In the late spring a fellow bowhunter stopped by to share some stories. He told us of a spot in Northern BC that was said to have some of the oldest game in the area. The spot was deep – you wouldn’t want to pack an animal out of there. So we went.
We hiked in, farther and farther from the truck, depleting our food cache. We reached the farthest we could go, and came across ancient mountain goat. After watching him for a few days, we sneaked inside 10 yards and let loose a fatal arrow. But celebration soon became concern – we had to somehow pack him out. So we field dressed our harvest, loaded it into our packs, and lit out.
We scrambled up and down ravines, navigated through 10-ft. high vegetation and endured a constant rain, barely keeping a half-mile an hour pace. After three days and 50 or so miles, we made it to the truck.
