The Countdown Of A Lifetime | Utah Mountain Goat Hunting

Story By: Mitchell Pyle

October 17, 2024, started as a normal day. I was headed home for my lunch break when my phone rang: “STATE OF UTAH” flashed across the screen. I figured it was just a post-season survey about my general-season deer or elk hunts.

“Hello, this is Steve with the Utah Division of Wildlife. Am I speaking to Mitchell B. Pyle?”

“Yes,” I replied, expecting the survey questions. But what he said next stopped me in my tracks.

“We are calling to inform you that someone turned in their Beaver archery mountain goat tag, and your name was selected as the alternate. Do you want the tag?”

I laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, this is real,” he replied, “The hunt starts October 29 and goes till November 11. You’ve got one day to think about it—call me back with your decision.”

I hung up, stunned. A once-in-a-lifetime tag—literally. I had never even set foot in the unit. I called my hunting buddies, my wife, and the biologist for the area. I had my doubts: Was I ready? Could I pull this off in just twelve days? But everyone agreed—I’d be crazy to pass this up.

Just hours later, I called Steve back. “I’ll take the tag.”

I prepared as best I could in the days leading up to the hunt. Because of my work schedule and the long drive, it was well after dark by the time I rolled into the unit and arrived at my pin labeled “Camp” on my onX Maps. I unpacked and slept in the shell of my truck that night, tossing and turning as I fought the below-freezing temperatures and thought through the endless possibilities tomorrow could bring. The next morning, after a quick breakfast and a half-dozen shots with my Mathews bow, I confirmed that everything was still ready to hunt. My goal was to drive the roads, get my boots on the ground, and locate several groups of goats so that I had options when everyone else arrived.

I can remember driving up to my first glassing pin and thinking in my head that I may have bitten off more than I could chew. The sheer vastness of these mountains was overwhelming. The subalpine peaks, topping out at a little over 12,000 feet, made me feel very small as I stepped into goat territory. The wind howled with a sharp touch that cut right through me. I pulled out my chair and my optics of choice—the Swarovski BTX 115 as well as the ATX 85—and started to pick apart those enormous mountains.

I looked over spots that piqued my interest first: rock outcroppings; white boulder fields; purple, dirt-covered slopes. Then began the real work—starting at the top right and picking apart the country like you would read a book. No luck, so I began to zoom in and was greeted by a couple of tracks. They led me to a rock outcropping. The grey rocks were a perfect haven, and I immediately spotted a group of goats. Their white coats shimmered in the sun. Most of them were bedded, but there were a couple of billies up above. Marking their location on onX, I felt a sense of relief.

The remainder of my day was spent glassing, driving, hiking, and glassing some more. I was joined by my father later in the afternoon, and by sunset, we had managed to locate two groups. That evening, after cooking dinner, I spent quite some time studying the maps and building routes to see which group would be more feasible to chase. I was eager to get back at it in the morning, but I wanted to check one other spot some of the locals had told me about first. The 3D map of the location piqued my interest, and I had to explore.

After a cold night in the trailer, we drove several miles along snow-dusted roads to the base of the mountain. All I could see were huge rock outcroppings with cliffed-out ledges, perfect for a goat to hide away from weather and predators . . . and humans. We grabbed our chairs and spotting scopes and began glassing every rock and crevasse on the hillside. After quite some time, my father started laughing and stated, “I found them. They are way up high in a great spot for a stalk!”

After carefully studying the goats with our optics, I decided that one of the goats was big enough to need a closer look. In the back of my mind, I had decided that I would try for a billy, but if a mature nanny presented an opportunity, I would not pass. It’s hard enough to harvest any creature with a bow.

The road wrapped around the mountain and up to the top of the plateau. A traverse across the top of the slopes would put me directly above the goats’ last known location. I lightened my pack and left all the spotting equipment back with my father, who would try to spot for me. My phone hadn’t been charging properly since day one, so there would be no way to communicate with my father. He gave me his phone in case I needed to call the others that would be arriving later that day.

My stalk began with several hundred yards of crawling over deadfall and navigating through broken pines. I knew what ridge I had to be on to start my descent. It probably took me at least an hour to cover the last 200 yards or so. Finally, I dropped my pack and nocked an arrow. As I slowly crawled to the ridgeline, I stopped every foot or so to glass with my binos. Much to my surprise, the goats had moved one ridge south. I sat and glassed them for a couple of minutes. They were bedded on a bench. There was a steep, fifty-foot drop below the bench and a steep cliff above them. If I could get to that cliff and peek over, I would be directly above them.

I slipped back behind the ridge to get off the skyline and made a huge loop to get on the next ridge. The last one hundred yards were extremely slow-moving. Judging from onX and the features I had glassed, I knew that just ahead of me was a short climb to the outcropping directly above the goats. I dropped my pack and climbed fifteen feet—I felt like I was back in the rock-climbing gym.

I crept over the top just enough to see with my binos. White, fluffy goats were bedded below me. Line of sight was about 75 yards, but with a 40-degree decline, the shot would only be 40 yards. I began to study each goat. Every once in a while, a kid in the group would stand up and feed for a bit before bedding back down. At one point, there was a kid directly at the base of the rock I was standing on who lay down twenty-five yards below me.

There was one goat I could see peeking through the trees. Every couple of minutes, I could see the head move, and I knew, based on the body and horn size, it was significantly bigger than the nanny who was bedded with two kids at her side. I decided to nock an arrow and wait for that goat to stand. I wanted to see if it was a billy or a nanny, and, if it was a nanny, I wanted to ensure that it did not have kids.

I later learned from my father that I sat on that group for almost two hours. Finally, the goat I was waiting on stood up. It started feeding behind the tree. I ranged the spot the goat would step out into—38 yards with a 42 percent decline. I set my pin right at 40 yards. With my bow at the ready and my release on the D-loop, I continued to watch through my binos. By this time, other goats were starting to get on their feet. I could feel that the moment was about to come and go.

As the goat stepped out into position, I really had to gather my thoughts. Draw, bubble level, pin, pull, pull, pull, pull—the shot broke! The arrow zipped through the goat, and I could hear it clash against the rocks behind. The whole group was on their feet, frozen in time. All eyes and ears were locked on me. I nocked another arrow and released a very rushed second shot. The whole group scattered, but I knew that the goat was fatally injured; it was only a matter of time.

What happened next will always stay engraved in my mind. I have been blessed to have experienced some incredible hunts with both a bow and a rifle, but never have I felt that many emotions pour into my soul. I tried to control them, but I quickly started tearing up.

I waited a couple of minutes before climbing off my rock perch and navigating down to the bedding grounds. I was able to find both my arrows within a few yards of each other, and I could hear movement in the direction the goats had traveled. I knocked a third arrow and slowly worked my way towards the goat. I found it still alive but badly hurt, so I put a third arrow in it. I did not want it to get up and move out of sight or—even worse—jump off a cliff like they are known to do. But as I went back to grab my pack and to try to flag down my father, the goat expired and began tumbling down the fifty-foot cliff below the bedding grounds. All I could hear was loud crashing, and I thought for sure that the horns would be busted up. Luckily, when I got down to it, the horns were intact, and only one had a chip.

Laying my hands on the goat was another experience that I will never forget. An old, mature nanny whose horns measured 9 3/4”. I would later come to find out the nanny was ten years old, which is very mature in goat years.

I decided I needed to start processing the goat. My father was a mile away with no clue of what was going on and no way to communicate with my brother-in-law and father-in-law, who were just arriving at camp. Eventually, I was able to get a hold of Hal and Brandon. I sent them onX pins and warned them about the cliffs. Processing the rest of that goat with some of my greatest friends and family was another moment I will never forget.

The pack out consisted of rock climbing back up and out of the cliffed-out country. During the pack out, I kept realizing that my time to hunt mountain goats had started and ended in twelve days. Never again would I get the opportunity to tag out on one of these amazing creatures in Utah. That is still hard to swallow, but I am grateful for the opportunity I was able to capitalize on. I would love to help anyone with a Utah mountain goat tag chase these animals.

We arrived in camp as the sun was creating an orange and pink sky. We spent the next several hours eating dinner and enjoying each other’s camaraderie. I could have never imagined I would be finishing the 2024 season with a goat in my freezer. Moments like these are truly once in a lifetime. I hope everyone can experience a hunt like that. Thank you to everyone who was involved in the hunt and to my wife, who puts up with my crazy hunting adventures.