Word on the street was that Limited Entry Hunting results had been announced. The problem was that I was at work. Argh! Driving to work, actually. I told myself that I probably wouldn't get anything anyways, so I could check my results once I got to work. This thought lasted for about a new york minute, and I promptly pulled my work van off to the side of the highway and put my hazard lights on. This would only take a minute. After opening up the draw results, the word successful was in one of the columns! Awesome! Was it the 1000:1 sheep? The horrible odds Rosevelt elk? No; it was beside mountain goat. At first, the endorphins boosted my mood; until I remembered which zone I had applied to. The joy gave way to pause. Then fear and finally, dread. I remember that area. The same coastal mountains that I promised myself back in 2009 to never again set foot in. Argh.
Later on that morning, I got a call from my brother in law Markus. We chat a bit and then talk about the draw results. He sounded pretty excited, as him and his son Noah had both applied with me in a group draw for goat. I tell him that honestly, I wished that I had not applied. He thought that I was kidding. I was not. This is the place from which the mountains take their pound of flesh. All who venture there come back changed. Some don't come back at all. I shiver at the memories from 15+ years ago. Not going was not an option...
We found ourselves driving up to the central coast in early November. The drive was uneventful, with the exception of the snow and ice on the road. We made it to the trailhead by nightfall and decided to sleep one last night in the van. At least we would be dry for a few more hours. The night passed by fast and the morning light filtered into the front window of the van. It was go time. We had our bags packed fairly quickly, as we were going to go into the mountains for one night. This would be the scouting mission and hopefully find a target goat. Then, we would come back, regroup, and prepare for the kill and the subsequent recovery. We hit the trail with 2 days of food. Up we went, following an old mining trail used by the gold rush. We are soaked to the bone in the first 15 minutes. Another memory floods in. The bone chilling coastal cold that comes with wet clothes. There is nothing that can be done. Either the wet comes in, or the clothes keep the wet out, but the sweat stays in. Either way, it sucks. Morale takes another drop. We fight the old trail until it breaks out into another old trail. This time a bit bigger. It's a really old logging road. We follow it for quite a while. Everything seems further to me than it did all those years ago. We needed to cross a stream, which was close to the highway. At least that is what I recalled. In actual fact, the stream was a raging river and the short hike was closer to 5 km. By the time we got to the river, I was exhausted. My partners were all smiles though. I needed to channel their ignorance. Decision time. Crocs or bridge? I chose crocs through the river. They did not.
On the other side, the old road carried on. Very dense vegetation seemed to crowd out the road to a trail. The devils club was everywhere. The forest floor had deadfall covering our trail from time to time. Within 5 years, this trail will be all but gone. Gobbled up by the mountain and it's forest. The ever advancing tide of nature. For now, our window of opportunity still exists. We make the most of it. We push further. Perhaps another 5 km onward. With the remaining light left in this first day, we set up our tents and comb the mountainsides visible to us from below. Goats are abundant here. They always were. Inhospitable is where the goats are made. As the light fails, we have seen 4 goats. I crawl into my sleeping bag and try to regain warmth into my bones. My tent is dry; the weather broke just enough to set up our camp. A small victory. As I go to sleep, I think that maybe, just maybe, we will have an easy goat hunt. One with mild weather. A few hours later, I hear the snow swishing on my tent... Argh.
We wake up and the storm has subsided. The hillsides are now covered in more snow than before. Any climbing will be more treacherous than before. And there's fog....
As I watch these noble creatures, I am awe-struck at their design. Large animals with tiny legs. Hairy as a muskox. Long and more verticle than wide. They were built to climb and they were built to stay warm. Me, on the other hand, was not!
We continue on with our hike up valley. However, we leave our tents and our sleeping bags behind. The plan was to hike a few more miles and then turn back and head down valley to regroup. Maybe stay one more night in the tent. Hopefully find some mature Billies. We carry on up valley. We hike all morning, finding some good glassing spots along the way. We have seen another 8 goats. All young or female. Lots of billies to nannies ratio, as the rut is in full swing. We were just getting to the point where we were going to turn around and start heading back down valley. We rounded a corner and found an old cabin along the route. What luck, as I didn't know if I could take the wet and the cold much longer.
We make a fire and dry out. A few hours later, it was time to leave, if we were to make it back to our tents tonight. As we were closing the door to the cabin, Markus found some goats up high. These goats finally looked accessible. I give them the go ahead to run up the mountain and I inform them that I would stay behind and keep the cabin warm. We would need to spend the night here, inside. They agree and took off up the mountain.
There is an eerie side to being left alone in the wilderness. The quiet thoughts in your head grow legs and a voice. The swishing of the trees and the dripping of the creek water all have a way of gnawing at the part of our imagination best left on mute. The darkness grows and the haunting closes in. I stoke the fire. The presence of light and the companionship of heat drives the dark thoughts away. My partners return. Good news. The route up is good and the goats are still there. We will approach them in the morning.
Day 3 of a 2 day trip starts out perfect. The nights' wind had dried the branches of their moisture and the approach to the goats was excellent. 3 hours in the trees. Old growth trees. So beautiful, but very very steep. As we break out of the trees, Noah spots the goats. They are about 300 yards across the canyon from us, but on our level.
What was two goats has now become 3. Two billies and a nanny. The billies are young, but their genetics are amazing. The nanny has really long horns as well. We watch them for a long time. The decision was made to stay up here and glass all day. We were in goats. We could see across the rockslides to other goats beyond. We were going to find a target goat from here and then make our plan.
We stay here for over four hours. Glassing at least another 12 goats. One really big dirty pig about 3 kms away. He was amazing; he would do. As we were discussing what to do next, I look back to the 3 goats bedded across from us and I count a fourth. Guys, there's another one right here! We scramble for our optics and all I hear from Markus is OOOOOOOOOOOHHHH. That's a GOOOOAAAAATTTT!!!!
A big white gorilla was making his way through the cliffs and coming to check on the nanny. All three of them freeze. They all look at him and you could cut the tension with a knife. Daddy was home and it was time to hand out the discipline! Noah looks at me and says, Uncle Ronny, shoot that goat!
I'm so used to others shooting, he needed to tell me twice. I nod and grab my gun and click in my spartan bipod. I settle in and look at Markus and ask, "can we recover him?" I think so, he says. I look up and see him on the spine of the hogback facing us. I'll break him down and he will come down to us, is my thought. I hold the crosshairs on him for quite some time, and squeeze off the first shot. He dances in place as the bullet hit him in the brisket and runs him through.
Why is he still standing?! I reload and aim on him again. He starts heading uphill and I shoot again. He absorbs that shot and I hold my breath. He turns the wrong way and goes behind some slide alder and collapses. ARGH!!!!
We take inventory and make a game plan. It is now 2:30 pm on day 3 of a 2 day hunt. We are running on fumes with food. We have a dead goat in a really nasty spot. Our tents are 3 km down in the wrong direction. Our climbing ropes are 15 km away. The light is fading fast. And we need to know how to get to our goat.
I walk a bit out of the forest that we've been hiding in and the mountain opens up before me. There is no way to go up and around. There is no way to go at him from our bench. There is no way of going all the way down and then all the way back up on the far side and come to him. The only aproach that we "might" have is scaling the cliffs from below. I shudder from the thought. I hate cliffs. I hate steeps. I hate slippery snow. I hate wet tussock grasses. Most of all, I hate leaving a dead goat behind. I nod to my partners but utter not a word. I am ready to cry.... We go down the mountain, sleep in our sleeping bags. We need a good nights rest for what was to come. I finally drift off to a fitful sleep.
I wake up and think that all of this was just a nightmare. Noah greets me with a smile and I know that it is real. It's time. It's time for my butt to cash the cheque that my gun had written. We pack light, only bringing one gun, in case we see another shooter as we go up. We start the climb up the creek to the rockface. The bottom is actually quite pleasant. The wall and the crack was yet to come.
The higher we get, the steeper it gets. I lock up a few times with fear. I talk myself down. I don't allow myself to look down, not ever. We need to recover this goat. My partners are amazing. I would not have it in me to do this again. I climb on. We get to just below the car sized boulder in the crack of the mountain. This is where I can not go any further. The rock face in front of me is 15 feet high. To the left of me, the mountain is a solid wall. To the right of me, there is a solid wall of rock as well. And behind me, is a 6 foot ledge that I had just scaled. I am now as high as I can go. I look up, and I can see the slide alder that my goat fell behind, a mere 120 yards away. I turn around to Markus and Noah. Markus knows what fear is in my eyes. He can sense it. He puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me that he will go lower the goat to me once he scales this face. Without hesitation, he does just that. He disappears behind the big rock and we are left alone with our thoughts. 5 minutes goes by. Then 10. Then 20. What could be taking Markus so long? 30. Then 45. Around that time, both Noah and I think we hear something.
A voice calling out from far away. It sounds like Markus. But the noise from the waterfall and the angle of the rock make it near impossible to hear what he is shouting. Is he stuck? Did he get hurt. I think I hear him say "Goats on the right". We discuss this. Which right? More goats? Is Noah supposed to shoot a goat on the right? Then again we hear Markus shouting. For a few minutes, we discuss what he might be saying. Then, I repeat, Goat is still alive... We look at eachother in astonishment! The GOAT IS STILL ALIVE?! What?!
Noah grabs the gun and scales the 15' cliff. He barely clears the big rock and I hear the BOOOOOMMMM!!!! Awesome! He finished the job. Then I hear more shouting and a rumble coming up from the belly of the mountain.
Noah yells, "Look out Uncle Ronny! The goat is coming down at you!" I hear the crashing and the smashing and the sound of an avalanche of rocks behind him. The goat was 100 yards uphill of Noah. He dropped him and the goat started building up speed in the valley of the rock. Noah sidestepped the passing goat by 3 feet as the goat built up speed.
I can't see anything. I just hear what is about to happen. I tuck myself small as I can against the waterfall and the left side of the mountain. I look up and just then see a huge ball of white come flying past the big rock, smash the right side of the wall and bounce towards me and miss my crouching back by inches. He hits the rock behind me, bounces back to the right side, bounces back to the left side and is gone. 250 meters he went in less than 3 seconds. "That was so cool" I think as I look down the mountain where the goat nearly killed me. That's when the first of the rocks hit me. The first one struck me right on the top of the head. I tuck back into the rock and squeeze my eyes shut and put both arms over my head for protection. The avalanche hits. I feel 5 distinct hard hits among many little hits. I'm in the avalanche for 5-7 seconds. As quick as it came, it was over. I slowly stand up and hear Noah call out, "are you ok uncle Ronny"? All I could do was shout OUCH!!!
I took inventory. My head had a goose egg and felt hot to the touch. Both of my wrists felt weak but not broken. I pull up my sleeves and see the damage to my wrists and arms and right leg. Superficial wounds at best! WOW! I SURVIVED!!! And I began to shake. I could not stop. It lasted for 15 minutes. I'm alive. This rock above me that is TOTALLY out of place saved my life by re-directing the goat and the avalanche. That rock was placed there for this purpose. I am humbled by my worth to my God.
Noah and Markus come down to me and we talk about what just happened. We all had front row seats to the most amazing series of events we have ever been a part of. We take a moment collectively to thank God for keeping us from harm. We also thank him for the recovery that will be so much easier with the goat 500 meters down the mountain. And we desend. Slowly and methodically. It takes us about 30 minutes to get out of the cliffs and into the lower scree that is holding our prize. Relief sets in once we see the ball of dirt laying close to the creek below.
We clean him up a bit and take some good pictures.
We break him down and get to the cabin by nightfall. Day four of a 2 day trip was almost in the books. It was time to eat!!! I was starving. Exhausted physically. Exhausted mentally. Possibly a bit of PTSD. We grill up the tenderloins and set up the camera. I thought that it would be a good idea of doing a post mortem to this day on video. We could tell the story in our words fresh and full of detail so that the little things are not forgotten. What a magical idea. After dinner we went to sleep. 4am is when I finally got some shut eye. Way too wired. Way too tired.
The next day we packed up and got to the van. Over 8 hours of hiking. I weighed my pack and it was 120 lbs exactly. Normally the weight doesn't get to me, but this time it did. The cold rain soaked every inch of my body. The fatique of 5 days with little to no food took it's toll. We arrived to town and had dinner with a really good friend. He is one of the foremost goat hunters anyone will know. He aged him at 10 years old. I green scored him at home at 49 7/8 gross. I still can't believe he did not break a horn off!
And that, my friends, is what I call a game of inches. I'm glad to be alive to tell you this tale.
Written by: Ronny Derksen and Noah Friesen (@nf__outdoors)
