Two out of 942 is where my story started. I was one of two non-residents out of the 900+ who applied for a permit to hunt mountain goat in the Elkhorn Mountains. At the time, I didn’t know how big of a deal this was, but after digging into it, I began to see what an awesome opportunity I had. “Mountain goats were introduced to the Elkhorn Mountains in the early 1980s, and ever since then, they have prospered,” Eldon Buckner, the Boone and Crockett Vice President of Records for North America told my dad. The goats that came to the Elkhorn Mountains were originally from three locations – Washington, Alaska, and Idaho. This is one of the reasons why he believes the goats prospered. My dad, sister, and grandfather all wanted to go on this trip with me because they knew that this would be a unique experience. My family and I had our food, backpacks, and flights planned out with plenty of time and then had to wait what felt like an eternity to go on my hunt.
When my family and I arrived in Oregon, we drove to the Fish and Game Department and discussed the best place to hunt. We drove out to our campsite, set up camp, and headed up the mountain to begin scouting. After a three-mile walk along the mountain ridge, we only saw three goats. This worried me, but the guides told me they had seen multiple big ones in a different area. After talking to our guides, DMAC Outfitters, about where we would be hunting the next day, all of us went back to our tents with a plan.
The next morning, the seven of us drove to the top of the mountain and started the hike. My grandfather stayed on the trail to avoid the steep cliffs. My dad, sister, one of the guides, and I hiked to scout on one side of the mountain and saw very few while the other two guides scouted on the other side and saw a huge goat. This news was my first sign of hope. When we arrived, we saw that even more billies had appeared, but we still had our sights set on the first one. The four of us hiked down so I could take a shot while one guide stayed at the top of the mountain to make sure that the goat stayed at the same location. After a very steep hike, I made it to a ridge 400 yards away. When I first lined up to take the shot, I was shaking so much that I could not keep my sights on the billy. When I finally calmed down enough and fired off the shot, the goat ran into a thicket of trees and none of us could see him.
My dad reviewed the footage of the shot that one of the guides had filmed. It appeared dead on, and everyone was positive that it was a kill shot. Heavy fog set in as we headed down the mountain, and it made it impossible to pinpoint where the goat was at the time of the shot.
After close to an hour of searching, my dad finally found some hair and all of us got excited. We continued looking for any trace of the goat but failed to turn up any new sign. This discouraged all of us, and all hope of me taking the goat-of- a-lifetime disappeared. My dad and sister looked over the footage again, and this time, my dad decided that the shot traveled over his body and just skimmed his hair. This felt like a gut punch. All of this work just to find out that I missed the goat by an inch or two.
Rather than giving up completely, we decided to head up the mountain and continue scouting. One of the guides spotted an above average goat and decided to check it out. As we were considering that one, my dad looked around the mountain range and on top of the ridge directly to the left of us was the goat I had shot at earlier. The guides realized that it was the same trophy goat as before because he noticed the injured left eye.
This was it. I was lucky enough to get a second chance at the goat-of-a-lifetime, and I could not mess it up. Yet, as I was setting up my shot, I ran into another roadblock. There was no rangefinder. When the five of us hiked down to the bench, the expectation was the goat being dead and that we wouldn’t need all of our equipment. I was told to leave some gear behind to lighten the load.
After some discussion about the distance of the goat, we decided that it was about 300 yards away. We piled up backpacks to make a rest for my shot as the goat was very high above me. I was determined not to miss this time. Holding my breath, I shot. The goat took off over the other side of the ridge with no sign of injury. My dad and the guides both saw the same thing and thought that I missed the goat completely. Two of the guides and I ran up the hill in hopes that the goat was still close enough to get another shot. I was scanning the basin for any sign of white when one of the guides looked at the cliffside and said, “Hey, that one is bleeding.” The goat was still standing, so I shot him again and he then rolled down the cliff.
I felt like I was on top of the world at that moment. After all the ups and downs, I finally got the biggest goat on that mountain range. I waited for my dad and sister to share the excitement of finding the trophy. When the goat was retrieved, the guides confirmed that it was way bigger than they thought. After multiple pictures, we hiked back to the truck and drove it to the Wildlife Department. The goat officially scored 51 2/8" and is the second biggest in the state of Oregon for youth. I have to thank my dad, grandpa, and outfitters for allowing me to go on this amazing hunt. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Oregon Mountian Goat Hunting