I am an avid outdoorsman from western Nebraska who grew up in a small town following the teachings of my father. He took me hunting and fishing before I could even climb into the truck by myself. As the years came and went, the passion of hunting and fishing grew into a giant part of my life and has now, at the very least, become an obsession!
In April, I happened to pick up the latest issue of the Huntin’ Fool magazine. It had a breakdown of hunting mountain goats in Montana. Being interested in mountain goats, I began reading and found that Montana had the least expensive non-resident tag and had the best draw odds. I had the money in the bank to cover the license, so I called Montana Game and Fish, did some research on the best place to hunt, and sent in my money.
Around June 25th, I received a letter in the mail from Montana Game and Fish. The letter stated, “Congratulations on your special application to Montana!” It didn’t say anything about a mountain goat, so I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I immediately called MGF, and they confirmed that I had indeed been successful in the draw and was awarded a mountain goat license. I couldn’t believe it. This was my first year applying! Now the work began.
After about a week of telling all my buddies the news and them talking about how lucky I was, I began to get serious and started researching the area, calling biologists and other hunters to find out as much as I could about hunting goats and what to expect. My tag was drawn for the famous Crazy Mountain Range unit. By the end of August, I had my game plan laid out and had every peak in the range memorized. I was ready to get after it!
My good friend, Mike, had told me before I was successful in the draw that if I indeed did get lucky he would go along on the hunt. I then called a filming acquaintance I thought might be interested. He didn’t even hesitate; he was in. Now I just had to talk my number one hunting partner, my then girlfriend and now wife, Jess, into overcoming her fear of heights to complete the crew. Jess agreed and was adamant about being there by my side for my dream hunt of- a-lifetime. The three months of waiting for my trip to begin were excruciating.
When the day finally came, I was more than prepared and ready to get going. We loaded up the truck and were off to Montana. It was about a 12-hour drive, so it took most of the day to get to our trailhead. As we pulled into camp, I stopped the truck on the road and glassed up a huge, rocky slope. There were little specks of snow towards the top, and I was moving from snow patch to snow patch, hoping one of them was a goat. In the back of my mind, I knew I was wasting my time. Just as I had that thought, one of the snow piles moved!
My hunting companions did not believe me as I was looking some 4,000 feet above me, and they had to have a look for themselves. An hour later, after all of us had broken out our spotting scopes and picked the snow pile apart, not only was it a mountain goat, but it was a mature billy that we agreed was big enough to go after. I had planned on a two-week trip and a three or four-mile hike back into the heart of the Crazies, but with what appeared to be a shooter just above camp, we quickly changed the plan.
We set up camp and unloaded our packs down to just a day’s worth of supplies. We were going to get a bead on the goat in the morning and then start our trek up the mountain. At first light, the billy had moved down the slope about 1,000 feet. We also found three nanny goats with their three kids on the same mountain, so we had to keep them in mind as we worked our way towards the top. It took us five and a half hours to make our way up through the timber and onto the grassy ridge where we had last spotted the goat.
The terrain was very steep, and as we got higher, the air got thinner and we could only walk a short distance before having to stop and rest. Once we reached about 9,000 feet, it was time to start searching out my goat. My cameraman and I were the only two who were going to work off the ridge in search of the goat so that we would not accidently spook him. We figured the best game plan was to work across the slope about mid-range. That way, if the goat was above us or below us I would be close enough for a shot. We hadn’t snuck 100 yards before we found him. He was bedded above us about 250 yards. I knew we were going to have to back out and get around more even with him on the slope to get a good shot. He was looking right at me when we first saw him, so I was a little worried he would move as we made our way closer to him. Luckily, he didn’t and was still lying in the same spot.
I was able to crawl within 90 yards of him. My heart was pounding like never before. My dream was well within range, and now all I had to do was make the shot. Making that shot was harder than expected as I was on a 60-degree angle with only one knee securely on the ground and an elbow set on a jagged rock. With my heart pounding, my adrenaline racing, and my mind trying to make sense of it all, it was time to pull the trigger. My cameraman was in position and gave me the go ahead to make the shot. As I tried to steady, I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet rang true, but the big billy was still on his feet. The one piece of advice I received from everyone about mountain goat hunting was to keep shooting until he was down. I put two more rounds in him as he went running across the rocky terrain on the ridge across from me. After that third shot, he finally dropped and stuck on the back of a big rock. I had heard horror stories of these goats tumbling to the bottom of the mountain after you shoot them due to the slopes being so steep. After he lay there for about five seconds, he gave one last little kick and that was all it took to send him straight down. He rolled about 150 yards before finally coming to rest on a rock pile below. Luckily, it was a slow roll, which didn’t bang him up at all.
It was 1:30 p.m. on the first day of my dream hunt, and I had my goat. We made our way down to the big fella, and I had such a rush of emotion and personal pride that it was hard to gather myself. He measured out at 8 1/2" with 5 1/2" bases. He was everything I had hoped for and more. After getting him caped out and quartering him, we headed down the treacherous rockslides below us for the next 1,500 feet. After that, it was downed timber the rest of the way. Jess and I finally reached camp at dark with our feet so torn up we could hardly walk. The climb down was way worse than the climb up. After a full day of walking on the sides of our feet, they had finally given up. We were all ready for a good night’s sleep.
My dream of hunting and successfully harvesting a mountain goat had come true. I had applied my first year, drawn the tag, hunted my first day, killed my goat, and caught the whole thing on film. I even had my future wife, Jess, by my side for the whole experience. Thank the Lord for the Huntin’ Fool organization! If it weren’t for me reading, for the first time mind you, my first issue of their magazine, this hunt would never have happened. I think it’s quite safe to say that I truly am the luckiest man alive!
More Info: Montana Mountain Goat
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