Riverbottom
Member
I had promised to share a story and pictures back in June. Thanks to all who helped. By the way, I didn’t shoot a ‘shaved sheep dog’.
Big Sky Billies and Blunders
I often wonder how I would respond to certain situations. The end of this mountain goat hunt would be no different. After numerous years of applying, I had finally drawn a mountain goat tag in my home state of Montana. My applications have always been in Northwest Montana, my home area. As the tags have been dwindling in recent years, I decided to apply for hunting district 323. The next two months were spent e-scouting and shooting my bow. Early August found myself, and buddy, hiking into the Absaroka Beartooth wilderness- legs fresh and hearts full of anticipation.
After an 8 1/2 mile hike, we found ourselves alone and surrounded within a massive bowl. While setting up camp, we spotted beasts the color of winter tucked within the steep and rugged landscape. After a short and steep hike to the crest, I was within 100 yards of four goats. While studying the goats, there was movement to my right. A young Billy was climbing straight towards me. He walked less than 5 yards in front of me and left me smiling and bewildered. Lying in the tent that night and staring at the stars, I knew this was going to be an adventure of a lifetime. We ended up glassing 57 goats on our weekend trip.
Usually, the third weekend of September would have me chasing screaming bulls, but we made our first trip into goat camp. The first morning, bow in hand, we climbed to the same crest where the goats had previously been. At daylight, we spotted many goats and planned stalking routes. Due to high winds and uncooperative goats, we were unable to close a distance for a shot. There were many goats spotted with no approachable access. The last day of the hunt, we hiked into a new drainage and immediately spotted 13 goats with two good billies. We made a long stock, only to find the goats had left before we were in position. We found the goats making their way around the talus and scree. We ended up seeing over 100 goats, however time ran out on this hunt. Two weeks later we would be back.
Prior to our next trip, an early winter storm hit the mountains, making access difficult. We spent an entire week hunting the north side of the mountains in snow. We had no way to reach the south side of the mountains, where we finally figured the goats had disappeared. We never laid eyes on one goat. Dejected, we made the 6 hour drive home, again, empty-handed. With winter fast approaching and more snow in the forecast, I figured that was my last chance to fill this once-in-a-lifetime tag.
After much thought and encouragement from my hunting partner and family, one last trip was planned. We gathered winter gear to include snowshoes, crampons, and ice axes.
With deep white smothering the mountains, we knew we were in for a challenge. It took us nine hours to hike in 6 miles. With the sun setting in temperatures dropping, we dug out a spot for the tent and made camp. We lit a fire in the stove and while eating dinner discussed the fact that neither of us had winter camped in the wilderness previously. Waking up to frost on the tent and snow on our gear, we slowly gathered supplies for the day. We continued our journey up the mountain towards the pass. Even with snow shoes, some areas we sunk to our waists. We almost turned around three times. After an apprehensive and successful climb to the pass, we were amazed that the trail marker sign was barely visible in the deep snow. We were standing on a pass that held over 5 feet of snow. We began glassing the open hillsides. I decided to walk around a ledge to get a better look at a windswept mountainside. As I raised the binoculars to my eyes, I immediately spotted four goats. With excitement, I ran back to get the gun. We quickly and methodically weaved through alpine fir and rocks to get a better look at the goats. We belly crawled to a small rock ledge and peeked over. The hillside was full of goats. At the base of the hillside, and a small flat, there was a long-haired beast standing broadside. As I chambered a round and placed the scope on the goat, the winds picked up and blew snow into our faces. I wiped my face and the scope and quickly set back up. Once again, high winds blew into my face and the scope. As with the entire season, the mountain was not easily going to give up a goat. I settled in on the front shoulder and pulled the trigger. The goat immediately raised up on its hind legs and lurched forward, running out of sight. I knew it was a good hit, but he was heading toward cliffs. Running in the direction of the goat, many emotions filled my head. My buddy yelled out a “wahoo” and he ran to give me a big hug. I could not of been happier and truthfully more relieved. I spent the next hour skinning the hide and deboning the meat. By the time this was finished, the winds had picked up and we were in a blizzard. We slowly started to make the trek back to camp. The tracks we made up the mountain had already been filled in with falling and blowing snow. Each step was difficult.
With about a half mile to go back to camp, I started to cross a frozen and exposed hillside. On my third step, my left snowshoe slipped out from underneath me, quickly followed by the right. I was on my back and picking up speed. I was heading straight for a large rock and reaching out with my right arm trying to arrest my fall and felt a deep burning in the biceps. I hit the rock feet first and did a flip again landing on my back. I immediately saw the cliff below and knew I was in big trouble. I made my body go limp as I approached the cliff. I remember looking up at the sky with snow falling on my face. Apparently, I did a cart wheel and a flip. When I landed, there was a loud crack and then I skidded to a stop. I laid there for a second before realizing I was still alive. I moved both legs without pain as well as my right arm. I was unable to move my left arm and I knew it was either fractured, dislocated, or both. I yelled back to Chris letting them know I was OK. I looked up at the cliff and at the base was the .300 win mag bent at a 90° angle. I stood up and started to hike up to the gun, but had to stop due to excruciating pain in the left shoulder. As my buddy made the slow and torturous trek down towards me, I stood there trying to figure out the extent of my injury. When he reached me, I instructed him to pull downward traction as hard as he could on my arm and then start walking away from me. I could feel my shoulder relocating, but it would not go back into socket. On the second try, I felt a loud pop and had immediate relief of pain. It was dark by this time and we still had to get back to camp. We reached camp under the guidance of headlamps and the temperatures were quickly dropping. We had trouble starting a fire and getting warm. I was still unable to use my left arm due to pain and my right forearm began spasming. I laid down and tried to wrap the sleeping bag around me as best as I could. I did not sleep a wink that night and made a fire every two hours until daylight. Chris put my boots and snow shoes on. We got the backpack on and made a sling for my arm with an NRS strap. We hiked back down the snow covered mountains towards the trailhead. At 3 miles, we had a sled hidden for our gear. I hiked out the last 3 miles with the meat, while Chris headed back to camp. He tore down and packed up camp it again slide back down the mountain. I hiked back in and we met at the 3 mile mark. We hiked the last 3 miles together under the setting sun with him pulling the sled and me guiding it from behind. We were both exhausted and I’m sure somewhat stunned. We had a congratulatory, yet subdued dinner and beers reliving our fortunes and my miss-fortune. The next day, while checking my backpack, everything besides the meat was either dented or broken. Had the meat and gear not been in my backpack, I likely would’ve broken my back. The next day, I went into work for x-rays of the left shoulder. I had a small fracture over the distal glenoid and the superior humerus. MRI revealed a large rotator cuff tear and labrum tear. MRI of the right arm revealed a full distal biceps tendon rupture. The next week I had the biceps tendon repaired followed by the left shoulder surgery two weeks later to repair the rotator cuff and labrum. Since the hunt, I have had many people ask me if it was worth it. I smile back and tell them that the pain and injuries are temporary, but the goat and memories will last a lifetime.
Big Sky Billies and Blunders
I often wonder how I would respond to certain situations. The end of this mountain goat hunt would be no different. After numerous years of applying, I had finally drawn a mountain goat tag in my home state of Montana. My applications have always been in Northwest Montana, my home area. As the tags have been dwindling in recent years, I decided to apply for hunting district 323. The next two months were spent e-scouting and shooting my bow. Early August found myself, and buddy, hiking into the Absaroka Beartooth wilderness- legs fresh and hearts full of anticipation.
After an 8 1/2 mile hike, we found ourselves alone and surrounded within a massive bowl. While setting up camp, we spotted beasts the color of winter tucked within the steep and rugged landscape. After a short and steep hike to the crest, I was within 100 yards of four goats. While studying the goats, there was movement to my right. A young Billy was climbing straight towards me. He walked less than 5 yards in front of me and left me smiling and bewildered. Lying in the tent that night and staring at the stars, I knew this was going to be an adventure of a lifetime. We ended up glassing 57 goats on our weekend trip.
Usually, the third weekend of September would have me chasing screaming bulls, but we made our first trip into goat camp. The first morning, bow in hand, we climbed to the same crest where the goats had previously been. At daylight, we spotted many goats and planned stalking routes. Due to high winds and uncooperative goats, we were unable to close a distance for a shot. There were many goats spotted with no approachable access. The last day of the hunt, we hiked into a new drainage and immediately spotted 13 goats with two good billies. We made a long stock, only to find the goats had left before we were in position. We found the goats making their way around the talus and scree. We ended up seeing over 100 goats, however time ran out on this hunt. Two weeks later we would be back.
Prior to our next trip, an early winter storm hit the mountains, making access difficult. We spent an entire week hunting the north side of the mountains in snow. We had no way to reach the south side of the mountains, where we finally figured the goats had disappeared. We never laid eyes on one goat. Dejected, we made the 6 hour drive home, again, empty-handed. With winter fast approaching and more snow in the forecast, I figured that was my last chance to fill this once-in-a-lifetime tag.
After much thought and encouragement from my hunting partner and family, one last trip was planned. We gathered winter gear to include snowshoes, crampons, and ice axes.
With deep white smothering the mountains, we knew we were in for a challenge. It took us nine hours to hike in 6 miles. With the sun setting in temperatures dropping, we dug out a spot for the tent and made camp. We lit a fire in the stove and while eating dinner discussed the fact that neither of us had winter camped in the wilderness previously. Waking up to frost on the tent and snow on our gear, we slowly gathered supplies for the day. We continued our journey up the mountain towards the pass. Even with snow shoes, some areas we sunk to our waists. We almost turned around three times. After an apprehensive and successful climb to the pass, we were amazed that the trail marker sign was barely visible in the deep snow. We were standing on a pass that held over 5 feet of snow. We began glassing the open hillsides. I decided to walk around a ledge to get a better look at a windswept mountainside. As I raised the binoculars to my eyes, I immediately spotted four goats. With excitement, I ran back to get the gun. We quickly and methodically weaved through alpine fir and rocks to get a better look at the goats. We belly crawled to a small rock ledge and peeked over. The hillside was full of goats. At the base of the hillside, and a small flat, there was a long-haired beast standing broadside. As I chambered a round and placed the scope on the goat, the winds picked up and blew snow into our faces. I wiped my face and the scope and quickly set back up. Once again, high winds blew into my face and the scope. As with the entire season, the mountain was not easily going to give up a goat. I settled in on the front shoulder and pulled the trigger. The goat immediately raised up on its hind legs and lurched forward, running out of sight. I knew it was a good hit, but he was heading toward cliffs. Running in the direction of the goat, many emotions filled my head. My buddy yelled out a “wahoo” and he ran to give me a big hug. I could not of been happier and truthfully more relieved. I spent the next hour skinning the hide and deboning the meat. By the time this was finished, the winds had picked up and we were in a blizzard. We slowly started to make the trek back to camp. The tracks we made up the mountain had already been filled in with falling and blowing snow. Each step was difficult.
With about a half mile to go back to camp, I started to cross a frozen and exposed hillside. On my third step, my left snowshoe slipped out from underneath me, quickly followed by the right. I was on my back and picking up speed. I was heading straight for a large rock and reaching out with my right arm trying to arrest my fall and felt a deep burning in the biceps. I hit the rock feet first and did a flip again landing on my back. I immediately saw the cliff below and knew I was in big trouble. I made my body go limp as I approached the cliff. I remember looking up at the sky with snow falling on my face. Apparently, I did a cart wheel and a flip. When I landed, there was a loud crack and then I skidded to a stop. I laid there for a second before realizing I was still alive. I moved both legs without pain as well as my right arm. I was unable to move my left arm and I knew it was either fractured, dislocated, or both. I yelled back to Chris letting them know I was OK. I looked up at the cliff and at the base was the .300 win mag bent at a 90° angle. I stood up and started to hike up to the gun, but had to stop due to excruciating pain in the left shoulder. As my buddy made the slow and torturous trek down towards me, I stood there trying to figure out the extent of my injury. When he reached me, I instructed him to pull downward traction as hard as he could on my arm and then start walking away from me. I could feel my shoulder relocating, but it would not go back into socket. On the second try, I felt a loud pop and had immediate relief of pain. It was dark by this time and we still had to get back to camp. We reached camp under the guidance of headlamps and the temperatures were quickly dropping. We had trouble starting a fire and getting warm. I was still unable to use my left arm due to pain and my right forearm began spasming. I laid down and tried to wrap the sleeping bag around me as best as I could. I did not sleep a wink that night and made a fire every two hours until daylight. Chris put my boots and snow shoes on. We got the backpack on and made a sling for my arm with an NRS strap. We hiked back down the snow covered mountains towards the trailhead. At 3 miles, we had a sled hidden for our gear. I hiked out the last 3 miles with the meat, while Chris headed back to camp. He tore down and packed up camp it again slide back down the mountain. I hiked back in and we met at the 3 mile mark. We hiked the last 3 miles together under the setting sun with him pulling the sled and me guiding it from behind. We were both exhausted and I’m sure somewhat stunned. We had a congratulatory, yet subdued dinner and beers reliving our fortunes and my miss-fortune. The next day, while checking my backpack, everything besides the meat was either dented or broken. Had the meat and gear not been in my backpack, I likely would’ve broken my back. The next day, I went into work for x-rays of the left shoulder. I had a small fracture over the distal glenoid and the superior humerus. MRI revealed a large rotator cuff tear and labrum tear. MRI of the right arm revealed a full distal biceps tendon rupture. The next week I had the biceps tendon repaired followed by the left shoulder surgery two weeks later to repair the rotator cuff and labrum. Since the hunt, I have had many people ask me if it was worth it. I smile back and tell them that the pain and injuries are temporary, but the goat and memories will last a lifetime.
