Mountain Goat Hunt Journal 2019
Snippets and pictures of my 10-day hunt in Smithers, BC. For the white beast, mountain goats.
1/9 Mountain Goat Hunt Journal - Am I Going to Die?
Luke glanced back and caught me mid-tumble. I flashed him my best, "I'm ok, don't worry," smile, but he's a sharp kid and wasn't buying it. He had a look of genuine concern as he turned his head and whispered something to his dad, Warren. Which I later found out went something like, "are you sure about this, dad?"
That morning we had packed up camp, situated on a plateau 1/3 down a more massive mountain, and the boys suddenly disappeared. I looked around in confusion for signs of them. My heart nearly stopped in its tracks when I peered over the edge of the cliff and realized to my horror that they had dived heel-first down a steep gravel slope.
Warren looked up with a grin on his face and shouted back up at me, "It's like skiing!" My eyes wide, I yelled back, "I don't ski!!!"
I rubbed my temples in an attempt to soothe the mental strain I felt from continually feeling like I was going to fall and break every bone in my body. I took a deep breath and slowly inched my way down the I-am-gonna-die-any-second-now mountainside.
2/9 Mountain Goat Hunt Journal - Let's Spilt Up
Jenny, are you comfortable dropping back down, climbing up on that saddle, and over that hump to where the goat is on that ridgeline? My eyes followed Warrens's finger to entertain him, but my answer was already a firm, "no" before he even uttered the question.
We were halfway up a mountain to pursue 4 bachelor billies we glassed before bed. And I was determined to stick to the original game plan, but based on Luke's expression, I knew he wanted to go after a goat he could see, verses try to uncover the day grounds of the goats we saw the night before.
Without wasting a breath, I said, "let's split up." As soon as the words escape my mouth, I had visions of the monstrous grizzly we just spotted zig-zagging in the valley below, creeping up from behind me and decapitating me during my mid-afternoon glass. But what was more potent than a quick death was the vision of the big-bodied billies in the setting sun horizon. The imagery was branded at the forefront of my thoughts and commanding my every move. Also, extreme optimism is my greatest asset.
After I passed the "Are you sure?" and "Are you comfortable?" stress test from Warren. A few basic safety and emergency protocols were established; we parted ways.
At a leisurely pace that my tenderfeet welcomed, I spent the afternoon hunting in the shadows, glassing every few steps, making sure the wind was in my face. I eventually made it to where we saw the billies and quickly found evidence that this was a well-used dusting area by the white beast.
3/9 Mountain Goat Hunt Journal - Jealous and Alone
Jealousy shot through me so quickly that my gut physically churned from the sudden spike in emotion. The toxic resentment came simultaneously with the gunshot that echoed throughout the valley. Upon hearing the blast, that I assumed came from Luke (and his successful stalk on the billy he had spotted earlier), I had wanted so badly to be the one pulling the trigger and causing the noise.
But then relief soon washed over me because the weather was scorching my exposed cheeks. This meant we probably should pack out the meat as quickly as possible. This was my way out of this purgatory. We all get to go home; the hunt was over.
I fought to gain control of my thoughts and tried to recover from the sting of shame I felt from experiencing the level of jealousy and mental exhaustion the mountains had on me. I let the adrenaline subside before I sent a text that said, "Did you shoot a goat?! I will be in position until 7:00 PM before making my way back." A bag of mixed emotions, I sat there patiently until almost dark. There was no sight of the bachelor billies from the night before.
4/9 Mountain Goat Hunt Journal - Going Solo
I made my way back down to where we stashed our gear in the rapidly setting sun, but it was nowhere in sight. By now, I was standing in the complete darkness, with nothing to start a fire with or means of technical communication (another shameful story that deserves its own chapter). I decided it was best to let off a few shots. And instantly, Warren let out a yell from a cliff directly above, signaling me with a flashlight. In all the excitement, there was a slight miscommunication on the meeting spot, which was understandable.
Immediately after I heaved myself over the ledge to where the boys had set up basecamp, I saw the reflective blood-soaked game bags hanging in a couple of trees. I said my congrats and asked if we're packing out tomorrow. We agreed that would be the best game plan, considering how hot it's been.
The following day I sat warming up in the first rays of light, glassing, and chewing my meal. It was the hardest breakfast I've had to swallow because I built up the confidence to say I wanted to stay and hunt alone. I couldn't get the words untangled from the back of my throat. The fear of going solo, surrounded by the wolf and grizzly tracks that ran along the ridgeline above me, was choking up my words.
5/9 Mountain Goat Hunt Journal - Unapologetically Bold
In the afternoon haze, I accepted the fact I was going to go home empty-handed and marinading on the excuses I would provide to those that ask. Then just as swiftly as the breeze that gave me relief from the heat, I emerged from the trance-like state and loosened the noose around my neck. In a moment of weakness, I caught myself mentally tightening the rope with my toxic thoughts.
Upon reflection, I did something that still shakes me to the core. I looked up to where I saw the goats on the horizon a few days ago. Pointed there and said, "I will shoot my first animal, right there." Then, I took a photo of the spot to hold myself accountable (since I was solo).
I have no interest in sports, but a story about Michael Jordan has dramatically influenced how I condition myself mentally. He played each game to win. Therefore every step he took was to win. In his mind, there was no room to accommodate thoughts of failure. Thinking back on my unapologetically bold move, my blind confidence still makes my cheeks go flush.
6/9 Mountain Goat Hunt Journal - The Devil's Dance
Gravel dug into my knees, tears drip from my chin onto my clenched fist, and despair cloaked my exhausted frame.
For 3 days, I watched a group of goats. I chambered a shot twice during that time, and both times I walked away because I wasn't sure. I didn't pull the trigger until I was sure. And this is my reward: I get to sit here and watch my billy rot on this cliff.
Must I repent for my sins now? I permitted myself to sob for a few minutes before I wiped the snot away with a dirty shirt sleeve. My head nodded in acceptance of the challenge ahead. I thought, fine, "I'll dance the devil's dance." I dusted myself off and climbed back up the valley to reassess my situation from above.
7/9 Mountian Goat Hunt Journal - Open Wounds
What surprised me most when approaching the billy's final resting place was the rich redolence that stimulated warm thoughts of a century-old barn filled with fresh hay. Then as I got closer, the sheer scope of the body made the name "White Beast" more apparent.
Ignoring the sharp rocks digging into my knees, I heaved him onto my lap and held the warm body. Despite the somber moment, I couldn't help but smile back down at him. He had the most joyful expression on his face, and his beautiful white coat was gently swaying in the wind. As my hands worked through the long white strands of hair, brushing the dirt and knots out, the loose strands danced around me in the evening setting sun.
Embracing the weight of this animal on me physically and in my heart, I gave a silent prayer for its life and the life it has provided me.
8/9 Mountian Goat Hunt Journal - One Limp at a Time
The pack out took 4 days. It was a 12-hour trek to the truck with a full load. And since the valley was flooded with swamps, thick brush, and grizzlies, we stayed high and navigated through 3 or 4 mountain peaks depending on how you look at things: side-hilling and stone hopping.
During the final trek out, Warren threw down a challenge to climb a nearly vertical rock wall as a shortcut. I was doing great until I felt rock loosening all around me, and I started flailing my arms and legs in all directions in a complete panic. Warren stood from above, watching the scened unfold, and yelled out, "ONE LIMB AT A TIME JENNYYYYYY!"
As you can imagine, during those tricky scrambles and long days, I cycled through a lot of positive self-talk, and words of blind faith folks had graced upon me before the journey.
The hunt is now over, the meat is almost gone, but the confidence you had in me still fuels my day. Maybe you've forgotten the few words of kindness you've expressed, or it might have been standard protocol for you to nod your head in approval of my quest. But my dear friends, I have not. I hold those accounts in me, for they still strengthen me daily. Thank you.
9/9 Mountian Goat Hunt Journal - My Intentions
It would be very bold of me to declare I intend to help people find purpose. That's a somewhat intimidating task for both parties involved. I think it's best to assume most don't know what they want to do, and that's ok.
My stories are an encouragement for you to listen to those curiosities clawing at you and entice you to color just outside the box (in a controlled manner, obviously). And while pursuing those interests, trust that opportunities will come.
I hope my writing contributes to a community of folks who share my insatiable appetite for life, doing what we love.
