King of the Mountain

Long-time Bowhunter contributor Marcus Nichols hails from Lakeside, Montana.

The quest for a big billy teaches a Montana bowhunter a few lessons about the hunt.

STRETCHED OUT on a rocky bench, the big billy seemed to be enjoying the bright mountain sunshine. Moving only his head, he looked out across the miles of rocky cliffs, steep chutes, and tumbled boulders. And across the canyon another set of eyes was watching, too. Through a 40X spotting scope the lone hunter studied the heavy black horns and long coat on this magnificent animal.

For years Brad Borden, a Montana native, had been intrigued with the idea of bowhunting for mountain goats. It was a dream spawned in his childhood, a dream of slipping within arrow range of a mature billy. The unique character of this white-robed quarry, combined with the harshness of the terrain, provided a compelling challenge.

As for so many of us, the lack of success in drawing a permit had kept Brad's vision unfulfilled. During an elk hunt near the Montana-Idaho border, he spotted a number of Idaho goats and began applying there as well as in his home state. With each unsuccessful draw, his passion intensified.

Finally, in 1998, Lady Luck smiled, and a coveted Idaho permit showed up in the mail. Soon Brad was contacting previous permit holders and scouting the area to learn all he could. He spotted many goats, and his confidence was high.

Opening weekend found him high in the Targhee National Forest, searching for a stalkable goat. The jagged peaks along the spine of the continent were taking on the red and yellow hues of fall. Bright, clear days made it a pleasure just to be outdoors, but there was a problem. The goats looked ragged. Many carried patches of unshed hair from the previous winter. The long beards and flowing pantaloons of a goat's prime winter coat were missing. These weren't the goats of Brad's dreams. Disappointed, he reluctantly returned home to Kalispell.

Over in Montana the elk season was in full swing, which helped Brad pass the long, late-summer days. Brad, well known in the state for his ability to consistently arrow big bulls, proved his previous successes were no fluke as, on September 16, 1998, he bagged a fine seven-by-seven bull with a well-placed shot.

Between a guiding job in Hawaii and the heavy demands of work, personal hunting time began slipping away, and nagging questions plagued Brad. Had rifle hunters pushed the goats to a different area? Could he still get within arrow range? When could he get back there?

It was almost mid-October when fellow Montana bowhunter Dan Moore alerted Brad to the location of some goats in Brad's hunting area. And when Brad got back to Idaho things were different. The reds and yellows of September had been replaced by a foot of snow. Stalking the high country would be more difficult -- and dangerous.

Finding two rifle-packing goat hunters at the trailhead campground was also disconcerting, but Brad knew there was no turning back now. A day of hiking and glassing proved fruitless, until by chance he met some elk hunters on the trail. They couldn't believe someone would still be bowhunting goats here. But after some small talk the elk hunters grudgingly revealed the location of another canyon which had held a big billy in recent years. It was not too far away, and the news helped fire Brad's hopes for the following morning.

At daylight Brad was already high on a ridge. Finding a small, windswept spot, he sat on a rock and dug out his spotting scope. For more than 3 hours he carefully studied the canyon. One big goat, more than a mile away, rested high above him in the cliffs. Approaching looked impossible. Brad turned his focus back to more accessible terrain and soon located the goat mentioned at the beginning of this article. It was bedded below a point of rock that provided cover for a possible stalk. Brad meticulously analyzed the terrain and selected a yellowish rock near the goat for a reference point.

The approach required Brad to climb back over the ridge, circle the canyon, and drop down from the facing ridge. The snow was melting, providing quiet travel but making the steep slopes very slick. The last quarter-mile included mostly snow-covered shale that shifted and slid with each cautious step. Remaining quiet required deliberate movements, often forcing Brad to sidle crab-like while fighting gravity and trying to traverse slippery rocks. Finally, after 3 hours, Brad stopped behind the yellow rock and nocked an arrow. Breathing in the cool mountain air, he tried to shrug off the tension of the stalk. His dream trophy lay bedded just over 20 yards away.

Drawing his bow, he carefully eased around the rock and... The bed was empty! Disappointed but confident he had not alerted the animal, Brad climbed to a high point where he could view the area. His heart jumped. The big goat had moved only a short distance around a point of rock and bedded down facing the opposite direction. This looked like a pretty good situation.

Quickly, Brad planned another approach. Crab-walking down the shifting shale, his excitement building with each yard covered, Brad finally eased into a predetermined shooting spot. But as his Vibram-soled boot touched a wet rock and he shifted his weight, there was an audible squeak.

The big billy made two big leaps down the mountain, stopping broadside and looking back for the source of the noise. Full snow camo gave Brad the few seconds he needed to get off a shot from his PSE Mach-6. The arrow struck low behind the shoulder and the goat ran down off the bench and disappeared from sight. Quietly following the tracks, Brad soon spotted the goat going over a small dropoff. Running to the edge, he got off a 40-yard shot, which pierced both lungs. The dying animal ran onto a nearly vertical cliff and bedded.

Brad lifted his binoculars and watched the goat breathe his last. Then, to Brad's horror, as the muscles relaxed, the billy's body slumped forward. Suddenly the animal was tumbling down the cliff, cart-wheeling over a 45-foot cliff and bouncing off the rocks below. End over end, it somersaulted down the mountain until finally wrapping itself around a small tree far below.

Later, approaching his battered trophy. Brad quickly assessed the damage. The right horn had broken off to a 4-inch stub. Several cuts marred the billy's face. Otherwise, the carcass was intact. And the goat was huge, weighing around 300 pounds. Its coat was thick, winter prime.

Brad's momentary disappointment at seeing the broken horn quickly disappeared as he reflected on the stalking adventure. He hadn't hunted goats to get his name in the bowhunting records. His was a personal goal, carried out on the rugged cliffs, in classic spot-and-stalk hunting style. These vivid memories fulfilled a lifelong dream. What could be more gratifying?

COPYRIGHT 1999 PRIMEDIA Special Interest Publications
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group