment, I realized this probably wouldn’t be the last time she would help me overcome my fears. I hoped that if I shot the goat, the trees below would arrest its fall ahead of the 200-foot cliff below. I got in place for the shot, making sure I had an extra steady rest since these heights had gotten me a bit shaky.
The 170-yard shot was solid and soon sent the goat on an apparent short tumble down the mountain. Had the goat continued to cartwheel out of sight or had a tree caught it? I was unsure, fearing the worst scenario of where the goat may have ended up, but hopeful that a tree had caught it. Following the shot, I was shaking badly. It was chilly, I was fearful of the steepness, and I had just connected with a goat!
Filled with uncertainty, we made the traverse toward the goat’s last known location, doing our best to avoid the bigger rock and deeper shale that wanted to slide when we set foot on it. For the most part, we were able to find footing in patches of dirt and more secure rock.
Fifteen minutes later, relief settled over me as I finally laid eyes on the billy against a tree near its last observed location. He was a truly remarkable animal with dark, uniform, unbroken horns and a great coat of hair for late September. We were able to improve a relatively level spot on the mountain for photos and butchering. It was only 11:00 a.m., and the September sun shined intensely on our backs. The snowcapped peaks across the valley made for a stunning backdrop. We took it all in, feeling awe for the animal, the wild country, and our good fortune.
The afternoon and evening were ours to enjoy, and we strolled into camp with the heavy pack well before sundown. I offered Madeleine mountain goat tenderloin fried in olive oil, seasoned with salt and pepper, and cooked over the small MSR stove. She loved it, eating the whole first batch and telling me it was the “best meat she had ever had.” Indeed, it was tender, juicy, and flavorful. For the remainder of the weekend, there was no rush or urgency. We enjoyed camp, ate as much as we could handle, basked in the sun, and explored our mountain basin filled with multiple rivulets and small waterfalls.
Relaxation gave me time to reflect. I often think about how fast my daughter is growing up, but for this weekend, time stood still. We shared an experience together in these mountains, one that will never fade with time. It was nothing short of a truly amazing weekend and created a once-in-a-lifetime memory. I left those mountains with so much gratitude and knowing I had been truly blessed. I dream that someday when Madeleine is much older, she will still have time to go hunting with her old man.