In mid-June, my brother excitedly called to inform me that I was selected for a goat tag in my resident state of Washington. After internet scouting and phone calls, the time came for an extended scouting trip. My friend and talented hunter Todd Peyser agreed to join me. After three days of glassing, we managed to see three nannies and one averaged-sized billy.
On September 6th, my cousin and very skilled hunter Nathan Willett joined and I was once again headed back to the wilderness. Near the end of the trip, I spotted what we thought was a huge billy. At the time, I had minimal goat judging experience, but I knew from looking at hunting magazines that he had to be a shooter.
Skip to three weeks later when the official hunt began. “He’s a definite shooter, maybe a state record,” Todd Peyser emphatically stated on the evening of September 30th. Todd had spotted him within 50 yards of where we initially saw the giant almost a month prior. We quickly gathered our packs and tried to get within range of the animal, but arkness fell faster than our legs could travel.
After a restless night, it was finally daylight. Fifteen minutes into glassing, I spotted the big billy. We hastily grabbed our packs and headed out. Sometime around 2:00 that afternoon all that stood between me and my dream goat was 350 yards and a perfect strike from my .257 Weatherby mag. Boom! The roar of my rifle shattered that calm autumn afternoon. “Shoot again,” hissed Todd. The second shot hit him squarely. In horror, I caught glimpses of the goat disappearing down the fall line. We hiked over to look for blood.
Nearly two hours passed carefully examining all the goat tracks in the area, looking for crimson. The terrain where the billy went was a tangled mess of cliffs and steep shoots. This was Snow Gulch. I sobered to the possibility of him dying on a ledge far too dangerous for frail humans to venture. It couldn’t possibly end this way.
As hope was fading, Todd yelled, “I found blood!” After a short discussion, the choice was made to follow the blood as far as we could in terrain that did not exactly resemble “safe.” A half mile of tiny blood droplets later, we decided that unless our wounded prey got sick very quickly, we would have to turn back if we wanted to stay alive. After finessing our way another couple hundred yards, Todd said, “Looks like he’s going to get over into Snow Gulch.” I threw my binoculars up for a closer look. As if God had willed a miracle, there lay the wounded goat 150 yards away behind a thick mess of mossy branches. I was overcome with emotion but had to act fast as complete darkness was minutes away. We decided I had to try to shoot through the thick branches and near vertical terrain. After the shot rang out, it was obvious the goat was hit again. We watched with dread as the goat stood back up and staggered out of eyesight.
It was decided we would be sleeping on the steep hillside. After an eternity, sunlight finally stabbed its way into the darkness. We clawed our way over to where the animal had bedded. “I see a lot of blood!” I joyously said. Seconds later, Todd exclaimed, “I see the goat, and he’s alive!”
Just then, he charged by me five feet away as I raised the gun and shot from the hip. To my consternation, the goat leapt off a 70-foot cliff. We desperately hoped his horns were intact.
After two hours of reconnaissance, I found a way to safely retrieve the goat. There, at the base of a steep waterfall, slept the hardest earned trophy I have ever taken.
In so many ways this hunt and success were a miracle. Shortly before the hunt started, my wife underwent emergency brain surgery to remove a tumor. Her subsequent recovery was a miracle. Being able to take part in the hunt post-surgery was a miracle made possible by help from close family and friends. Recovering the wounded animal horns intact was indeed another gigantic miracle. After the drying period, he officially netted 53" B&C, making him #3 all-time in the state of Washington.
I would like to thank my cousin, Nathan Willett, for his help scouting. Also, a very special thanks to Todd Peyser for his help in making this hunt a success. Thanks to my wife, Beckie, for her prayers and for being amazing! Finally, I want to thank my late grandfather, Farrell Willett, for teaching me to hunt all those years ago. When I notched my goat tag, it was October 2nd, Grandpa’s birthday. Just maybe Grandpa pulled some strings with the Man upstairs to have so many miracles line up in a row.
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