I had some fun this weekend!
It started out on an innocent Friday, with a pleasant walk through the A-B:
Everything was very nice, and then for some crazy reason I decided to diverge from the trail, what was I thinking! In hindsight, trails are nicer for walking than not trails, I would stick to the trails if I was you.
Anyways, after walking not on the trail for a while, I saw this small creature:
Miller tells me it's a long tailed weasel, which sounded to me like a Rancid Crabtree name if I've ever heard one. I didn't mention this to him though, because I am polite and have good manners.
From the spot with the weasel not on the trail, I saw a couple mountain goats, which I had a tag for! They were even further not on the trail! I started walking towards them anyways, because I am not smart. I got to the base of the mountain the goats were on, and I saw this goat at the bottom instead of the top:
He was a billy goat for sure, but I didn't shoot him, because he was at the bottom and it would have been smart to do so, and I am not smart. So instead I walked to the top of the ridge to look for a goat there, cause I had seen one earlier and I heard the goats at the top of the mountain are better, because they are at the top. This is not true, but I didn't know that so I kept walking.
I got to the top, and I could see a lot of country and a lot of goats, but not the goats I had seen when I started up the mountain. Rats!
It was getting dark, so I picked the levelest spot I could find and laid down under the delusion I could sleep there. Just cause it's the levelest spot you can find doesn't mean you can sleep there, turns out, but you can try!
During a nice night of not sleeping, I thought about how I probably didn't want to walk to where the goats I saw on the top of the mountain were, and how if I did walk there and shoot one, that it would probably come to rest not less than 2000 feet below where I shot it. By the time I walked down to it I would probably be bored and not care about goat hunting anymore, which would be a shame.
Once it finally got light again, I got up and began to look for goats in spots I thought would only end in one of our deaths.
Spotting a goat took about 12 seconds, because they are bright white and basically glow, and there are dozens of them in this basin.
After the we both had breakfast, I noticed this one.
I though I might like to shoot him and take him home. Since I had a tag it was legal and everything.
So I did. Then I realized I had to go get him! Turns out it was unpleasant getting down to him from where I was.
I did anyway though, cause I was not yet bored. My lack of boredom paid off, and I caught up with the dead goat and was able to take my picture with him.
Since I wanted to take this goat home, and he was now dead and couldn't walk, I cut him up and put him in my backpack.
This was great! The less great part came when I had to put the backpack on and carry it out the way I came. I had heard of type 2 fun, but up until then I thought it was just a silly prank the big kids would play on us youngsters. Turns out its real! There were many times I decided to quit, but each time I'd realize that it wouldn't help any, so I'd keep going. After a while, it felt like I was in a children's poem about hunting, but the kids in the poem I knew were hunting bears, not goats. They must have been mistaken.
After a while, despite all the wanting to quit, type 2 fun, and poems, I got to the truck anyway.
I like the truck.
It started out on an innocent Friday, with a pleasant walk through the A-B:
Everything was very nice, and then for some crazy reason I decided to diverge from the trail, what was I thinking! In hindsight, trails are nicer for walking than not trails, I would stick to the trails if I was you.
Anyways, after walking not on the trail for a while, I saw this small creature:
Miller tells me it's a long tailed weasel, which sounded to me like a Rancid Crabtree name if I've ever heard one. I didn't mention this to him though, because I am polite and have good manners.
From the spot with the weasel not on the trail, I saw a couple mountain goats, which I had a tag for! They were even further not on the trail! I started walking towards them anyways, because I am not smart. I got to the base of the mountain the goats were on, and I saw this goat at the bottom instead of the top:
He was a billy goat for sure, but I didn't shoot him, because he was at the bottom and it would have been smart to do so, and I am not smart. So instead I walked to the top of the ridge to look for a goat there, cause I had seen one earlier and I heard the goats at the top of the mountain are better, because they are at the top. This is not true, but I didn't know that so I kept walking.
I got to the top, and I could see a lot of country and a lot of goats, but not the goats I had seen when I started up the mountain. Rats!
It was getting dark, so I picked the levelest spot I could find and laid down under the delusion I could sleep there. Just cause it's the levelest spot you can find doesn't mean you can sleep there, turns out, but you can try!
During a nice night of not sleeping, I thought about how I probably didn't want to walk to where the goats I saw on the top of the mountain were, and how if I did walk there and shoot one, that it would probably come to rest not less than 2000 feet below where I shot it. By the time I walked down to it I would probably be bored and not care about goat hunting anymore, which would be a shame.
Once it finally got light again, I got up and began to look for goats in spots I thought would only end in one of our deaths.
Spotting a goat took about 12 seconds, because they are bright white and basically glow, and there are dozens of them in this basin.
After the we both had breakfast, I noticed this one.
I though I might like to shoot him and take him home. Since I had a tag it was legal and everything.
So I did. Then I realized I had to go get him! Turns out it was unpleasant getting down to him from where I was.
I did anyway though, cause I was not yet bored. My lack of boredom paid off, and I caught up with the dead goat and was able to take my picture with him.
Since I wanted to take this goat home, and he was now dead and couldn't walk, I cut him up and put him in my backpack.
This was great! The less great part came when I had to put the backpack on and carry it out the way I came. I had heard of type 2 fun, but up until then I thought it was just a silly prank the big kids would play on us youngsters. Turns out its real! There were many times I decided to quit, but each time I'd realize that it wouldn't help any, so I'd keep going. After a while, it felt like I was in a children's poem about hunting, but the kids in the poem I knew were hunting bears, not goats. They must have been mistaken.
After a while, despite all the wanting to quit, type 2 fun, and poems, I got to the truck anyway.
I like the truck.
