BCHunterFSJ
05-13-2009, 10:59 AM
Goat on a Stick
When we first spotted the mountain goats from the river boat on the Stikine River in northwestern British Columbia, both my son Sacha and I figured it would be a hard day’s hunt, but that we could do it. Boy, how wrong we were!
My friend Hans runs a trap line on the Stikine River, some 150 kilometers from its mouth at the Pacific Ocean. For years he had been telling me how plentiful the goats were, and how easy they were too hunt. All we had to do was ride up and down the Stikine River and its tributary the Chutine in his jet boat, spot a goat we liked, climb the mountain, and shoot it dead. Well Sacha decided he wanted to shoot a goat, so I made plans with Hans to rendez vous in a little town on the Stikine called Telegraph Creek. From here we drove to a place called Glenora where we boarded the powerful boat and headed down river to the cabin. This whole area is very rich in history from the Yukon gold rush days. At one time Glenora had a population of over a thousand people. Today, it is basically a ghost town! We were greeted very enthusiastically at the cabin by Hans’ wife and two young children. The previous year they had spent the entire winter in that cabin. Wow!
The next day we began to hunt, doing some fishing on the side and observing countless seals and bald eagles. Two days later we spotted the three goats, feeding on a high mountainside. They appeared to be billies, so we said adieu to Hans and off we went. He was to pick us up that evening with at least one surefire goat. So confident were we that we packed only minimal provisions. No sleeping bags, only a few chocolate bars for food, and no water...heck, we were bound to find some on the mountain. Right away we knew that we had underestimated this mountain...it was very steep, very high, and very ugly. In most places the only way to make any progress was to pull ourselves up using trees. Thank God for all those weight lifting sessions! There were treacherous rock slides and entire forests composed of plants called devil’s club. And these guys weren’t mere plants... they were the size of small trees, and covered with sharp, vicious spines. By late afternoon, we finally got above treeline and located one of the goats. A long and arduous stalk brought us as close as we could get, some 300 meters. On the steep terrain only a sitting position was possible. Sacha settled in and let fly with the 165 grain .30/06 bullets. Some 7 shots were fired, some misses, some hits, and some I don’t know. I do know that at the last shot the billy collapsed, rolled, and then somersaulted off a cliff into thick "buck brush". Sacha was ecstatic, but I wasn’t, as I knew that there was absolutely no way we would get off that mountain that same day. It took us some two hours to make our way around a steep ravine and finally locate the mountain goat...and it was a beauty. It was getting dark, so we snapped a couple of pictures and field dressed the animal. We were bone tired and hungry, but most of all we were dying of thirst. I told Sacha that like it or not we would have to head downhill to find some water. We followed a small ravine that appeared to have a "dampish" look for some 200 meters when I heard some gurgling under my feet. Water! We collapsed and "camped" right there. We drank copious amounts of water, and for the first time, ate "goat on a stick"; little pieces of goat meat impaled on sticks and burned in a smoky little fire. Yum!
Next morning we climbed back up to the goat and caped it out. At this point we could have back tracked down the mountain by the same route we had taken up. Of course, we elected, instead, to take a "short cut" directly down to the Stikine where Hans would be waiting to pick us up. Naturally it did not happen that way. Many a time in my hunting career I had vowed never again to take a "short cut", and here I was, doing it again. What an idiot! If we had thought that going up the mountain was tough, going down was absolute hell. We kept running into rocky out croppings that we simply could not descend, and had to circumnavigate them over and over again. The seat of my pants was worn right through, and our feet began to blister very badly. We finally encountered some more moderate terrain, and followed an old creek bed surrounded by the biggest cottonwood trees in the world. And, believe it or not, it was getting dark again...we would not make it down to the river! I fired a few signal shots, in the hope that Hans would hear them and not go into panic mode quite yet. We finally stopped in the most miserable swamp I had ever seen. There were swarms of mosquitoes and sand flies. There were grizzly tracks and scat all over, and we were covered in goat blood and had packs with meat and cape. It was not a good situation. After feasting on goat on a stick again, I told Sacha that we would have to take turns sleeping while the other one kept watch. When I looked, however, my 20 year old "boy" was fast asleep already. I wrapped myself into a space blanket and prepared to spend a sleepless night. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep, rolled onto the fire, and the space blanket was in flames!
http://i175.photobucket.com/albums/w130/BCHunter_photos/goat2jpgAjpgB.jpg
Next morning, as soon as it was getting light, we again set off. After several hours of pushing our way through a jungle of willow, alder, and devil’s club, we actually heard the river.
But hearing the river was not being at the river, and it was late afternoon when we broke out onto the banks of the mighty Stikine River. Of course, by this time we were kilometers downstream from where Hans was expecting us. Would he find us? Had he already contacted emergency rescue? Would a helicopter be showing up? There was nothing left to do but start a smoky fire and have, you guessed it, goat on a stick!
A couple of hours later we thought we heard a boat. Many signal shots were fired! And then, lo and behold, there was Hans’ boat and he had spotted us, and we were soon drinking beer. That night Hans’ wife made us a huge, fabulous meal...and it was NOT goat on a stick!
http://i175.photobucket.com/albums/w130/BCHunter_photos/goatjpgAjpgB.jpg
When we first spotted the mountain goats from the river boat on the Stikine River in northwestern British Columbia, both my son Sacha and I figured it would be a hard day’s hunt, but that we could do it. Boy, how wrong we were!
My friend Hans runs a trap line on the Stikine River, some 150 kilometers from its mouth at the Pacific Ocean. For years he had been telling me how plentiful the goats were, and how easy they were too hunt. All we had to do was ride up and down the Stikine River and its tributary the Chutine in his jet boat, spot a goat we liked, climb the mountain, and shoot it dead. Well Sacha decided he wanted to shoot a goat, so I made plans with Hans to rendez vous in a little town on the Stikine called Telegraph Creek. From here we drove to a place called Glenora where we boarded the powerful boat and headed down river to the cabin. This whole area is very rich in history from the Yukon gold rush days. At one time Glenora had a population of over a thousand people. Today, it is basically a ghost town! We were greeted very enthusiastically at the cabin by Hans’ wife and two young children. The previous year they had spent the entire winter in that cabin. Wow!
The next day we began to hunt, doing some fishing on the side and observing countless seals and bald eagles. Two days later we spotted the three goats, feeding on a high mountainside. They appeared to be billies, so we said adieu to Hans and off we went. He was to pick us up that evening with at least one surefire goat. So confident were we that we packed only minimal provisions. No sleeping bags, only a few chocolate bars for food, and no water...heck, we were bound to find some on the mountain. Right away we knew that we had underestimated this mountain...it was very steep, very high, and very ugly. In most places the only way to make any progress was to pull ourselves up using trees. Thank God for all those weight lifting sessions! There were treacherous rock slides and entire forests composed of plants called devil’s club. And these guys weren’t mere plants... they were the size of small trees, and covered with sharp, vicious spines. By late afternoon, we finally got above treeline and located one of the goats. A long and arduous stalk brought us as close as we could get, some 300 meters. On the steep terrain only a sitting position was possible. Sacha settled in and let fly with the 165 grain .30/06 bullets. Some 7 shots were fired, some misses, some hits, and some I don’t know. I do know that at the last shot the billy collapsed, rolled, and then somersaulted off a cliff into thick "buck brush". Sacha was ecstatic, but I wasn’t, as I knew that there was absolutely no way we would get off that mountain that same day. It took us some two hours to make our way around a steep ravine and finally locate the mountain goat...and it was a beauty. It was getting dark, so we snapped a couple of pictures and field dressed the animal. We were bone tired and hungry, but most of all we were dying of thirst. I told Sacha that like it or not we would have to head downhill to find some water. We followed a small ravine that appeared to have a "dampish" look for some 200 meters when I heard some gurgling under my feet. Water! We collapsed and "camped" right there. We drank copious amounts of water, and for the first time, ate "goat on a stick"; little pieces of goat meat impaled on sticks and burned in a smoky little fire. Yum!
Next morning we climbed back up to the goat and caped it out. At this point we could have back tracked down the mountain by the same route we had taken up. Of course, we elected, instead, to take a "short cut" directly down to the Stikine where Hans would be waiting to pick us up. Naturally it did not happen that way. Many a time in my hunting career I had vowed never again to take a "short cut", and here I was, doing it again. What an idiot! If we had thought that going up the mountain was tough, going down was absolute hell. We kept running into rocky out croppings that we simply could not descend, and had to circumnavigate them over and over again. The seat of my pants was worn right through, and our feet began to blister very badly. We finally encountered some more moderate terrain, and followed an old creek bed surrounded by the biggest cottonwood trees in the world. And, believe it or not, it was getting dark again...we would not make it down to the river! I fired a few signal shots, in the hope that Hans would hear them and not go into panic mode quite yet. We finally stopped in the most miserable swamp I had ever seen. There were swarms of mosquitoes and sand flies. There were grizzly tracks and scat all over, and we were covered in goat blood and had packs with meat and cape. It was not a good situation. After feasting on goat on a stick again, I told Sacha that we would have to take turns sleeping while the other one kept watch. When I looked, however, my 20 year old "boy" was fast asleep already. I wrapped myself into a space blanket and prepared to spend a sleepless night. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep, rolled onto the fire, and the space blanket was in flames!
http://i175.photobucket.com/albums/w130/BCHunter_photos/goat2jpgAjpgB.jpg
Next morning, as soon as it was getting light, we again set off. After several hours of pushing our way through a jungle of willow, alder, and devil’s club, we actually heard the river.
But hearing the river was not being at the river, and it was late afternoon when we broke out onto the banks of the mighty Stikine River. Of course, by this time we were kilometers downstream from where Hans was expecting us. Would he find us? Had he already contacted emergency rescue? Would a helicopter be showing up? There was nothing left to do but start a smoky fire and have, you guessed it, goat on a stick!
A couple of hours later we thought we heard a boat. Many signal shots were fired! And then, lo and behold, there was Hans’ boat and he had spotted us, and we were soon drinking beer. That night Hans’ wife made us a huge, fabulous meal...and it was NOT goat on a stick!
http://i175.photobucket.com/albums/w130/BCHunter_photos/goatjpgAjpgB.jpg