"Yeah, let’s do it!” That’s what I heard myself say to my would-be outfitter as I booked my first guided big game hunt. A feeling of fear and exhilaration went over me. I had never done this before and I had just agreed to send a complete stranger a $3,000 deposit on a mountain goat hunt.
My quest to kill a big billy goat had begun in 2006 when I was looking on the internet at hunts in B.C. At an average price of $7500 they were relatively cheap in comparison to other hunts in North America. After talking to a few of the outfitters that I looked up, and being unimpressed with them, I went and talked to my taxidermist, Kevin. I figured that he’d point me in the right direction. And he did—he gave me the number of Tom Vince at Turnagain Adventures.
The previous year Kevin had mounted two billies that were taken with Tom; he also gave me the numbers of the hunters who had taken them as references. After talking with both of them and hearing nothing but good, I figured I couldn’t go wrong.
So here we are, the first leg of my journey to the Turnagain River in remote northern B.C.
I kissed my wife and new baby girl goodbye on a mid September morning and headed north on the first day of a long drive to Ft. Nelson where I would meet up with Tom. I stayed the first night in Valleyview, Alberta with my cousin Robbie and his family.
The next day saw me hit the road early and drive and drive and drive. I stopped in Dawson Creek, B.C. and took some pictures at “Mile 0” of the Alaska Highway and then hit the road again. I stopped a few more times to take some pictures and stretch my legs. One stop was to take a picture of some buffalo at Pink Mountain. A big old bull was standing beside the road as I drove by and I swear he was as tall as the roof of my pickup truck. Definitely big enough to do some damage if he wanted, he didn’t and I kept going.
Now it was about this time on the second day of the journey that I thought I should try and get a hold of my guide to see where we were going to meet in Ft. Nelson. I tried with no luck. I tried again later but still no luck. Now I was too far along to worry about it and kept heading to Ft. Nelson. I figured he must be in a place with no cell phone service. I pulled into Ft. Nelson about mid afternoon to 31 C weather, tried Tom again and finally got through. He let me know what hotel he was at and I headed over there to get a room for the night and meet the guy that was going to lead me on my next adventure. I met Tom and we talked for a while and then met up with three other guys from Mexico that were going to come with me into camp. They were older gentlemen and two were just going to do some fishing, the third was going on his third grizzly hunt. The previous two he’d been skunked on and being in his late 60’s, early 70’s figured this would be his last kick at the cat for grizzly.
The next morning saw us leave for Coal River to where the river boat was sitting on shore waiting for us. We headed north on the Alaska Highway and the last four hours of a long drive. We stopped for lunch in Toad River for a $15 hamburger and continued on our way.
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| The scenery when hunting mountain goats is nothing short of spectacular. |
When we got to Coal River we loaded up the boat and headed down the river three hours to base camp. This was the first time I’d been on a river boat and I thought it was quite exciting. When we arrived at camp and docked the boat I jumped out onto the dock and lost my balance and almost fell into the crystal clear, frigid water. I’m sure that would have been a lousy way to start a hunt!
Once we were unloaded and settled I met my guide for the hunt. He was Tom’s son Luke. Luke had just returned with a stone sheep hunter that decided to quit and go home because he wasn’t in good enough shape! Thirty-thousand USD for a hunt and he was going home empty handed. And he booked for two years later at $35,000 USD to come back and try for a stone sheep again! Better hit the StairMaster.
After a quick consultation Luke and Tom decided that we’d take the boat down the river a little ways in the morning and hike into goat country. I awoke excited and ready to go. We headed out and when we got off the boat started up a mountain; the first of many that day. The first billy we saw Luke figured was about an 8 1/2” billy and he said that we should pass him up. That was okay with me as a 10” billy is what I had my mind set on.
After bushwhacking through the next valley I was cussing myself out for not shooting the first goat we saw. After going up the second mountain and running out of water we found a creek in the next valley. We filled up on water and had a nice siesta. When we woke up we started back up to the top where we stared to glass the next ridge where Luke had seen three big billies a week or so earlier. Luke said that they were the kings of the mountain and one of these would be a good one to take. We glassed but didn’t locate anything until right before dark when all three came over the top to where we could see them. In the morning one would be mine.
That night we got a big fire going and camped in the trees. We packed light so we had no tent or sleeping bags for that matter. That meant sleeping in our rain gear and huddling up to the fire. When I woke up the next morning a few stray sparks had burned holes in my pants.
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| Ryan and his big British Columbia billy goat. |
We headed over to where we saw the goats the night before and one was bedded on a hillside 300 yards away. Now being excited and on such a steep incline I couldn’t get a solid rest so I passed on the shot as the big billy walked around the hillside. We took after him in the direction he went when we jumped another one of the three in the trees. He ran up the mountain into the trees and then for some reason decided to run back out of the trees and right in front of us. Luke threw his pack down in front of me and I laid down on it and shot the billy on the run with my first shot breaking his back hip (must have pulled my shot, I guess). He then stopped broadside and I put two into his lungs. He promptly ran into the timber as if nothing had happened as I sailed a fourth round over his back.
Luke and I sat on the hillside for the next half hour recounting what had just happened. I knew goats were tough, but this guy didn’t even flinch. I thought the worst. Come all this way and loose an animal and the price of your hunt. I was unimpressed. After the half hour was up we headed to where the goat went and found his trail but no blood. Not good, I was sick to my stomach. We walked about 100 yards into the timber and suddenly there he was, dead. Died in mid stride, lung shot twice with the second and third shots. All of the sudden I wasn’t sick to my stomach—I had my mountain goat.
We walked up to him and I was amazed at the sheer size of him. We figured he had to weigh 300 lbs if not more. Now the work began. I had a goat on the ground the second morning of the hunt. A great feeling.
We skinned him out and packed him up in our packs and headed down. On the way down I managed to slip while maneuvering down a small waterfall and slid down it part of the way. Then we got to cross a creek about ten times. It started off about two feet wide and ended up being about 20 feet wide and four feet deep the last time we crossed it. I managed to fall a couple of times crossing and got my feet completely soaked (moral of that story is when hunting in the mountains bring dry socks, lots of them). By the time we got back to camp about five hours after getting the goat my feet were killing me.
I spent the next few days hobbling around camp enjoying my time away from civilization. The Cassiars are beautiful country and I cherished every minute. I can’t wait to go back, maybe next time for a stone sheep or grizzly bear. ■
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