Idaho Goat Hunt

As published in Huntn & Fishn Biz, Nov / Dec 2005, Vol. 3, Issue 11, p. 10-11.

The Seven Devils Mountains/Hells Canyon Wilderness – National Recreation Area on the Idaho-Oregon border contains the deepest canyon in North America. The Snake River cuts through its bottom at an elevation of 1400 feet above sea level. Less than 6 miles away, He Devil peak soars at 9400 feet, …8000 feet higher. The Idaho Fish and Game Department has a controlled hunt draw for a handful of permits each year for Mountain Goat on the Idaho side. This year I drew.

During pre-season scouting we found numerous small groups of Mountain Goats, including some fabulous billies. And some quite close. In addition, our pre-season scouting got us into spectacular country and fabulous fishing. Due to a busy fall schedule, and the prospect of getting closed out due to early snow, I wanted to make opening weekend – Labor Day – count.

I was able to talk two friends, Dan and Terry, to come along as my ‘pack animals’. I lured them with ‘great adventure’ and advised they take their fishing rods. I planned to hunt the Hanson Creek drainage, and camp at a nameless lake below He Devil peak. To get there we had to take the ‘Climbers Trail’ over Goat Pass to Sheep Lake, and then climb ‘the Slide’. On the eve of opening day we made it to Goat Pass by nightfall, and descended into Sheep Lake largely by dark, skirting ravines and cliffs along the unofficial trail.

Opening morning as my watch clicked legal hours I chambered a round in my rifle and climbed to a prominence. The sound of the action of my gun awoke Terry; he and Dan broke camp while I looked. I located three goats way above us near the top of the Slide.

The Slide is a 1600 vertical foot talus slope that is the most direct access into the Cannon Creek and Hanson Creek drainages on the other side, and the acknowledged climber access to Mt. Baal, Tower of Babel, and She Devil Peaks. The Slide bottoms-out at Sheep Lake, with boulders up to ‘car size’. Going up, the rocks decrease in size, so that by the top it is gravel, sand, and dirt. The problem with the Slide is that about two-thirds of it is LOOSE, so that even to avid climbers it is acknowledged as both strenuous and dangerous. We assaulted it with heavy packs, donning weapons and fishing equipment. But, by mid-morning we were on top – and in alpine Shangri-La.

The upper Cannon and Hanson basins produced only a group of mountain climbers headed up the Ogre. The no-name lake to become our base camp was dry – so we headed on and down into Hanson Lakes proper. We hunted our way down, spotting three goats above the lakes on the other side. By the time we got to the lakes, I was beat. The goats would have to wait. I needed a swim. Also, I had taken a fall on the way down and the cold water reduced the swelling on a nice leg bruise.

Rejuvenated, I climbed up into a ‘gap’ in the ridge above the lakes between two big drainages. Dan and Terry headed to the lower lake to fish. The only billy I could see was several thousand yards away – realistically inaccessible in the remaining amount of day. I made a big loop through the upper Hanson drainage on my way down to the lakes, snooping around areas we had seen billies earlier. By day end, Terry and Dan had a load of fish. Our camp site at the edge of Upper Hanson Lake was beautiful. Low, dense whortleberry made for the perfect mattress for my sleeping bag.

The next morning Terry and I split up looking for billies while Dan fished. We met back up early morning – nothin’. The billies in the area had apparently descended into the cooler timber. We had a choice: go down into the timber after them, or stay high, above timberline, in the alpine terrain. I decided to stay high – for scenery-sake. We would make a really high circuit to include the upper Hanson drainage and an unnamed basin below Devils Farm, though not the highest peak in the range, certainly the most staggering. If we could not find the billies, we could come back and survey the goats above the lake. Terry and I would ‘hunt’ and Dan would be ‘allowed’ to fish as long as he could do so while keeping us posted on the goats above the lakes. Terry and I climbed while talking about God, parenting, church, and other aspects of life…and the incredible beauty of the country we were in. Before we realized it we were on top and looking into Devils Farm. Still no billies…

During the process, Dan informed us that the goats above the lower lake had come down, and were now heading west. We told him, if possible, to keep them from going too far west and into the timber. Via FRS, Dan reported…

‘They are about half way down.’

‘They are down to the rockslide.’  

‘They are at the bottom of the rockslide…’

‘I’m looking at the nanny…right above me.’

‘They are right above the camp.’

‘They are trying to get into the camp.’

‘THEY ARE IN THE CAMP.’

By this time Terry and I had come completely around from the south and were at the gap on top and WAY above camp and them. If we were going to take them on – we needed to get down, quietly, and out of their view. We would find out later that there had indeed been a confrontation, of sorts, and Dan had to throw rocks to keep them back. They either really wanted what was in camp, or what was on the other side. Our camp was a major game crossing.  I would also find out the goats walked within about 10 yards of my compound bow, parked against a tree.

We were able to get about halfway down by hugging the rocks mostly out of view. The goats were about 300 yards below us – I told Terry that I could take the big single nanny if I could get a good rest. I slipped another few feet into a shooting position. I knocked a few rocks loose in the process, but froze. The nanny with the kid looked up – but no big deal – they roll rocks all day long. The goats were weaving their way somewhat our direction up from camp through a series of rocky knolls and a few trees.

The barren nanny, a nice animal, climbed up through some rocks into view, about 250 yards below, stopped for a brief instant, and I took the shot. I couldn’t see impact – but I had that feeling it was still a kill shot.  The goat turned around, ran behind a knob, and disappeared.  Dan said she was down.

My goat was perhaps the area matriarch, with nearly 9 inch horns, and probably past kid bearing years. Though a ‘she’ – a fabulous animal.

Terry and I skinned and quartered it as fast as we could – it was August, and warm. Instead of coming up to take a look, Dan disappeared. Terry and I descended to camp. I salted the hide at camp. And Terry disappeared. After cleaning up I decided to look for my companions. I found them at the lower lake – having the time of their lives fishing. As I walked up – Terry hooked another nice cutthroat. That night we had another nice fish fry – eating as much as we possibly could – and stashing our ‘backpacking’ food.

The next morning we finished boning the goat, split it up three ways and added it to our packs – we wanted to make it out in one trip. We would go down to the nearest trail and take the long way around the big peaks and the Slide.  Our packs were heavy – several times getting up I thought mine might be ‘stuck’ on something – only to realize it was only due to brute weight. Dan’s rig was seven miles away. But here’s where the fishing aspect of the trip had paid off – my pack animals still had huge smiles.

Dan is a distance biker – and this is where it showed up…he broke ahead of Terry and I and stayed ahead…and made it to the campground and the rig and was able to meet us at a work station saving a half mile and 600 vertical feet…As we got to the rig I let out a shout…it was a PERFECT hunt.