On Tuesday I drove out to 4-31A, and down the Halfway river for another crack at the Two Billies I had seen on my last scouting trip. this time I was far better prepared and packed to spend 3 nights in the alpine. Arriving around noon, I shoulder my 60lb pack and start the long, slow climb into the bowl on Mount Steenhoff. Six hours later I found myself on the narrow ridge that divided the main bowl with a smaller, steep drainage, it took quite some time to find a spot flat enough to pitch my tent, in the end, with much hesitation I set up camp directly on a goat trail. Sign was everywhere, and very fresh droppings covered the entire ridge.
Base Camp ~6080'
You can barely spot my tent on the end of this ridge.
I spent the last bit of light collecting water and cooking dinner. I heard some rocks slide on the other side of the bowl where I had seen the goats bedding down before, but never did see what caused them to fall. the first nights sleep was brutal. but at least when I was waking up constantly I was greeted by some of the most spectacular stars I had seen in years. The next morning I awoke late, and didn't get hunting until 0700, the sun was long up. I climbed up and took a vantage point to glass on top of one of the two large 'knobs' in the middle of the bowl. Nothing moved all morning, so around 1100 i made my way back to camp for lunch and a nap.
Around 1400 I got fed up with trying to sleep and decided to walk down the the ridge to answer natures call. my pants had no sooner hit my ankles when out of the corner of my eye I spot a big white rock far below in the bush next to the creek that divides the chute. Then the rock turned it's head. up when the pants and a quick scramble back to camp for my rifle, binos, and range finder. getting back to my would-be latrine I find the goat was still laying were I had first seen him, glassing confirmed it was a billy, with good mass and length. problem was there was absolutely no way to stalk this animal. I could not get down to him without moving upwind or making a lot of noise sliding down the side of the ridge. the shot would have to be from my present location.
I saw a tree stump about 10yrds below me and slowly slid down to it, being very careful not to cause a slide in the rocky slope. I ranged him at 206yrds. it didn't seem right, he looked a lot farther then that. I ranged again, and again and again until i was satisfied with an accurate reading. this was my first time using such a tool and still didn't fully trust it. I was zero'd for 200yrds and rested my rifle across the stump. he was partially up now, resting on his haunches, nibbling in the bushes, slightly quartering towards. not the greatest shot angle, but I knew if he took one step in any direction I would loose my line of sight, there were just to many trees in the way. I watched him for a spell and when his head turn to expose his shoulder my .308 barked and I was rewarded with a spot of red on his white coat and moments later the tell-tale 'slap' of bullet on flesh.
(the shot was taken from the stump in the foreground, the billy was in the bushes on the near side of the rockface. )
The billy struggled to his feet, now standing broadside, I rack in another round for a follow up shot and my rifle jams. struggling to clear the action I watch my goat take a single step and vanish. I wait 10 minutes, and without seeing any motion below, I begin to pick my way down the side of the ridge, side hilling so I would come up on him down wind. 45mins later I arrive at the spot and begin to search through the 5' tall bushes and pine for my trophy... movement to my right, horns, ears, white neck, it's stumbling, I raise my rifle, my feet slide in the wet moss, I fall, shot goes off, white fur flies into the air.
I'm on my side now, gasping for air, winded. I struggle to regain my senses, I see head, neck, shoulder, my rifle is up, a loud crack, then, as before, he vanishes. I can hear rocks falling, scraping, a thud, then silence.
It's hard to tell from the photo's, but there was absolutely no way I was getting down that ravine without ropes, so it took another 40mins to work my way down the chute and then back up the creek bed to the animal. I dressed him out and left him to cool over night. one of his horns had broken off in the fall, I was devastated. I never thought a trophy would mean so much to me. I'd been purely a meat hunter until this point. luck smiled upon me and I found it under the goat the next morning while boning out the meat. seem the mountain had smiled on me once more.
morning of Day 3 I packed up, deboned as much meat as I could carry (I left the neck and one front quarter, they were mostly bloodshot anyways.) the hike down was the hardest of my life. to say I fell many times would be a gross understatement. at one point I slid into a pile of windfall and had to unbuckle myself from my pack. it then proceeded to cartwheel 50m down the mountain before becoming tangled, yet again in a pile of logs. When I arrived home I weighed my pack. with meat & rifle it was 102lbs.
I'll never hunt the alpine solo again, but this was an experience I will
treasure until the day I die. I've never had a more mentally or physically demanding hunt, and it's the one I am most proud of.
Since it was an early season animal, I figured a euro mount would suit the trophy best. he measures 10 5/8" & 9 3/8" ( one tip was broken off in the fall)
