I reached into my own pack and pulled out my camera, and fitted on my teleconverter and longest zoom lens.
“Hey,” Jason said to me quietly but sternly, “I said no pictures.”
“I’m just looking through my telephoto lens,” I said. “This is the only way I can see them. I don’t have any binoculars.”
I sat down with my ankles crossed and knees up in the air, making my own tripod, and held my camera up to my eye. It was not the most stable platform, to say the least, but I found the two goats. I watched them munching on something for a while and snapped a couple pictures. Why they would stand in a field of snow on such a steep mountainside when there is perfectly good grass without any snow covering it where I was sitting was beyond me.
I lowered my camera and reached for my pack and saw both Jason and John staring at me.
“What?” I said.
I packed away my camera but removed the teleconverter so I now had the zoom lens directly on my camera—the optimal setup for portrait shots.
John removed a rifle stock and barrel from a soft case and screwed them together. Christopher had already done the same with his rifle and was now sighting through it toward the goats. The reality of this expedition was starting to hit home—a place where I wasn’t likely to be headed after this trip.
John mounted a scope to his rifle and sighted through it as Christopher had. He made an adjustment on the scope and looked through it again.
Apparently satisfied, he handed the rifle to me and said, “Take this.”
“No more talking,” Jason said. “Sounds carry a lot in this valley.”
Christopher had laid his rifle down with the barrel on his foot while he put his backpack on. Once he had it secure, he kicked his rifle up and held it in front of him. Everyone was looking at me, so I did exactly what Christopher had just done. Pulled it off the first time. Mr. Cool.
We hiked forward more slowly now, in single file to minimize the possibility of stepping on something noisy. I don’t know how I knew this. It just seemed the logical thing to do.
We made it almost to the base of the snowfield, and Jason held up his hand to stop us.
“This is as close as we get,” he whispered. “About two hundred yards.”
Christopher carefully lowered his backpack, and I did the same. He sat down similarly to how I had earlier to aim my camera, and held his rifle in firing position.
“How do we do this?” I whispered to John.
“One person fires at a time,” he replied.
I was off the hook for at least a tiny bit longer.
Jason held a pair of binoculars to his eyes. I looked from him, up to the goats, and back down to Christopher, just as he pulled the trigger.
The explosion was loud—much louder than I expected. I saw the rifle kick hard into Christopher’s shoulder. The power that I felt coming from that shot humbled me. And scared me.
I looked up at the goats but couldn’t see any detail.
“Low and left,” Jason said. “They’re going over the top. If you hurry, you can take another shot.”
Christopher cycled another shell into the chamber and took aim again. He fired, and it was still amazingly loud—even when I was expecting it.
“Shit,” Christopher said. He didn’t need a report from Jason.
“They won’t come back to this side,” Jason said. “We might as well hike around.”
I was relieved that Christopher had missed his shot and that I didn’t have to shoot at all.
We hiked around the left side of the snowfield and up the mountain, which was really steep. A low point at the ridge made an obvious pass to go down the other side, but Jason directed us to our right, over a short but very steep peak. “That’s where the goats went,” he said.
We scrambled up the steep hillside and gathered at the ridge. We could see the two goats in the distance. Neither one had his head down eating. One was just standing there, and the other was walking slowly away from us. Christopher slipped off his backpack.
Jason got his attention. “This valley opens up to a campsite about two miles away and the Ranger station about two miles below that. So, we can’t shoot here without being heard. But if we go over that next ridge, the sound carries the opposite direction.”
He paused and looked at the sky through squinted eyes. “It’s getting late. We can probably chase them over to the next valley right now and you can still get your shot, but it’s going to be dark by the time we get out of there. And, you need to know that it’s very steep on the other side of that ridge. Your goat’s probably going to fall a couple hundred feet, and you might too, going after it in the dark.”
“Can we chase them over the ridge and then see what it looks like from over there?” Christopher asked.
“Yeah, if you want.” Jason replied.
“Okay, let’s do that.”
“We need to pack the rifles,” Jason said. “We have to walk right along the ridge, and with the sunset, we could be easily spotted from below.”
Christopher laid his gun down on the ground and retrieved its case from his backpack. I handed mine to John, who had just done the same thing.
The walk along the ridge was treacherous, and I was glad to not be carrying the rifle. The drop-off on each side was really steep, and the rock was not secure at all. All four of us were kicking loose pieces that tumbled out of sight. Jason seemed to be used to this, and he walked along unfazed. Christopher and I, on the other hand, had a pretty rough time. We both walked with our hands out to our sides, and a lot slower than Jason. After a few minutes of this, I think I could have continued at Jason’s speed, but Christopher never quite got the hang of it and I was stuck behind him.
About halfway across, he stepped on a loose rock, and his right leg went out from under him. He went down quick, and I could see that he wasn’t going to stop.
I dove for him and caught his backpack. I pivoted my body to fold my legs down over the left side of the ridge, but I couldn’t get hooked over far enough to stop him. He kept going, and he pulled me along after him.
We weren’t falling through open air. The mountainside had a slope, but it was a very steep one. We probably slid a hundred feet or so on loose pieces of rock until he came to a stop. But I kept going, and I let go of his pack so I could spread all four limbs out on the ground. My shoulder hit his backpack and sent him sliding a little more, but not much. I think the collision slowed me down, too, and I came to a stop about one body length below him.
I didn’t dare move, except to twist my head to look at Christopher. He was on his side with his feet below him. I was spread eagle sideways on my stomach.
On this side of the ridge, the sun had already set and it was pretty dark.
“Are you two okay?” came down from above. I think it was Jason.
“I don’t think so,” Christopher yelled back. “I think I broke my ankle.”
He sounded like he was hyperventilating and I was sure he was going to do something foolish and plummet further down the slope.
“I’m okay,” I said, “but there’s no way we’re getting back up there. We’re going to have to slide on down. Slowly, I mean.”
“Yeah, you will. Just keep working your way down slow. You should be okay. When you hit the snow, go to my left. Stick to the edge of the snowfield. We’ll meet you at the bottom of the center of the snowfield.”
“Think you can make it?” I asked Christopher. I could see his silhouette against the sky above me, and he hadn’t moved yet.
“I think so,” he panted.
I saw him lean forward, then he rolled over and tumbled towards me. He was yelling as I lunged for his backpack again and started the whole process over.
I missed his backpack, but I managed to grab a leg, and that stopped him from rolling, but now we were sliding again, headfirst, and Christopher was screaming.
I could feel the skin scraping off the back of my hand, but I held on to him because I thought our slide would be mor
e controlled if we stayed together. Again, I don’t know how I knew this or if it was even true, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Something worked, and we stopped again. My adrenaline delayed the pain I was sure to feel when this was over. And if it didn’t, I felt sure that the crash at the bottom would end the pain all together.
“Can you keep going headfirst like this?” I asked him.
“Not with you hanging onto my broken ankle,” he replied, sounding even more panicky than before.
“Oh, sorry about that.” I carefully worked my way over to his other leg and gripped it. “If I let you go, you’re going to start rolling again. We need to slide our way down together until we hit the snow. Come on, let’s slide another piece.”
I pushed us downward...carefully. I continued this process the rest of the way down, steering from behind by kicking my legs to one side or the other, always keeping us both aimed head-first.
“Snow,” Christopher said on one stop. I gave him another little shove anyway, wanting to feel the snow for myself. I couldn’t push him far. We had indeed hit the snow, and it provided a pretty good brake.
I scrambled around to get below Christopher and helped him get right-side up.
“Just hang out here for a minute,” I said. “Catch your breath. We’re done sliding now.”
That worked, and when his breathing had eased, he clasped my arm and said, “Thanks, man. Are you okay?”
“Just scratched up a bit. Can you move now?”
“How? It’s too dark and my ankle is a wreck,” he said. “But hang on. I have a flashlight at least.”
He was right. I looked around, and it was not going to be easy at all to walk the rest of the way down the mountainside. The sound of Christopher rummaging in his backpack stopped, and a light snapped on.
“That’s what we need,” he said. “But there’s no way I can walk on this ankle.”
I helped him up and put his arm over my shoulders. We tested walk-hopping a few steps, and Christopher said he could hobble well enough like this. The snow was a much more stabilizing surface to walk on than the loose rocks, and the flashlight helped a lot. It took awhile, but we made it down to the bottom with some minor slipping and only two major wipeouts. When we turned to walk back toward the center of the bottom of the snowfield, we saw two more flashlights approaching us from the other side. Thank God for our killers.
We crashed for the night and I was so tired, I didn’t even remember setting up camp. I woke up a little warmer the next morning since Christopher loaned me his coat to use as a blanket over my legs. I crawled out of the tent so I could assess in the daylight the damage I sustained in our great slide.
The back of my left hand was a mess with crusted blood covering most of it, but it wasn’t cut deep. The rest of me felt fine, all things considered, I just had an express trip down the mountain.
Christopher was another story. Jason had wrapped his ankle with a strap to keep the swelling down overnight. Now, he pulled himself out of the tent and stopped beside me.
“Can you help me with this strap? I want to check my ankle.”
I removed the strap and his sock. His foot was purple and cold to my touch.
“I can’t feel your hand,” he said in a panicky voice.
“That’s probably a good thing,” Jason said, walking up and giving me a none-too-gentle nudge with his boot. “Get out of the way.”
Jason squeezed Christopher’s ankle and flexed his foot a little. Christopher winced but that was all.
“It’s just sprained,” Jason declared. “If it were broken, you’d be screaming at that. Wrap it back up. Let’s move on.”
As Jason stood up, he looked at me and said, “You carry his pack today.”
John showed up then to see how we were doing, and learning that we were relatively unhurt, immediately began packing up the tent.
Jason packed up the other tent before joining us again.
“Those goats will probably show back up here sometime today. I can’t guarantee it, but this is the best place to find them. We’re already running an extra day. We hike out tonight, goat or not.”
We spent all morning and most of the afternoon sitting and walking around in the valley. I talked with Christopher a little bit, but couldn’t get a good conversation going through his haze of pain. Before long, Jason separated us and told me to be quiet.
Christopher’s backpack weighed a ton, plus I was carrying my camera pack. John had at least taken the food bag to carry, but this still wasn’t any fun. We circled around the edge of a mountain to where we could see around its other side.
The goats weren’t over there either, so we walked over one more mountain. It wasn’t all that far, but this one had a lot more uphill to it. Again, all for naught, because the mountain goats still remained elusive.
So, we headed back to where we started, and when we got there the goats were waiting for us. Well not exactly, but there were two goats standing almost exactly where we had seen them the day before.
John and Christopher reassembled their rifles, and we walked forward quietly. Christopher was limping pretty badly. All the miles we had hiked had to be taking their toll.
At about the same place where Christopher had missed his shots, he tapped me on the arm and said, “You should shoot first today.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “You’re ready.”
John pushed two bullets into his rifle and handed it to me, which made me wonder if I was carrying around a rifle yesterday without any bullets in it. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I had little choice other than to accept the gun.
“You sure?” I said to Christopher.
“Yeah, I had first shot yesterday and I missed.”
I lay down on my belly and aimed the rifle. I knew from my few rare photographic jaunts for wildlife that this was my most steady position.
After finding the two mountain goats in the scope, I lowered the rifle to look for the safety. “How does the safety work?” I asked John.
“Just slide that switch back under the scope,” he replied.
Jason had his binoculars in his hands, but he was watching me. I took aim again, selected one of the animals, and lined him up in the crosshairs.
I took a deep breath and relaxed. In. Out. I moved my aim slightly to the left and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
“High and to the left,” Jason said.
Exactly where I had aimed to miss the goat, but not so far away as to look intentional. I put on my best oh, well, I tried expression and looked up.
Bang! Christopher’s gun fired, and I jumped. I looked over and saw him in the same position as I was. I had no idea that he was getting ready to shoot too.
“Goat down,” Jason said. “The other one’s running away.”
My ears were ringing, and my heart was thumping hard. Christopher was getting up, grinning from ear to hear. Jason walked over to congratulate him. I couldn’t believe that a beautiful mountain goat had just been killed. I looked back through the rifle scope until I spotted the downed animal. I said a silent I’m sorry to it and got up.
14
Throttle Back
We hiked over to the side of the snowfield and up to where the mountain goat lay.
“Do you want me to take your picture with him?” I asked Christopher.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” he said.
Jason glared me, then at John, but he didn’t say anything.
Christopher hurried over to the goat and squatted down in front of it holding the head up with one hand and holding his rifle in the other. He was beaming.
I took one photo, then zoomed in to show Christopher’s face better and took another. Normally, I would bracket a picture like this, with the white snow and bright sun overhead, but I didn’t want to push my luck with these guys.
Jason told me to put my camera away. I watched him put on a pair of rubber gloves and then produce a vicious hunting knife from his belt sheath. It lo
oked like a Marine K-bar, only bigger. He tossed another pair of gloves to Christopher.
My revulsion at what happened next was hard to contain. I really wanted to take some photos to show the slaughter, but I knew I’d get caught if I tried. Christopher held the goat’s head in place while Jason cut the body away. He struggled some with what I have to assume was the spine, but he seemed to know what to expect and made quick work of it. When he was done, they put the head inside two layers of garbage bags, and Jason gave the carcass a big shove with his feet to send it tumbling down the hill.
Still clutching his knife, Jason looked at John, who shook his head and said, “Save it for the lake.”
Then John turned and said to the group in general, “We need to redistribute the load.”
“I want to carry my own trophy,” Christopher said. He looked at me and asked, “Can you carry my sleeping bag?”
“Sure,” I almost balked.
Dude had a nearly broken ankle, but he wanted to carry his severed goat head. Classy. Amazingly, the wrap and a bit of time had stabilized him enough to walk and carry the disgusting trophy.
We walked back down to the bottom of the snowfield and went back up the left side as we had the night before. This time, when we got to the top we went straight down over the opposite side. It was steep, and Christopher seemed to struggle with his load, but he made it down without wiping out this time.
When it started to level out, we took a break and ate our last MREs. From there, we hiked down through the woods until we came to a park trail, at which point we turned right and followed it. The sun had already dipped below the top of the next mountain over, and we would be in total darkness before long.
We hiked for at least another hour and stopped when we got to a small building at one end of a big lake. I recognized this place. It was the ranger station at the lower end of Waterton Lake—the place that Alison and I took the boat ride to at night.
Goats, Boats, and Killer Cutthroats Page 10