Macarena Man
Member
- Location
- British Columbia
And with a Tikka T3, no less. That oughta drive some folks mmmmaaaaadddd.
We keep a Tikka in camp ...... it's handy for prying the tent pegs out of the ground ...
World record Rocky Mountain goat in B.C.
- Thread starter bellero
- Start date
We keep a Tikka in camp ...... it's handy for prying the tent pegs out of the ground ...
I do not follow the scoring of any animals, so I will not pretend to know even the slightest bit about it, but would that not be 57 and a half?
Yep, 57 and 4/8 it is!
Strange that no one has commented on the unusual location for a goat. With that tree growth in the latitude of the Skeena, I'll guess the elevation is between 3500 and 4000 feet.
I know, very old billy goats often leave the group and go off by themselves, often at a much lower altitude, so I guess that was the case.
Even so, pretty rare to see one that low.
Strange that no one has commented on the unusual location for a goat. With that tree growth in the latitude of the Skeena, I'll guess the elevation is between 3500 and 4000 feet.
I know, very old billy goats often leave the group and go off by themselves, often at a much lower altitude, so I guess that was the case.
Even so, pretty rare to see one that low.
beretta boy
CGN Ultra frequent flyer
- Location
- Orillia, Ontario
A good buddy hunted with "Heidi the Guidey" as he called her, when she was working
for a Telegraph Creek Outfitter about 15 years ago. He took a very nice Dall ram and
a great moose. That gal knows what she's doing !
for a Telegraph Creek Outfitter about 15 years ago. He took a very nice Dall ram and
a great moose. That gal knows what she's doing !
More about this story.
This is a story about a guy from Alexandria, Ky., who went to British Columbia last October and shot the biggest mountain goat that’s ever been shot. If you’re squeamish and/or don’t like the idea of hunting, well, the crossword is in the back of the Metro section. Otherwise, pull on the metaphorical pack, and take a break from the Reds and Bengals. It’s a cool trip.
Troy Sheldon hunts for the thrill, not the kill. The trips he doesn’t bag a trophy are as worth it as the trips when he hauls a set of antlers through airport security. He likes the beauty of the landscapes and the camaraderie of close friends and the primal-ness of it all.
He has hunted all over the world. Big-game stuff: Brown bear in the Yukon, red stag deer in New Zealand, moose in British Columbia. Sheldon and his friend Carey Renner have a hunting bucket list. Up next, in the spring of 2014, is a black bear hunt in coastal British Columbia.
This story is about a mountain goat. A 300-pound mountain goat Sheldon and Renner would name Half Buck Billy. They spent eight days tracking goats in the Canadian Rockies, near the Stickine River in northwest BC. Up and down mountains, across ravines, clinging to ledges, 50 pounds of gear bending their backs and testing their balance.
Hunting is beautiful and dangerous, life-affirming and savage. This hunt was all of that.
They went seven days, walking eight to 10 hours a day, without taking a shot. They saw lots of goats, females mostly, but none was close. They’d hike to the top of a ridge, then spot a goat on the opposite ridge. They’d hike down, through a ravine and back up the other side. By then, the goat had disappeared.
“We were getting a bit disheartened,’’ Sheldon recalls. “So much energy up and down these mountains, and not even a shot.’’ He knew the goats were among the most agile beasts on the planet, seeming to defy gravity as they hung all but parallel to the ground, from precipices 4,000 feet up. What he didn’t know fully was how much his own endurance would be tested. Sheldon’s 48. A great age to play golf, not so great to play Daniel Boone.
“More people die on mountain goat hunts than any other hunt,’’ Sheldon says.
Before he left on the 10-day trek, Sheldon’s wife Deb suggested he pack a few small rolls of duct tape. Everyone needs duct tape for something. Troy agreed. By about the third day of the hunt, the sides of his feet were blistery and aching. He and Renner had to go where the goats were. That meant walking treacherously narrow paths, where one side was rock face or open field, and the other was death drop. Walking normally wasn’t always an option.
Sheldon used the duct tape to attach moleskin directly to his feet, before pulling on his socks and boots. “It saved the hunt,’’ he says now.
At lunch on the seventh day, Renner handed Sheldon a Canadian quarter and told him to wish on it. Renner did the same. “Maybe this will change our luck,’’ Renner said. They tossed half a buck 4,000 feet into the ravine.
The next morning, they awoke at 4. They had just two days left to hunt. By dawn, they’d spotted a billy, 319 yards across a ravine. Sheldon said he didn’t know its size. Their guide said it was trophy-worthy. And here’s where it gets interesting.
The rule is, if you hit your prey with a shot, your hunt is over. It doesn’t matter if it escapes. One hit, and you’re finished, which makes this sort of hunt somewhat more sporting than the shoot-’em-ups sometimes associated with deer season around here.
Sheldon had 40 cartridges with him. He hadn’t used one. He and Renner had agreed to alternate shots. It was Sheldon’s turn.
“What do you think?’’ he asked Renner.
“It’s risky,’’ Renner said. “But if you’re comfortable.’’
Sheldon knew if he hit the goat but didn’t kill it, chances were very good it would escape, possibly by flinging itself down into the bottom of the ravine, 4,000 feet below. Sheldon’s hunt would be over.
He steadied his Tikka T3 Light 270 Winchester. The goat poked its front half between two trees. Sheldon squeezed off one round, a silver-tipped, 150-grain bullet. It struck the billy in the front shoulder, and the goat collapsed. Forty-five minutes later, Sheldon posed for pictures with his trophy.
It would be classified a world record not long after, by a panel of judges who measured the size and breadth of the goat’s horns. Deb Sheldon took the horns to the judging. She carried them in a hatbox.
Troy is waiting for a local taxidermist to finish his work, after which he hopes his trophy will be put on display publicly. His own home is already thick with mounts. “Dead animals everywhere’’ is what Deb Sheldon says about that.
“I don’t shoot to shoot,’’ says Troy. He wants that understood. “If I don’t shoot anything, it’s still a good hunt.’’
Thus endeth the tale. Wasn’t that better than another column on the Bengals pass defense?
http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20120912/COL03/309120114/Doc-Mount-Everest-goats-conquered
This is a story about a guy from Alexandria, Ky., who went to British Columbia last October and shot the biggest mountain goat that’s ever been shot. If you’re squeamish and/or don’t like the idea of hunting, well, the crossword is in the back of the Metro section. Otherwise, pull on the metaphorical pack, and take a break from the Reds and Bengals. It’s a cool trip.
Troy Sheldon hunts for the thrill, not the kill. The trips he doesn’t bag a trophy are as worth it as the trips when he hauls a set of antlers through airport security. He likes the beauty of the landscapes and the camaraderie of close friends and the primal-ness of it all.
He has hunted all over the world. Big-game stuff: Brown bear in the Yukon, red stag deer in New Zealand, moose in British Columbia. Sheldon and his friend Carey Renner have a hunting bucket list. Up next, in the spring of 2014, is a black bear hunt in coastal British Columbia.
This story is about a mountain goat. A 300-pound mountain goat Sheldon and Renner would name Half Buck Billy. They spent eight days tracking goats in the Canadian Rockies, near the Stickine River in northwest BC. Up and down mountains, across ravines, clinging to ledges, 50 pounds of gear bending their backs and testing their balance.
Hunting is beautiful and dangerous, life-affirming and savage. This hunt was all of that.
They went seven days, walking eight to 10 hours a day, without taking a shot. They saw lots of goats, females mostly, but none was close. They’d hike to the top of a ridge, then spot a goat on the opposite ridge. They’d hike down, through a ravine and back up the other side. By then, the goat had disappeared.
“We were getting a bit disheartened,’’ Sheldon recalls. “So much energy up and down these mountains, and not even a shot.’’ He knew the goats were among the most agile beasts on the planet, seeming to defy gravity as they hung all but parallel to the ground, from precipices 4,000 feet up. What he didn’t know fully was how much his own endurance would be tested. Sheldon’s 48. A great age to play golf, not so great to play Daniel Boone.
“More people die on mountain goat hunts than any other hunt,’’ Sheldon says.
Before he left on the 10-day trek, Sheldon’s wife Deb suggested he pack a few small rolls of duct tape. Everyone needs duct tape for something. Troy agreed. By about the third day of the hunt, the sides of his feet were blistery and aching. He and Renner had to go where the goats were. That meant walking treacherously narrow paths, where one side was rock face or open field, and the other was death drop. Walking normally wasn’t always an option.
Sheldon used the duct tape to attach moleskin directly to his feet, before pulling on his socks and boots. “It saved the hunt,’’ he says now.
At lunch on the seventh day, Renner handed Sheldon a Canadian quarter and told him to wish on it. Renner did the same. “Maybe this will change our luck,’’ Renner said. They tossed half a buck 4,000 feet into the ravine.
The next morning, they awoke at 4. They had just two days left to hunt. By dawn, they’d spotted a billy, 319 yards across a ravine. Sheldon said he didn’t know its size. Their guide said it was trophy-worthy. And here’s where it gets interesting.
The rule is, if you hit your prey with a shot, your hunt is over. It doesn’t matter if it escapes. One hit, and you’re finished, which makes this sort of hunt somewhat more sporting than the shoot-’em-ups sometimes associated with deer season around here.
Sheldon had 40 cartridges with him. He hadn’t used one. He and Renner had agreed to alternate shots. It was Sheldon’s turn.
“What do you think?’’ he asked Renner.
“It’s risky,’’ Renner said. “But if you’re comfortable.’’
Sheldon knew if he hit the goat but didn’t kill it, chances were very good it would escape, possibly by flinging itself down into the bottom of the ravine, 4,000 feet below. Sheldon’s hunt would be over.
He steadied his Tikka T3 Light 270 Winchester. The goat poked its front half between two trees. Sheldon squeezed off one round, a silver-tipped, 150-grain bullet. It struck the billy in the front shoulder, and the goat collapsed. Forty-five minutes later, Sheldon posed for pictures with his trophy.
It would be classified a world record not long after, by a panel of judges who measured the size and breadth of the goat’s horns. Deb Sheldon took the horns to the judging. She carried them in a hatbox.
Troy is waiting for a local taxidermist to finish his work, after which he hopes his trophy will be put on display publicly. His own home is already thick with mounts. “Dead animals everywhere’’ is what Deb Sheldon says about that.
“I don’t shoot to shoot,’’ says Troy. He wants that understood. “If I don’t shoot anything, it’s still a good hunt.’’
Thus endeth the tale. Wasn’t that better than another column on the Bengals pass defense?
http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20120912/COL03/309120114/Doc-Mount-Everest-goats-conquered
Two days ago saw a nice goat (nothing to compare with this one) across the lake. We are at 2300 feet (Babine Lake). First time I have noticed one but this happens on occasion although rarely according to locals. The local guess is they are travelling and waiting for the right time to cross the lake. This is a narrow point and there is a bluff they usually hang out on. There are goats in the Big Onion area and maybe that is where he was headed? Pretty exciting stuff at any rate.
Yes, I have quite often seen goats well down in the timber, but hunting them is usually in that typical mountain area, one to two thousand feet above timberline.
As a sidenote, Babine Lake lost a lot of charm, with the removal of the big white church, that used to be on a little point, jutting out from the north side on the south-east end of the lake. I used to think of it as a great white ghost, guarding the lake.
My son has been scouting for a Billy Goat for the past 6 days and has spotted the same Billy everyday. Tomorrow is the first day of the Mountain Goat season, and guess what? It's hammer time! Some days the billy is high in the cliffs and other days he's just in the basin feeding. I can't wait to hear from him to see how his hunt went. Sorry for the little de-railment.
