What a difference a day can make. It is amazing that two hunts for the same species that are merely 24 hours apart can differ so much, but that is what my dad and I experienced on our hunt with Fire Mountain Outfitters in British Columbia. I guess that is what makes our sport so exciting.
Day one of our mixed bag hunt was a blue bird day and started with us glassing a high vantage point looking over the area we were to hunt, searching for any sign of life. Within minutes, we spotted a lone mountain goat on a nasty looking cliff several miles away. Our guides could tell that more than likely he was a billy but not much else because of the distance. Soon after, we spotted three Stone sheep rams and decided to move closer to get a better look at them as sheep was the main focus of my hunt.
In the new position, the first thing that caught my eye was not the band of rams, but two goats lying on the end of a grassy ridge a few hundred yards in front of us. The first bare eyed look revealed that in all likelihood we were looking at a nanny and kid based on their body sizes. With that assumption, our focus went back to the sheep. After an hour of studying the rams, one of the guides happened to glance back at the goats and realized that the small one had changed positions and revealed that in fact it was substantially larger in body than the goat we thought was the nanny. Spotting scopes were redirected to the goats, and soon it was very clear we were looking at a mature goat with very nice horns and he was in an unbelievably easy location for a mountain goat. This last aspect was very important because my dad was 67 years old and had torn his meniscus in his knee a month before our hunt, so access to a goat had been a major concern on his mind and mine as well.
With the accessibility and quality of this goat, it was a no brainer to abandon the sheep and get Dad into position for a shot. After a quick horseback ride and a short hike to the top of the ridge, our group was soon positioned 250 yards above the two feeding billies. The guides did a wonderful job of getting him into position, and when the goat presented the shot, Dad capitalized. At the hit, the goat took a few steps to the edge of the cliff and we waited to see if he would plunge to the bottom or expire in easy walking distance. After a couple long minutes, it was decided that another shot was needed and we would hope for the best on the recovery. At the shot, the goat disappeared from our view. We descended quickly to see if we would be back to the cabin for dinner or eating soup on the mountain at midnight. Fortunately, Dad’s good luck continued and the goat never made it off the edge. After photos with an amazing backdrop, the skinning and processing job was done in short order and we were headed back to camp.
The next morning broke with a low sky and the feel of rain in the air. Dad and the horses did not agree on how comfortable the ride should be, so he decided to stay in camp and recover. The rest of us made it 30 minutes out of camp when the rain started and the fog moved onto the mountaintops. Elijah, my guide, told me that with the conditions, the likelihood of seeing any sheep today was slim to none. He presented two options: we could head back to camp, drink warm coffee, and wait out the weather or head over to where we saw the first goat yesterday and see if we could determine if he was a mature billy. Since we knew what mountain he was on, the fog would not hinder us in locating him so we could go straight to a close vantage point and give him a look. I appreciated the fact that they were willing to brave the miserable conditions and knew that we had the opportunity to hunt on a day that we were supposed lose, so I decided we should head up the mountain.
We tried to ride the horses through the timber to get closer, but the forest was so dense that the horses soon gave up. We bailed off and began the straight up climb through the bush. After battling the unforgiving vegetation, we turned into rock climbers as the next stage was a cliff face that required at least three points of contact at all times. A couple of hours passed, and with what felt like thousands of gallons of rain poured on us, we finally crested the last ridge that put us in view of the goat resting in the same bed he had occupied yesterday. The guys took several minutes to evaluate him, and when they asked if I was comfortable taking a 350-yard shot on this mature goat, I felt that increase in heart rate that all hunters long for. I got into position quickly, and when given the green light, I anchored him on the hillside. We celebrated but quickly realized we had another climb to reach him and a very long, wet, and steep trip home.
The pictures of my goat did not have the magnificent background of Dad's because the fog was so thick that it covered all of our surroundings. The crew butchered the goat and we all took a load and slipped and slid down rock and through slimy vegetation for the next three hours. After that, we were greeted with a nice hour-long horseback ride in the rain with a stiff wind hitting us directly in the face. As we rode into camp, I expected to have Dad greet us, but he was in his cabin. I entered the door and found him cozy in his bed with a roaring fire in the stove. I smiled and told him of our luck. We erupted into a celebration only hunters know. I also expressed to him how fortunate he was for the setup the previous day, and as he watched me remove layer after layer of wet clothes, he smiled and had to agree. As we sat in front of the warm fire, reliving both experiences, we both realized we wouldn’t have changed a thing about either hunt. Memories were made that we both will treasure for the rest of our lives.
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