Chuck Adams is a living legend in the bowhunting world. Not only was he the first to achieve the Grand Slam of North American big game with a bow, but he also took six world record animals during his career and currently has 211 animals registered with Pope & Young. In his epic book, Grand Slam, Chuck chronicles his decades-long quest to harvest all 27 species of North American big game (now 29 species).
Biography of Chuck Adams, “Life at Full Draw'” by Gregg Gutschow.
Chuck Adams is probably the most prolific outdoor writer in history, having written innumerable articles for major hunting publications spanning four decades. He also wrote a handful of bowhunting books including three editions of Bowhunter’s Digest. In its time, Bowhunter’s Digest served as a comprehensive guide to bowhunting tactics and equipment.
Like so many other hunters from my generation, I’ve been reading Chuck’s articles since I was a teen. I’ve probably learned more about bowhunting from Chuck (may I call you Chuck?) than anyone else.
Recently I re-read Grand Slam, only this time I took careful notes in hopes of uncovering his secret to success. The following points are what I consider to be Chuck Adams’ top secrets to bowhunting success.
The Secrets of Chuck Adams’ Success
Persistence. In a recent podcast Chuck was asked what his top tip for bowhunters would be. He responded, “Persistence …. It’s gonna go wrong most of the time … don’t give up.” Whether it takes multiple trips or multiple years, Chuck does whatever it takes to get his trophy.
Personality. Chuck has what I call a “trophy hunter personality.” He has structured his entire life around bowhunting. Every decision he makes–no matter how insignificant–is made with consideration to how it will affect bowhunting. He even went so far as to forego having children. Most people can’t or won’t do these things. Also, being in the hunting industry full-time, Chuck has a vast network of outfitters and friends in the business who share information and support his goals.
Time and Money. This goes hand in hand with his trophy personality. Basically Adams carved out a successful niche in the hunting industry as a freelance writer. In doing so, he is able to make his own schedule while earning enough money to afford his hunts, which in turn supports his career. That’s a rare feat. For the rest of us, we have to figure out how to earn enough money and free up work and family schedules for bowhunting. Chuck’s hunts average 14 days long, and many hunts—like sheep–require expensive guide fees and licenses.
Extremely Tight Equipment Standards. Throughout his career, Chuck has maintained extremely tight standards for his bows, arrows, broadheads and other archery equipment. He upgraded his compound bow often as technology advanced. He constantly tests his equipment and won’t allow any arrow into his quiver that doesn’t spin perfectly. Chuck uses a rangefinder diligently, he sharpens his broadheads by hand, and he uses heavy-draw bows for maximum arrow penetration. This dedication drastically reduces variables and increases success rates.
Physically Tough. Chuck doesn’t go into a lot of detail about his workout routine, but he does maintained peak physical fitness. At least in his younger days, there was nowhere he couldn’t go. Even his guides were surprised to see him keep up while toting a heavy load on his back. Successful bowhunters like Chuck do whatever it takes to get to the animals, no matter how rough the country or weather conditions.
Hunting Alone. Like most successful hunters, Chuck is a lone wolf. Even on hunts that require a guide—in places like Canada and Alaska—Chuck leaves his guide behind for the final stalk. Chuck is a very personable guy and frequently shares a camp with good friends. But in the field he prefers to be alone.
A Naturalist. It is evident from his writings that Chuck is as much a naturalist as a bowhunter. He is fascinated by the animals he hunts and learns as much as he can about their habits and behavior. Having a thorough understanding of his prey allows Chuck to close the distance on every big game species.
Luck and Timing. Chuck readily admits that that many of his world record animals were taken by luck: basically being in the right place at the right time. Certainly luck plays a role in bowhunting, but you still have to be out there putting the time in. You also need to draw a decent tag for a unit that’s capable of producing trophy animals. Chuck puts himself in the right place at the right time and that’s how he gets so lucky. Timing has played another role in Chuck’s life. The bulk of his hunting career took place in the 70s, 80s, and 90s when there were more animals and greater opportunity.
Conclusion
Even today Chuck Adams continues to be an icon and voice for bowhunting. Great hunters need great mentors and Chuck Adams is probably the best bowhunter out there.
Aside from the eight items listed above, you’ll find a wealth of information and entertainment in his books. My favorites are Super Slam and Life at Full Draw.
Like many archers, I’ve struggled with occasional bouts of target panic over the years. After trying just about everything to cure target panic, I’ve found that some techniques work better than others. In this article we’ll focus on the five best cures for target panic.
What is Target Panic?
What’s so scary about targets that we might panic? Target panic is a breakdown of the natural shot process caused by bad shooting habits. Simply put, it’s a fight or flight response to the pressure of hitting the bullseye. When a victim of target panic tries to acquire the bullseye, he either rushes the shot or fails to settle the pin without panicking.
What Causes Target Panic?
The worst contributor to TP is punching the trigger on a release aid. Shooting a heavy bow beyond fatigue can also lead to TP. A third contributor is mental stress from shooting competitive archery.
When an archer develops bad shooting habits (like punching the trigger), he begins to miss the bullseye. The more he misses, the more he tries to control the shot. Pretty soon this stress turns into a full-on panic. Just holding the pin on the bullseye becomes a physically impossibility. In extreme cases the archer is physically incapable of even raising his sight pin to the bullseye no matter how hard he tries.
Anyone who shoots regularly can develop target panic. Target panic is a maddening condition that wrecks ones confidence and can last for years if left untreated.
The goal of these exercises is retrain your brain not to react to a shot. This article focuses on compound shooters, but applies to traditional shooters as well.
Best Cures for Target Panic
Use a back tension release. You can literally cure target panic in one day by using a back tension release aid. A back-tension release has an adjustable, hinged hook that rotates with your elbow during the shot process. As your shoulder blades squeeze together, the shot eventually breaks naturally. There is no physical way to trigger the release without pulling through the shot using your back. Unlike finger releases, the back-tension release creates a surprise release with every shot. Finger releases are great for hunting, but can cause target panic. Back tension releases are fully adjustable to your desired shot sequence. There are several good models on the market, but the one I used is called the Scott Longhorn Pro Micro.
Scott Longhorn Pro Micro
Hold on the Bullseye, then Let Down. This is a very simple, yet effective technique. It won’t cure target panic in a day, but it will gradually retrain your brain to hold on the bullseye without stress. Simply draw your bow, let the pin float on the bullseye for a few seconds, and then let down. Whatever you do, don’t shoot! Do this drill several times per session. After a week or two start releasing an arrow with every other draw. If stress creeps back into the shot, start over. Eventually you’ll be able to release the arrow without stress. It’s important not to hold the draw too long or you’ll fatigue out, which only exasperates target panic. It’s never a good idea to keep shooting after exhausting your muscles.
Shoot a Giant Bullseye. Basically you create a huge bullseye out of paper or cardboard and pin it to your target. Shoot the big bullseye from just 10 yards away. Similar to blank bale shooting—where there is no bullseye—this drill is designed to take your focus off aiming, and focus instead on what a surprise release feels like. Be sure to use your back and not your fingers to trigger the release. Gradually reduce the size of the bullseye until you can shoot normally again.
Shoot a Lighter-Draw Bow. A lighter bow removes all the physical stress involved with shooting. Shooting a very heavy-to-draw bow creates physical stress and can lead to target panic. Basically as you fatigue out your mind gets anxious to get rid of the stress. Pretty soon you’re rushing the shot instead of pulling through smoothly. During the off-season I switch to a bow that’s 15 pounds lighter than my hunting bow. I did this initially to save my shoulder, but it has the added benefit of letting me shoot longer sessions without fatigue.
Use a Longer Stabilizer. A long stabilizer on the front of your bow creates resistance to movement at full draw. The longer the stabilizer, the less movement. This is why you see tournament archers with ridiculously long stabilizers protruding three or four feet in front of their bows. For our purposes you’ll do just fine with a 12-inch stabilizer. A person struggling with target panic is prone to quick, jerky movements towards the bullseye. A long stabilizer resists these movements. Once you settle the pin on the bullseye, it stays longer. Whichever stabilizer you choose, just make sure the weight is out front. You don’t want a big, bulky stabilizer that will just add more weight to your bow. The B-Stinger is a great option and even comes with extra weights for customization. Or you could always make your own out of an old carbon arrow and weights found on eBay.
A stabilizer measureing 12″ or more, and with front weights, will your bow help you stay on target.
A Final Note
The goal of these exercises is to relearn how draw to a relaxed state of mind and body. There are three ways to help you do this. First, don’t hold your breath. Archers oftentimes hold their breath when they draw, but that just adds more stress to the shot. Second acquire the bullseye quickly. Moving your pin slowly to the bullseye creates anticipation. And third, tell yourself it’s okay to miss. Miss on purpose if you have to, but teach your brain that it’s okay to miss occasionally.
Conclusion
If you’ve implemented these five steps then congratulations, you’re cured! If not, start over. Most archers will struggle with bouts of target panic now and then, but don’t panic, it’s easily cured.
You can avoid future bouts by practicing proper shooting techniques. Always strive to use your back muscles and have a surprise release with every shot. Avoid shooting a heavy bow beyond the point of fatigue. Instead use a light-draw bow with a long stabilizer during the off-season. A heavy bow turns archery a high stress activity when it should be fun and relaxing.
I hope this helps. Let me know if you have any questions and happy shooting.
It’s often said that one should spend as much time researching taxidermists as they do researching their hunt. That’s because a taxidermy mount embodies the memory of your hunt for a lifetime. A quality mount is not cheap, but neither is your hunt. While your hunt will soon be over, the memories will remain. So isn’t it worth investing a little time and money in a quality mount? In this article I’ll guide you through the process of selecting a quality taxidermist.
Before we begin, I should mention that I’m a professional taxidermist living in Southern Utah. My business is Nate’s Taxidermy and I’ve been mounting big game animals for ten years. I’m not seeking to score more business with this article, but rather help fellow hunters figure out how to get professional quality mount.
One reason I became a taxidermist was the vast unprofessionalism I encountered in the industry before I became a taxidermist. Turnaround time was always delayed, craftsmanship was questionable, and professionalism was unheard of. Calls mostly went unanswered and any guarantee of quality was non-existent. With this in mind, here are my top suggestions for anyone searching for a taxidermist.
Quality of work
First off, visit as many taxidermy studios as possible. Every taxidermist should have a well-lit showroom with a variety of species to inspect. The goal of taxidermy is to bring the animal back to life…or close to. Do the specimens look “alive”?
Begin by asking what skills and methods separate them from their competition. When touring showrooms look for things like symmetry in the face, especially the eyes and ears. Watch for drumming (places where the skin has pulled free of the form). This usually occurs in highly detailed areas like the face, inside the ears, and around the legs. Drumming indicates low-quality glue or cutting corners.
Another place to inspect is antler bases. Make sure there aren’t any gaps or separations where the hair meets the horn. Also, take a close look at habitat bases. If you see something weird in your wanderings, ask about it. A real professional will be honest and friendly, and value you beyond the money you’re spending.
Turnaround Time
Unless you are in a big hurry with your mount, don’t base your decision solely on a fast turnaround time. That being said, your mount should be finished within a reasonable time, say 8 to 12 months. Good taxidermy takes some time, but not years.
Most high-volume taxidermists use commercial tanneries, which are better than in-house tanneries (in my opinion). But most commercial tanneries are currently 8 months out due to supply-chain and staffing issues. As of 2023 you can expect completion times can to be a little longer.
Once the hide is back from the tannery, it shouldn’t take more than a month or two to complete. If your taxidermist keeps extending the time he quoted, or making excuses—like blaming the tannery—then beware. A taxidermist who accepts too much workload is more likely to cut corners on your mount.
Quality of Materials
Most people would be hard-pressed to distinguish whether cheap materials and high quality ones were used in the final mount. But there is a difference. Just like a food recipe, the quality of the final product depends on the culmination of ingredients. It would behoove you to ask about various materials used.
Start with the tanning process. Was the hide professionally tanned, or just “dry preserved?” Dry preserved isn’t really tanning, and in my opinion should never be used since it will drastically decrease the shelf life of your mount.
Next is the glue (aka hide paste). Hide paste is what holds the whole mount together. There are a variety of glues on the market, but many taxidermists are still using dextrin-based glue simply because it’s very inexpensive. Dextrin works, but it’s also a food derivative (from corn starch) which can attract bugs. Modern synthetic glue is much better. Some glues even contain bug-resistant additives.
Synthetic glues are more expensive, but they’re necessary for the long term survival of your mount. So be sure to ask about the glue! There are many other materials used as well–things like eyes, ear liners, paint, etc—but most are visibly apparent. Basically, if the mount looks cheap, it probably is.
Professionalism and Paperwork
Anyone working in the dead animal business is gonna be a little strange (myself included). Still, no business can survive without some basic customer service skills. Why should taxidermy be any different?
Let’s start by answering the phone. Simple, right? Nope. I recently tried to call a fellow taxidermist for a month straight before giving up. Apparently it’s still a problem in our industry. If your taxidermist does answer the phone, is he courteous and helpful?
What about paperwork? In the past I was given a little, scribbled receipt showing little more than my deposit was paid. When I opened my own taxidermy business I started with the paperwork.
When a client brings me a project, they receive a signed agreement with various details including balance of account, turnaround time, guarantee of quality, desired mount position, and even measurements taken from the carcass. When they pick up their finished piece they receive a “care sheet” for the long-term maintenance of their mount.
Professionals should also have a decent website with updated photos, contact info, and other helpful information.
Clean and Orderly Workspace
When you visit the taxidermy shop, is it clean, orderly, and well lit? Or is dark, dingy, smelly and cluttered? Similar to a mechanic’s shop, working conditions often reflect in the quality of service. For example, taxidermy requires a myriad of specialized tools. How can a mount be done properly if the taxidermist can’t find the right tools?
Cleanliness is also vital in a shop. A sanitary workspace prevents insect infestations, as well as bacterial cross-contamination from one project to another. I once visited a shop with a huge bison skull rotting under a table. It smelled so bad I could hardly breathe. The taxidermist didn’t seem to notice, but it didn’t help my confidence any.
Specialization vs. Generalists
One of the first questions to ask a prospective taxidermist is which animals they specialize in. This can usually be discovered on their website, if they have one.
Some taxidermists are generalists while others are specialists. Some guys specialize in birds; others specialize in big game (myself included). There are also specialists in skulls, fish, African game, and small game.
A generalist does everything–fish, deer, skulls, etc. This is fine and dandy, but such a broad spectrum of work requires many more years of training and experience. African big game–which includes vastly more animals–is more specialized than North American big game and also requires more specialized training.
In the end, just make sure you’re not dropping a deer off at a fish guy with little experience in big game.
Experience and Training
Be sure to ask about experience and training. How many years has the taxidermist been in business? How many times has he mounted the specific animal you’re interested in? Where did he get his training from? Did he go to a specialized taxidermy school or was he trained as an assistant? Both are fine so long as he’s acquired the requisite foundation in his field of taxidermy.
Experience matters. Every animal and every animal manikin (form) is unique, and thus requires some level of customization. Only specialized training and experience will guarantee the accuracy of your mount.
Customer References
It’s a good idea to request a reference list of previous customer phone numbers from your prospective taxidermist. With a deer or duck you might be fine with just visiting his studio. But with an especially large or expensive mount (e.g. life-size grizzly bear, bison or musk ox) you’d be best making some calls.
A few key topics to discuss with past customers is turnaround time, customer service, and quality of their finished mount. I would also ask long-term customers how their mounts are holding up over the years, and whether or not they would use that taxidermist again.
Conclusion
That’s about it, folks. I know these are mostly common sense items, but you don’t want to take chances with your once-in-a-lifetime memories.
Taxidermy is as much an art as science. Science says your mount should accurately recreate the living creature. A good taxidermist will ‘bring the animal back to life.’
Art, on the other hand, is subjective. That’s where finding the right taxidermist with the right style comes into play. Style varies from artist to artist, so your goal should be to find the taxidermist who reflects both the “look” you desire and an accurate representation of your trophy.
You’ve probably noticed by now that shooting a high-poundage hunting bow is a very strenuous physical activity. When you’re young, shooting a seventy pound bow is no problem. But like any physical sport, it will catch up to you someday.
I’ve met a lot of older hunters who were forced to give up archery due to shoulder injuries, or just a worn out shoulder. This usually occurs in one’s late 40s or 50s. Personally, I can’t think of anything worse than putting the bow down forever! In this article we’re going to explore ways to bowhunt into old age.
Shoulder Impingements
After fifteen years of continuous shooting, I began noticing some stiffness and soreness in my right (draw) shoulder. Fearing the worst, I went to a shoulder specialist and was diagnosed with a “shoulder impingement.” An impingement—sometimes referred to as swimmer’s shoulder—is a condition that causes pain due to a tendon rubbing against the shoulder blade.
Similar to tendonitis, shoulder impingements are caused by excessive strain on tendons over time. The pain is consistent and generally gets worse when a person reaches upwards or moves their arms above their head. Over time the shoulder becomes too painful and/or weak to do even modest work, like pulling a bow back.
Fortunately I didn’t have any tears (or worse) that would require surgery, just a persistent discomfort that worsened with physical strain, particularly after shooting my bow. To sum it up, I was put through several weeks of physical therapy and gradually noticed some improvement.
Reducing Physical Strain in Archery
Ten years later I’m still living with intermittent soreness, but now I’m shooting for longevity. I plan to bowhunt well into my seventies, God willing. I’ve taken several steps to reduce further damage while still shooting on a semi-regular basis. Here’s how.
Reduce Draw Weight
Reducing your draw weight is the first step to saving your shoulder. Unless you’ve already suffered a serious shoulder injury, I don’t recommend going overboard. Reducing draw weight will also affect arrow speed, pin spacing and penetration. I would start with 5-10 pounds.
I reduced my bow’s draw weight from seventy to sixty pounds. This was the lowest I dared go and still retain good accuracy and arrow energy. What I’ve learned since then is that shot placement is far more important than kinetic energy and penetration.
Use a Low-Poundage Bow in the Off-Season
Serious archers shoot year-round in order to maintain good form and fundamentals. If this is you, then consider buying a low-poundage bow. Go as light as you want since you’re only using this bow in practice. You’ll also need some lighter arrows to go with it, especially if you’re shooting in competitions.
For off-season practice I switch to a 45-pound bow that’s set up very similar to my hunting bow. This allows me to shoot year-round without wrecking my shoulder. Serious archers shoot hundreds of shots in practice, but only a couple during the actual hunt. So a low-poundage practice bow is a great way to save your shoulder.
Reduce Shooting Time
Here’s a simple fix: Shoot less. Now that I’m shooting for longevity, I’ve reduced my practice sessions to an hour or less. During these brief sessions I make every arrow count. It’s a simple concept: quality over quantity.
Before hunting season, I’ll take my hunting bow out for fine tuning. Since I’m limited on shooting time, the tuning process can take a couple days, but at least I’ll still be able to hunt ten years from now.
Draw with a High Elbow
One last tip for saving your shoulder. Never draw with your draw elbow pointing down. Instead, draw with your elbow pointing out level to the ground or just higher than that.
You should always draw the bow with your back, not your arms. Drawing with a low elbow engages more of your arms which puts more strain on your shoulder. A high-elbow engages more of your back muscles like it should.
At-Home Physical Therapy for Impingements
If you’re already suffering from shoulder impingements or other discomfort, you might consider some at-home physical therapy.
There are multiple targeted exercises for shoulder injuries like impingements. These exercises are commonly known as “Jobe’s Shoulder Exercises” and can be found with a quick internet search.
These exercises work by strengthening the multitude of muscles and tendons that support the shoulder. This takes the strain off the affected tendon area. Depending on your level of impingement, these exercises should be repeated 2-3 times per week.
Conclusion
For many of us, bowhunting isn’t just a fun hobby, but a way of life. Simply dropping archery because of a shoulder injury is not an option. So it just makes sense to adopt some level of protection before it’s too late.
Quality over quantity is the name of the game here: make every arrow count. Your long term goal should be to shoot less and shoot lighter. Shot placement is far more important than kinetic energy, so going lighter won’t be a problem as long as you can shoot accurately.
In 2016 I switched from a fixed pin sight to a one pin “slider” sight. That year I harvested a bear, deer, and an elk. I was sold on a one-pin sight, and for good reason. (Here’s the link to that article).
Then, in 2017, halfway through the deer hunt, my slider broke. The gears simply stripped out. Thankfully I had my backup bow in camp and was able to swap back to my old multi-pin sight.
When I got home I bought a slider sight and used it for a while, but it didn’t stick. Eventually I went back to my fixed pin sight and never looked back. In this article we’ll look at the pros and cons of using a fixed-pin (multi-pin) bow sight.
My TruGlo fixed-pin, composite bow sight.
Fixed Pin Sight Pros:
Fixed pin sights work with all bows and draw weights. But lower poundage bows aren’t always compatible with sliders. Especially at longer distances (usually over 60 yards) the sight housing adjust lower and lower until it actually comes into contact with the arrow or fletchings. What good is a single pin sight that can’t be dialed over 60 yards? This was the main issue I had while using a single-pin sight on my 60-pound hunting bow.
Unlike single pin sights, multi-pins don’t require extra hand movement when adjusting for moving targets. One-pin sights are great for stationary targets, but in the thick stuff you have to be ready for anything. Once you draw your bow, it’s not possible to readjust the sight if the animal moves, especially if it’s moving rapidly toward or away from you. Animals that move a lot—like bear, javelina, and turkey—are especially problematic with one pin sights. When hunting open terrain or when dealing with longer yardages—say 40 yards or more—movement isn’t a big issue because the animal is less likely to notice.
Fixed-pin sights don’t have moving parts. Once you’re sighted in, you just tighten down the screws and go. Moving parts can wear out or break easier than stationary parts. That’s what happened to me; my slider simply stripped out from normal use. And on a hunt no less! This is not acceptable.
Fixed-pin sights tend to be lighter than single pin sights. Slider sights with lots of working parts tend to be heavier than fixed pin sights. Of course accessory weight isn’t a big issue unless you’re already lugging around a heavy aluminum bow, or if you’re a backcountry bowhunter where weight is always an issue. Both apply to me, so using a lighter sight is better. My bare bow already weighs nearly 4.7 pounds, so accessory weight is a real issue. BTW, my favorite lightweight sight is the TruGlo Carbon XS Xtreme carbon-composite bow sight. At 4 ounces it weighs half as much as my old slider.
Now for the cons.
Fixed Pin Sight Cons:
The pins in a fixed sight take up more space in the sight picture. A long row of pins is not only distracting, but can block much of an animal’s vitals. It’s much easier to place a single pin on a small target than to wade through multiple pins, especially in a high-stress situation. However, using smaller diameter pins (.019 or smaller) mostly solves this problem
Shooting between the pins (aka pin gapping) takes practice. If you’re shooting heavy arrows and/or pulling a light draw weight, the pins on a multi-pin sight will be spaced widely apart. So shooting odd-yardages means shooting between the pins. This takes some practice to get use to. It’s much easier to just dial up the exact yardage and hold the pin on the target.
Selecting the right pin under pressure can lead to mistakes. This was the reason I switched to single pin sight in the first place. It’s rare that I select the wrong pin, but it can happen. And the more pins you have, the easier it is to make mistakes. That being said, mistakes are just as common with a slider sight. Anyone who has used a slider will admit to forgetting to move the pin from time to time. Mistakes happen with both sights.
Conclusion
There are pros and cons to using single- or multi-pin bow sights. The decision should be based on the type of hunting you do, your personal bow setup, and most importantly the sight you’re most comfortable using in real hunting situations.
In tournament or target shooting, I prefer a slider. In open country where long shots are the norm, I would definitely go with a slider. But in heavy cover or backcountry use, I’m more comfortable with a multi-pin sight.
Six years ago I swore I’d never go back to a fixed pin sight, yet here I am. What’s the lesson here? Never say NEVER.
My bow is my best friend and woods companion. It goes everywhere that I do, sometimes for weeks at a time. It hangs freely from my fingertips, never strapped to my back. It’s tough being my bow, constantly getting banged up and snagging on brush. Sometimes I break parts off of it, but it never complains or fails.
My bow has seen the most amazing things: Trophy bucks beyond imagination, breathtaking sunrises, the glowing Milky Way galaxy on a moonless night. It once protected me from a man-stalking cougar. Another time it was nearly struck by lightning as it hung from my hand during a freak thunderstorm. And yet another day, me and my bow were caught in a freak wind storm that blew down eleven trees into flying splinters around us with nowhere to run.Over the course of a year my bow gets soaked by rain, covered in dirt, and caked with snow. Despite the elements, my bow is 100% accurate with every shot. Whether it’s 100 degrees, or well below zero, my bow always shoots true. When an arrow misses the bullseye I only have myself to blame.
My bow is absolutely quiet, even when it snaps off an arrow at 300 feet per second. A deer might hear the arrow whiz by, but not the whisper of the bows release.
At first glance my bow looks like any other aluminum-framed, modern compound bow. But it’s not. My bow was designed by a certifiable genius-engineer by the name of Mathew McPherson. Since the 1990s, McPherson has led the charge in bow technology, quite literally reinventing the modern compound bow over and over again.
The name stamped on my bow is Halon 32. Halon is a fire-extinguisher gas and a strange name for a bow. Its actual name—the one I gave it—is “Excalibur III”.
Excalibur III is my third serious hunting bow. But in the end it’s still only a tool, and so I usually just call it, well, “My Bow.”
Since 2017 my bow has killed three P&Y deer, one trophy mountain goat, three javelina and several non-trophy animals. It’s the primary provider of meat for me and my family.
Shortly after returning home from a long hunt, I feel an emptiness by my side, like I’m forgetting something. Then I realize it’s my bow, now tucked snuggly away in its case on the floor behind the couch.
Out of sight, but never out of mind, my bow is a warrior and a friend. With my bow, alone, I share life’s greatest moments; my pain, my success, my tears and my glory.
I’ll never forget. Ten years ago I rounded a large fir tree and spotted a 180-class buck bedded in some deadfall at thirty yards and facing directly away from me. But before I could even pull an arrow, a nearby squirrel lit up with a world-class barking fit. The buck instantly stood up and walked into the deep woods without offering a shot. Since then, I’ve had innumerable stalks thwarted by these cursed tree rats, some ending entire seasons in failure by a single squirrel.
Aside from using other deer as sentinels, big bucks use a myriad of other forest creatures for safety too. As you travel through the woods you might notice that squirrels, chipmunks, and a variety of birds are continually announcing your presence. They do this to warn their own species of danger, but the deer pick up on their calls and use them to their advantage. Big bucks, especially, are completely aware of their surrounding and pick notice anything out of the ordinary.
How Deer Use Squirrels
If you’ve had the chance to observe many deer in the deep woods, then you’ve probably noticed that every time a squirrel fires up, the deer will stop whatever he’s doing and stare in that direction. Squirrels don’t bark randomly; there’s always a threat, even if it’s just another squirrel in their territory. Either way, if you agitate a squirrel, then just know that any deer within earshot is now looking for danger. Conversely, squirrels bark at deer as well as people. Several times I’ve found deer in places where I’ve heard a squirrel fire up. So don’t be afraid to investigate random squirrel barks.
Like elk, big bucks enjoy the security of bedding in thick, over-grown conifer forests. The problem with conifers is the abundance of squirrels and chipmunks that inhabit them. Like most animals, squirrels are territorial. Long ago I noticed that the whole conifer forest is gridded in squirrel territory. When you leave one barking squirrel behind, you’ll likely run into another and another as you move through the woods.
Squirrels aren’t too noisy early season, but it gets progressively worse in September as the squirrels begin to amass food stores (pinecones) for winter. In my neck of the woods, August 25th is the beginning of mayhem.
Chipmunks Too?!
If you have an abundance of chipmunks in your area, you might notice they’re equally bad, erupting with a myriad of alarming noises that deer pick up on. One time I stumbled upon a crabby 4×4 buck feeding off a trail at 15 yards. Immediately, a cantankerous chipmunk situated between us erupted into a machine gun-like, high-pitched chirping fit. The buck stopped feeding and spent the next five minutes scanning the woods for danger. Eventually he marched nervously away. Just last year my eight-hour, once-in-a-lifetime mountain goat stalk was nearly blown by a single chipmunk who threw an alarming fit in a nearby tree.
Knowing that squirrels and chipmunks are such threats to bowhunting success, what do you do? I’ve tried everything, but here are a few tried-and-true techniques that might help you.
Squirrel Avoidance Techniques
Unless you are sitting in a fixed ambush position, your best strategy is to just get up and move. Once out of sight, squirrels will soon shut up and go about their business. Fortunately, not all squirrels are bad. Some will even allow your presence, like if they’re too busy gathering pinecones to notice you.
A second option is to wait the squirrel out. Squirrels will generally bark for 30 minutes or less, during which time no deer will enter the area, guaranteed. After 30 minutes squirrels will tire out and go back to their business. Another effective technique is to walk directly towards the squirrel’s tree. Most squirrels will get nervous as you approach and shut up—but not always. Some just get louder! Fortunately chipmunks are more skittish and scare easily.
As a last resort, feel free to shoot the wretched beast. You don’t necessarily have to kill him, just whiz an arrow past his head. When he realizes he’s in danger, he’ll likely run off. For this reason, I always carry a cheap, aluminum “squirrel arrow” in my quiver—because you’re not likely to get your arrow back; believe me, I’ve shot at a lot of squirrels. My Spanish name is actually Squirlero! Okay, it’s not, but it should be.
Again, it depends on the squirrel you’re shooting at. Some just climb higher and bark louder. For this reason, a more lethal method might be in order. I know one hunter who carries a lightweight BB pistol in his pack…just in case.
Conclusion
If you hunt long enough, you’ll inevitably have an entire hunt go down the toilet thanks to a random tree rat. So be prepared by using the aforementioned squirrel-avoidance techniques. On a side note, I’ve actually eaten more squirrels than the average person. It was a long time ago, but eat them I did. They’re actually quite tasty; like chicken but with a nutty overtone. Bon appétit!
A laser rangefinder is an absolute necessity for compound bow shooters. Whenever possible I implore you to range the distance of any animal. This is especially important over flat ground and long distances.
That being said, all bowhunters must learn to judge distance without the aid of a rangefinder. When hunting in heavy timber, bucks can appear and disappear quickly, so you need to be ready for fast action. The majority of my trophies were taken on the fly with no time to range. Learning to judge distance without a rangefinder is something that can be easily practiced at home. Here are some techniques.
Practice Makes Perfect
Set your target in the weeds at an unknown distance, and then shoot from random yardages without ranging. After your first shot, verify the distance with your rangefinder. Do this exercise at every practice session and your distance-judging abilities will increase rapidly.
When you’re hunting in the woods you can take advantage of the vast amount of downtime by guessing random yardages of distant trees or rocks, and then verifying the distance with your rangefinder. This is both a fun and productive way to kill time afield.
Another exercise is to figure out the farthest distance you can throw a fist-size rock (it’s usually 40-50 yards). In the field, ask yourself if you could hit a certain object with a rock. Your brain already knows, through muscle memory, how far you can throw a rock, so you can pretty much gauge whether or not you could hit something with a rock by just looking at it. Then use that estimation as a reference. This method is surprisingly accurate.
Judging distance can be especially difficult over longer distances and flat ground. In these situations try using the twenty-yard addition method. You already know what 20 yards looks like, so you can figure out longer distances by finding a spot 20 yards away, and then another spot 20 yards beyond that until you reach your target. Keep adding 20-yards until you reach the target. It works!
The deer herd in my Southern Utah hunting area is on the decline thanks to a long-running drought, in conjunction with an ever-increasing human presence. Locating any remaining bucks means relying on an array of trail cameras placed along known deer routes across the mountain range. Every year we capture one or two photos of cougars prowling around, but last season was different. Over the course of a single month we captured cougar pictures on all four cameras.
A cougar-clawed tree.
Of course you’ll find cougars wherever deer are concentrated, but in recent years we’ve been seeing more and more cougar sign including deer kills, paw prints, clawed-up trees, and of course trail-cam photos.
My theory is that when deer numbers decrease rapidly, cougars (commonly referred to as mountain lions) are forced to roam over more territory in search of their most common prey, the mule deer. This, of course, increases the odds of running into a big cat while hunting. To make matters worse, when deer numbers are down, hungry cougars will actually consider humans as prey, although attacks are quite rare.
Cougar on trail camera in 2021.
In three decades of deer hunting I’ve only seen a handful of cougars. About half were seen at night by headlights on remote dirt roads, the other half up and prowling during daylight hours. It wasn’t until the 2021 deer season that I actually came face-to-face with a lion in the woods and was even forced to defend myself.
The Cougar Attack
It all began halfway through last season’s bowhunt. It was just another hot afternoon as Esther and I trudged up a dusty trail leading to a pine ridge where we like to hunt. Esther was excited to show me some trail-cam photos of a decent 3-pointer from earlier in the week. Sweating and puffing from the steep hike, we settled down on a log and began scrolling through the photos.
We’d only been there a minute or two when a series of blood-curdling screams and a loud scuffling sounds broke the silence about 50 yards into the heavy timber. At first I thought it was another hunter-jackass messing with us. However, the screams grew louder and morphed into what sounded like a sheep in distress…or at least something very non-human. Esther and I sat frozen, staring blankly at the timber. Seconds later everything was silent.
At that point it I figured it must have been a cougar attack and said to Esther, “I think a deer just got whacked by a cougar….” Of course I’d never actually heard a cougar attack on a deer, but what else could it be? Sasquatch, maybe?
As a self-proclaimed naturalist I was overcome by curiosity and stood up, saying, “Hey, let’s go take a look.”
“I’m not going over there!” was Esther’s immediate reply.
“Just stay behind me. If it’s a lion he’ll just run off.”
Everyone knows that big cats out West are naturally afraid of people and take every precaution to avoid humans. This is reinforced by the fact that humans are the cougar’s only natural predator. But I can’t fault Esther for being nervous. Only two years previous she had a very unnerving encounter with a lion on another trail. In the gray hours of morning she came around a bend at the exact same time a cougar was coming from the opposite direction. The cougar didn’t run away, but instead crouched low and stared at Esther from only fifteen yards away. Following the standard cougar-avoidance protocol, Esther yelled and waved her arms to scare it off. When that didn’t work she loaded an arrow and drew her bow. When he still didn’t budge she released the arrow which skipped off the dirt right next to the cat. Instead of running away, he just turned and walked casually into the woods.
Cougar on camera: 2019. Maybe the same one that stalked Esther…
A dangerous cat is a danger indeed. Due to their explosive short-burst speed, there is no physical way to outrun a cougar. They can grow to roughly the same size and weight (and color) as an adult human; a full-grown male lion can weigh more than two-hundred pounds. Cougars prefer ambush-style hunting: crouching in wait and then pouncing on his victim. He uses his powerful arms to pull down his prey, and then kills quickly by sinking his fangs into the back of the neck and severing the spine. Other tactics include crushing the windpipe and suffocating his victim. Either way it’s a quick and silent death. Your best chance at surviving a cougar attack is to fight back. If at all possible, go for the eyes. Cats are very careful to avoid personal injury and will back off if you threaten bodily harm.
Typical cougar kill (note claw marks).
Now back to our story.
Cautiously we tiptoed into the timber in the direction of the scuffle. Coming around a clump of stunted pines we found a yearling doe lying flat on the ground, gargling and gasping with its eyes rolled back in its head. Claw marks were raked horizontally across her hind quarters. The cougar had obviously heard us coming and ran off before we arrived.
Instinctively I loaded an arrow while Esther suggested what I was thinking anyway: “Maybe we should put it out of its misery.” But I decided to wait since, strangely, there was no blood present. About twenty seconds later, the deer’s eyes rolled back into place. She suddenly swung her head up, looked around, then sprang to her feet and bounded away as if nothing happened.
At that point we slowly backed out and into the open. On the way out I joked, “Looks like I saved a deer’s life. She better send us a thank you card in the mail.”
Cougar on trail camera in 2020.
Esther was planning to hunt this area in the evening, but after the nerve-wracking experience she decided to follow me into a different area instead. On the way I joked that the cougar might be plotting revenge for having his dinner plans ruined. In retrospect I was only half-joking, because that’s exactly what the cougar did! Before splitting up for the evening, I suggested she sit with her back to a tree and keep an eye behind her. But the evening was uneventful and at dark we walked back to the truck together.
A Vengeful Cougar?
Twenty-four hours later I found myself once again huffing and puffing up the mountain alone, this time about a mile away. I was thoroughly focused on deer; the cougar encounter already ancient history in my mind. After all, what were the odds of running into the same cat, even if he was now desperately hungry and maybe even seeking revenge?
Big cougar tom wearing tracking collar in 2021.
I arrived at one of my favorite areas and immediately spotted two forest grouse pecking around. Realizing that any meat was better than no meat, I stalked toward the bigger bird. He got nervous, however, and flew into the low branches of a nearby tree. Moving closer for a shot, I settled my pin on the little target and released. POOF! The grouse fell to the ground in a shower of clipped feathers. Excitedly I trotted over to collect my bird, but to my dismay he was gone; apparently just a grazing shot. From there I walked in ever-widening circles around the trees scanning for the bird.
A moment later I spotted a grouse walking across a flat towards some nearby cliffs. I followed the bird, but when I got closer he busted from the cliff edge and soared into the wilderness 1000 feet below. Realizing it must have been the other bird, I turned back to look for the one I’d shot at.
But when I turned around my heart stopped. Sitting in the shadows, half-hidden behind a deadfall tree and exactly where I’d been standing just a minute earlier, was a big cougar staring right at me. Only his head and muscular shoulders were visible above the log, his eyes locked on mine. It didn’t seem real at first, and all I could do was stare back as my mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. Was it real or someone playing a trick on me? Now what?
Adult cougar close-up. (Photo courtesy of Utah DWR, by Lynn Chamberlain)
Defend Yourself!
The hackles on my neck suddenly stood on end as I realized the gravity of the situation. First off, I was standing in the wide open with sheer cliffs at my back. Second, the cougar wasn’t budging and likely contemplating his next move. Finally, in all likelihood he was the same cougar from the previous night, now hungry and vengeful. At any moment I expected the great cat to explode across the flat in a tawny blur and rip me to shreds.
Without another thought I quickly and smoothly grasped an arrow from my quiver and loaded it onto my bow without looking down. Then, in one fluid motion I drew my bow while calculating the distance to the cougar. My sight pins scrolled across his face. Looks about thirty yards…
A second later my arrow whizzed into the shadows and found its mark with a loud CRACK!
The cougar disappeared into a flurry of dust and debris, its tail whipping wildly above the log. Instantly I pulled another arrow, this time fumbling to load it with my shaking hand. The scuffling suddenly stopped. Was he dead?
Nope.
The cat sprang up on another log situated perpendicular to the one he’d been sitting behind. Without looking back he casually walked the length of the log in the opposite direction, then hopped to the ground and meandered into the trees as if nothing happened.
I waited until the cat was well out of sight and then walked over to where he’d been sitting. There was no blood or arrow at first, just a few tuffs of tan fur mixed with pine needles and branches. A short distance later the blood trail started, dark red and drizzled steadily along the log and off into the woods.
For the moment I had no intention of following the cat, and instead spent some time looking for my arrow, the whole time wondering where I’d hit him. It was clearly a good hit, but there was no evidence that the arrow passed through, nor did he carry it off. The only possibility was the arrow hit him high on the head, a glancing, slashing blow that knocked him temporarily senseless, and then skipped into the woods.
Another cougar kill from 2021.
At last I cautiously followed the blood trail into the woods. It was my responsibility, after all, to follow-up on a wounded animal. The easy-to-follow drizzle trail continued for about 300 yards and then stopped abruptly as the forest grew thick with minimal visibility. At that point, and with darkness falling fast, I decided that following an injured, man-stalking cat into the thick stuff was a bad idea and backed out.
In the End
Interestingly, I returned to the site in the morning and found an entirely new blood trail. This blood was from a deer, however, its dug-in tracks intermingled with that of a cougar who’d apparently taken it down very near the same location as my encounter. Was it the same cat? We’ll never know.
Although I continued to hunt the same general area for the next couple weeks I never saw the cougar again, nor did I expect to. He learned a valuable lesson that day: To associate people with danger. Still, I’m looking forward to next season. If we meet again he should be easily identifiable; perhaps I’ll name him “scar.”
Of all the big game animals I’ve chased over the last 30 years, the Rocky Mountain goat is the most fascinating, strikingly beautiful, and toughest I’ve ever seen. He is a rare creature, living exclusively along a sparse band along the Rocky Mountains, ranging from Alaska down through Colorado and Southern Utah. Because he spends his days climbing vertical mountains, he is likely the strongest animal—pound-for-pound—in North America.
The first time you see him, with his stark white coat gleaming against the gray cliffs, it almost seems unfair that such a rare gem should be so easily spotted as he feeds carelessly on patches of dry grass in the wide open. But as you begin plotting your approach over the deep chasms between you, with thousands of vertical feet given and taken, you soon realize that a simple stalk is actually an all-day, perilous venture into the bowels of hell, and always one misstep away from serious injury or death. As Esther would lament later under the weight of a crushing backpack and half lost in the nighttime gloom of unfamiliar woods, “This hunt unit should have a warning label on it…seriously!”
Goats of Ben Lomond.
What does it take to get your goat? Well, aside from the usual requisites—such as shooting proficiency, general fitness, and patience—goat hunting requires more than you might think. First you’ll need about half a lifetime to accumulate the number of points necessary to draw the once-in-a-lifetime tag. For me it took eighteen years, so I got lucky. Second, to hunt a goat you must be a goat. No matter how much physical training you undertake in the off-season, it won’t be enough—period. Goats live in the worst terrain on earth, places where most other creatures and plants cease to exist. Unless your exercise program involves scaling jagged granite cliffs at 11,000 feet while donning a heavy pack and carrying a cumbersome bow, you won’t be ready. Finally, you’ll need a viable exit plan. Big old billies can weigh up to 300 pounds and fall in places where you couldn’t get a horse. Heck, you might not even get yourself out.
With this in mind, let’s go hunting!
The Complaint Department
My deer hunt was a disaster. In a mere four year span, the ever-increasing gaggle of outdoor enthusiasts have turned my once wild mountain into a clown-town mountain bike and hiking resort; people everywhere, all the time, on every road and trail. The biggest and wisest bucks have since fled back to the vast private lands, now refusing to take part in the public land people party up top. Four hot and exhausting weeks down the toilet, my greatest passion ripped away, another mountain ruined and lost forever.
Realizing failure early on, my mind frequently drifted to the mountain goat tag lying on the kitchen table back home. I couldn’t imagine how this fluffy, conspicuous animal could be anywhere near as difficult as the wily old mule deer buck… Or could he… I was continually haunted by the unknown. All I knew for sure was that I’d never seen an easy hunt before, and wondered what surprises lay ahead.
Perhaps I could have scouted my goat unit if only I had a vehicle. In July my truck motor blew up on the highway and became a permanent fixture at a redneck repair shop 150 miles from home. At the same time, Esther’s car was recalled by the dealership for a three month stint requiring a new engine due to some pretty shoddy engineering. So I did my scouting at home, 200 miles away from the goats.
Scouting
My first call was to a fine fellow named Kendall who’d posted a compelling YouTube video from his Nebo goat hunt last year. He’d done extensive scouting beforehand and was gracious enough to answer all my questions and point me in the right direction. My second call was to a DWR biologist who provided even more information.
Of particular interest was the location of goats. Although Nebo is a large unit, the goats inhabit only a few square miles of the three highest peaks, and you won’t find even a trace of goats below ten-thousand feet. There were only nine archery tags issued for the entire Mt. Nebo unit this year, but it doesn’t take much to blow out an entire peak, as I would soon to discover.
Nebo goat country.
A few days after the deer hunt ended, Esther and I loaded twelve days worth of supplies into our emergency-bought, nineties beater truck and headed north to the bald peaks of Nebo. Fall colors were changing and elk were bugling as we settled into a fine tent camp beneath the great shadow of 12,000-foot Mt. Nebo.
Just around the corner from camp we found ourselves within viewing distance of a myriad of tiny white dots scattered across the sheer, granite cliffs two miles away. Judging by the various sizes of the goats, we determined the majority were family units of nannies and kids. The males, or billies, run about 40% bigger than the nannies and tend to live alone or in groups of two or three. Other than body size, there’s no good way to judge the animals from two miles away. All goats—whether billies, nannies, and juveniles—have sleek, swept-back, dagger-like horns ranging from seven to ten inches long and being all but invisible at long distances. Clearly this would be a boots-on-the-ground hunt. Thus, an all-day hike was planned for the following day.
Day #1
I sure learned a lot about goats that first day. At first light we glassed up some promising goats from the camp overlook, and then set forth on a several mile hike around the canyon to get into position 1500 vertical feet below them.
View from Nebo overlook.
It was around midday when I reluctantly peeled off the trail and headed straight up a steep knife ridge towards them. Much of the hike was spent scrambling on all fours, picking my way around rock walls, and clambering up noisy scree slopes while stopping occasionally to glass. Most of the goats remained bedded all day, only rising occasionally to change beds and grab a quick bite to eat. The biggest billies lived right in the cliffs where a stalk would be impossible.
It was fascinating to watch them traverse the cliffs with nary a concern for sheer drop-offs. Mountain goats have large, wide hooves with hard rubbery soles that cling to rocks. Their short, stumpy legs and compact bodies provide a low center of gravity for balance. There is no mountain too high for goats. If the peak stretched up another 5000 feet they would be at the top.
Eventually three large goats came into view a few hundred yards away, including one very large billy, a smaller one, and a big old nanny wearing a DWR tracking collar. Unfortunately they were bedded in the wide open with a wall of cliffs behind them. With no possible approach I continued higher in hopes of finding a good ambush position when they fed out later.
Goats below the cliffs.
The terrain grew steeper as I went, gradually turning to cliffs in all directions. While working around an outcropping I spotted a goat bedded thirty yards below. He turned and looked up at me but didn’t spook. Instead he unbedded and actually walked right towards me. In a surreal moment, he stood broadside just five yards away and stared at me, framed against a massive fortress of broken cliffs and crags.
Juvenile goat at five yards.
Eventually he wandered off and for the rest of the afternoon I sat on a heavily used saddle and watched the three goats from earlier. At four o’clock they all rose and began feeding in wide circles on the open hillside.
With only two hours of light left, it was time to make a move. The smaller of the three goats fed into some cliffs while the big billy fed downhill 200 yards below the nanny. Based on what I’d observed so far, goats aren’t nearly as spooky as deer. With their funny little elf ears, small black noses, and beady eyes, these animals obviously relied on extreme terrain for protection more than their natural senses. In fact every goat I encountered on this hunt seemed perplexed to see a human sharing his extreme environment.
The only possible route to the billy was through the nanny. She continually watched me as I poked my way down the cliffs and scree slopes. At 70 yards she got nervous and wandered off. Methodically I closed the distance to the billy who must have thought all the noise I was making was coming from the absent nanny. But when I got to 150 yards he looked up while I was looking down and pegged me in the wide open. Goats generally don’t run to avoid predators, but rather march steadily into vertical cliffs; and that’s exactly what he did. For the last half hour of light all I could do was watch him feed out of sight. At that point I knew this could be a very long hunt.
I only got lost twice while walking the three hours back to camp in the dark. When I finally arrived, Esther was on the verge of tears, certain that I’d fallen to my doom somewhere. This would become a regular occurrence for her.
Day#2
I woke the second day with various aches and pains from the waist down. After spending an arduous day on Nebo, I was excited to try an entirely different peak: Bald Mountain, aka Baldy. Baldy seemed a little friendlier than Nebo: not quite as steep and with better access via a dirt road. Unlike Nebo, Baldy has patches of sparse pine trees which would be more conducive to close-quarter style hunting.
The road to Bald Mountain.
We didn’t spot any goats from the road, but there was still a lot of mountain hidden from view. We parked the poor truck shortly after the road turned into a pile of sharp boulders with all four tires spinning and not going anywhere.
A lovely morning hike through the golden aspens and fields of choke cherries soon turned into an all-day, up-and-down leg burner, alternating between cliffs and wide-open grassy bowls corralled by steep rocky ridges. We glassed as we went but no goats appeared.
Shortly after reaching the right goat elevation we ran into a harvested goat carcass, obviously taken by a hunter a week or two earlier. Well, congrats to the lucky hunter, but bad news for us. With the goat’s demise, the remaining goats likely spooked further into the vast reaches of Bald Mountain. We continued on.
A couple old goats in the hills.
Around noon we arrived at a great lookout from an 11,000-foot ridge. Our eyes strained through the glass as we dissected the mountains for miles, but turned up nothing. I could tell by Esther’s demeanor that she was done for the day, and thus put together a new plan. From here Esther would sit and glass the far hillsides until 5:00pm. Meanwhile I would clamber about the cliffs on the main peak in hopes of turning up a hidden goat. All the goats I’d seen thus far would feed until about 10:00am, bed down, and then rise again at precisely 4pm to resume feeding for the evening.
Glassing from Bald Mountain.
Clamber as I might, I turned up nothing but old beds and sign. At 6pm I got a message from Esther that three big goats were feeding a mile north of her lookout. It was too late for a stalk, so we planned a return trip in the morning to chase after them.
Three billies that Esther spotted.
At last light we were able to glass up the goats from the road and verify that they were in fact billies based on their “urination posture.” (Billy goats pee like horses with their legs spread apart, while nanny goats squat like dogs). I was lulled to sleep that night by a combination of excitement, anticipation, and dread.
Day #3
Fearing the weekend would bring more hunter competition to the mountain, we woke well before light and hit the road. Our previous days’ effort turned up a better road jump-off for quicker elevation gain. But I suppose it’s all relative; what’s a 500-foot advantage in these mountains?
Hurrying to reach the goats before they bedded, I hiked like a mad-man up the dark hills, leaving Esther far behind. My lungs burned and heaved in the cold morning air while a metallic blood taste filled my mouth. Still I refused to rest, knowing only one thing for sure: there’s nothing easy with goats.
I reached the lookout ridge around seven and spotted two of the goats feeding leisurely along the next ridge a mile away. Just one more canyon to go. I burned up an entire hour descending a perilous avalanche chute, sliding and clinging to roots while dislodging various boulders that went crashing down the mountain. I kept glancing up at the goats and was glad they were still too far to hear the great cacophony.
Happy to still be in one piece at the bottom, I began an immediate ascent toward the goats. From this point everything came unraveled. The shifting thermals began sweeping upward towards the goats who were now obscured by the curvature of the hill. To reduce my scent I ripped off my sweat-soaked shirt and stuffed it in my pack.
Next I made a wide arc to get above the goats before they winded me. While doing so I was absolutely horrified to see three other camo-clad dudes—a hunter with two buddies—suddenly appear on the horizon above me. “[Insert raging string of expletives here].” My worst nightmare come true; and such wonderful timing! Still, the compassionate inner Nate wondered what hell these guys must’ve gone through to get where they were; certainly there was no better route than the one I’d taken. Nevertheless, here we all were on the same peak, pursuing the same once-in-a-lifetime opportunity against all odds. May the best hunter win!
My carefully calculated stalk was now a flailing bee-line in the direction of the goats. But when I arrived, they were gone. In their stead was a big 5×5 mule deer buck staring at me with a familiar look, as if to ask, “What the heck is a person doing in this place?”
The three dudes looked equally frustrated as they continually scanned the hills in all directions. Either the goats had seen their approach and bailed, or they’d winded me. Either way they were gone. While the competition poked around a few hundred yards above, I pursued my only option, working lower and lower down the mountain while intermittently peeking over the cliffs where the goats must have fled. Still nothing.
At ten o’clock Esther radioed me from the lookout. She was still full of hope until I informed her of the dudes and the disappearing goats, at which time she blew a fuse. After everything we’d been through, we got duded; always more people! After a murderous rant, she asked with exasperation, “So, what’s your plan?” I looked up from the radio and slowly scanned the miles of emptiness in all directions. The wind whistled by and the sun beat down from a cloudless sky.
“There is no plan,” I finally growled. Then, after another pause, “I’ll call you at eleven…” Expecting nothing more from the day but blisters, I kept working down the mountain and glassing clumps of trees in vain hope that one of the goats had bedded nearby.
Movement suddenly caught my eye a 100 yards down in a dark tangle of trees on the cliffy north face. Through the glass my heart leapt at the sight of two white patches milling about and hooving the ground to make day beds. One goat bedded down facing me and I froze in the wide open for a full hour while he chewed his cud and stared in my direction. He finally got up, kicked the smaller goat out of its bed and laid down facing away. At this time I carefully crawled twenty yards lower to some shade and that’s where I sat for the next five hours, 80 yards above the goats and unable to make a peep.
I passed the time writing in my notebook, eating snacks, fighting off flies and bees, and periodically checking the goat as he lay bedded. Was it a mature billy? It was hard to tell from this angle. Maybe a nanny…? My lack of experience with such beasts kept me guessing, but it really didn’t matter. Considering what a person must go through to get within bow range, any mature goat is a good goat and I was intent on making something happen. But for now there was no move. He was bedded directly above some tall cliffs, and even if I had a clear shot, the goat would likely take a flying leap, as is their nature. No, I would wait them out, all day if necessary.
Meanwhile Esther sat patiently on her high perch crouched in some shadows. At one point a nearby rock slide crashed and echoed through the hills. Being out of radio communication, Esther feared I’d fallen to my doom, and thus sat helplessly wondering of my fate all day long.
The Stalk is On!
At 3:30pm I was elated to see movement. The smaller goat soon popped into the open and fed out of sight. I lifted my bow, ready for the bigger one, but he remained bedded for another hour. As the mountain fell into shadows, the wind cooled and began shifting up and down. I winced each time it changed, expecting the goat to suddenly jump out of his bed and disappear. At 4:30 he finally stood , but was in no hurry to enter the open. Instead he just stood there sniffing the air and looking around, waiting for the shifting winds to give away any lurking danger.
Somehow he missed me and eventually walked into the open. Unable to move, all I could do was range him at fifty-six yards before he disappeared out of view. The moment of truth was finally upon me as I began a low-odds stalk into the great wide open.
Stalking my goat, as seen from Esther’s vantage.
Each footstep was carefully placed around loose talus rocks that rattled like bits of broken chinaware scattered across the slope. As I crept closer, the big goat began to materialize; first a white shoulder, then a rump. I ranged again—forty yards, but no shot.
I inched ever closer while crouching low and holding my loaded bow in my left hand, my right arm held out for balance. More of the goat came into view as he fed perpendicular to my approach. My heart beat quickened, drumming louder and louder in my ears. Something was about to happen, here in this vertical wilderness on the shadowy side of nowhere.
Haunted by Rodents
In the middle of an awkward step, a sudden high-pitched chirping pierced the night. Seventy yards below me in a patch of trees a chipmunk, who was apparently upset with the whole spectacle, erupted into an uncontrollable barking fit. My eyes flashed back to the goat who was feeding no more, but staring intently in the direction of the chipmunk. I froze in a hunched position and stared fixedly upon the top half of the goat’s head. His face shifted left and right, then back at the chipmunk. He suspected something was wrong.
After several minutes the goat began alternating between short feeding spells and looking around nervously. I was still stuck at forty yards with no shot and no way to get closer. This went on for untold minutes, but was finally cut short by a loud snort above me, followed by total pandemonium. While watching the big goat, the smaller one had wandered in above to investigate. I read somewhere that goats don’t run, but this little billy stirred up a cloud of dust as he rumbled downhill past the big goat.
Just as the whole evening was imploding, I raised my bow and launched a forty-yarder as the big goat whirled and ran after his buddy. Not accounting for his rapid acceleration, my arrow missed cleanly. Both goats thundered towards the cliffs, and then paused suddenly to look back at me. I was ready with another arrow and in a split second drew my bow, settled the pin for what I figured to be sixty yards, and released.
THUD.
My arrow’s orange fletchings shone brightly where the arrow hit: squarely in the goat’s massive shoulder. Not much penetration, but perfect trajectory. Instead of running into the cliffs, the billy scrambled into the chipmunk trees, staggered for a moment and lay down. His young apprentice, clearly unhappy with the whole situation, walked over and stood by his fallen leader and stared up at me. I sat down and stared back.
After a minute I glanced up at my invisible wife on the ridgeline, still sitting in the dirt after a silent, eight-hour ordeal. I wondered how much of the spectacle she had seen. It turns out a lot. With trembling hands, I fumbled my radio out of my pocket and hailed her. “Hello?”
“Did you hit it?”
“Yeah, he’s bedded below me,” I whispered. “I can’t talk now; I’ll call you back.”
Light was falling fast as the big billy lied motionless in the shadows. I couldn’t tell whether his head was up or not, but a decision had to be made. This isn’t the kind of place where you just back out and return in the morning. If a follow-up was needed it would have to be tonight. Reluctantly I began scooting closer. The smaller goat shifted uneasily, and when I got within forty yards he walked over and kicked up the wounded goat who slowly stood, took two steps, and staggered.
Both goats began a rapid descent straight down an avalanche chute, but the big one couldn’t keep his feet and fell over. He slid a short distance, then got back up, and fell again, this time barrel-rolling down the mountain and out of sight.
I sighed with relief; it was finally over. I hiked up to get my pack and personal effects and then made a careful descent down to the goat. But after a hundred yards he was still MIA. Did he get up and leave? I called Esther on the radio, but she couldn’t see anything. Figuring it was going to be a long night for everyone, I told Esther to start making her way down to me, preferably while it was still light.
It was evident that the goat tumbled more than once, likely rolling each time he tried to stand. Another hundred yards down the ravine and there he was, caught up in some small boulders, one slip away from launching down another series of never-ending cliffs.
The goat where he fell.
A flood of feelings rushed over me, mostly relief, but also gratitude for a clean kill and recovery of this magnificent animal. In near disbelief I reached down and stroked the coarse white hair on his massive shoulder. The great barrel-shaped beast was bigger than I thought, nearly impossible to maneuver for pictures and always threatening to slide into the abyss. Upon his noble horse-like head was a pair of stout, black horns measuring nine inches, albeit missing a few pieces due to his long tumble.
The Retrieval
I wish I could end the story right here—a lovely three day hunt in paradise—but it was far from over. The next forty-eight hours went like this:
Esther arrived two hours later by headlamp and in tears. Not tears of jubilation, mind you, but genuine tears of mountain terror and exhaustion. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get myself out!” she exclaimed.
We cut up the iron-tough goat until 4:30am, hung the manageable parts in the trees, and then hiked out via the least horrible route. We arrived back to camp completely hammered at 8am and slept for an hour before waking to a multitude of flies buzzing around camp. I knew it was way too hot to leave meat hanging, even at 10,000 feet. We were on a serious timer; anything less than full bore meant losing the whole goat.
There had to be a better route back to the goat. Poring over maps, we discovered a low road running a mile and a half (as the crow flies) and two-thousand vertical feet below the canyon the goat was in. No trail meant busting timber the whole way in, but at least it would be downhill on the way out.
It took all day to get to the goat, at which time we loaded half the monster into our packs and began our downhill trek. The out-route had to be altered due to some dangerously steep slopes and heavy packs. Soon we found ourselves hiking down a slippery, boulder-strewn stream for a mile in the dark. This route proved far too time-consuming, and so a new one was plotted for morning.
Seven hours later we were back, this time coming in from above. This high route was definitely shorter, but also a gamble. Sure enough we got cliffed out and spent half the morning side-hilling dangerous terrain. Just before arriving at the goat, Esther spied a black bear sow with cubs across the canyon. One of the game bags containing a hind quarter was torn open on the ground, the meat partially consumed and swarming with flies. Fortunately we’d hung the rest over some north-facing cliffs and it was fine. In the end, though, the lighter load probably saved both us, as well as the remaining meat.
Despite being cooked out by the midday sun, I was energized at the prospect of ending the ordeal once and for all under the strain of a final pack out. However, no amount of pep talks could get Esther jazzed as she struggled continually to keep up. One word of wisdom for any future goat hunters: You must elicit help from at least three of your biggest, burliest buddies before undertaking such an endeavor. Goat hunting is not an ideal couple’s activity.
Our final out-route ended up being the same one I’d taken the day I got my goat: a ridiculous up-and-down scramble over terrain that would make an elk queasy. Still, we plowed ahead, determined to save our hard-fought meat. We finally arrived back at the truck around 1pm in a grossly over-distressed physical state.
It still wasn’t over. The incessant heat of “endless summer” had taken its toll on our ice supply. So without rest we busted camp and barreled down the road, past the tourists in flowery shirts photographing fall colors, past strings of RVs catching the waning weeks of summer, past weekend fishermen leisurely tossing flies at a mountain stream, and finally into town for a pile of dry ice. For the first time in five days we were able to stop and take a relaxed breath of air. The goat was saved.
Conclusion
A week later, as I sit back and enjoy a delicious goat steak, complete with sautéed onions and mushrooms in a delicious wine sauce, my body is healed and my spirit is full. My mind drifts back to the good parts of the hunt: the awesome sight of Nebo’s granite peaks, the enchantment of fall’s brilliant colors, the wide variety of wildlife seen along the way, but especially the heart-pounding excitement of the final stalk.
Bald Mountain
There is no animal quite like the Rocky Mountain goat, neither in beauty nor toughness. With an ever-increasing number of hunters vying for the coveted tag each year, only a handful will ever get the opportunity to chase the great white king of the peak. For those lucky few, this hunt should be considered an honor. The chance to match wits and might with such a beast is to test oneself in every way. My gratitude for this hunt will stay with me forever.
For the record my goat green scores just shy of 49 inches, placing him in the top 20% of goats ever taken with a bow and arrow. Though I’m thoroughly pleased with the outcome, I’m equally glad it will never be repeated.
It can’t be said enough: There’s nothing easy with goats! And maybe there shouldn’t be. Aside from the fine table fare and the beautiful taxidermy mount-to-be, I think the greatest gift from this hunt is perspective. For as long as I live nothing will ever seem all that difficult again.
