The next couple days were spent, unsuccessfully, trying to get into either a shootable range of "Bum Leg Billy", or catch him in a place where he wouldn't turn into hamburger from a several hundred foot fall.
On day four, weather set in, that kept us pretty much tent bound for the next couple days. Whenever the fog would lift enough for us to see any reasonable distance, we would head out and do a little ptarmigan hunting.
Once the storm passed we immediately got back to chasing goats. Prior to the storm, we had been patterning goats coming into our bowl, from over top of the saddle, around noon every day. So, based on this, we decided to climb up into the bowl, find a good place to hole up, and wait for an ambush. As luck would have it, the day we decided to do this, the goats never showed. So at around three in the afternoon we decided to head out and back towards camp. As we were just coming down out of the rocks and just about into camp, we spotted four goats coming around the side of the mountain towards us. They spotted us also and froze in their tracks. We quickly decided to head down towards a little knob to take cover and hopefully have the goats forget about us. After about 15 minutes or so, the goats went back to feeding and eventually started progressing around the side of the mountain towards us.
It was determined that there were three nannies and a kid, with the kid attached to the lead nanny. After about an hour they started making their way by us with the lead nanny and the nanny in the rear separated by about 100 yards. We decided that my son would attempt to take the nanny in the back of the line, as it was quite apparent that she was not the mother of the kid. When she was directly across from us and quartering slightly away, I gave my son the OK, and he sent a 165 grain, TSX Barnes bullet downrange. Upon being hit, the nanny took a couple steps forward, collapsed, then slid a few feet down the scree mountainside and came to a rest. The bullet entered right behind her left shoulder, through both lungs, and exited through her right shoulder. My son had his first mountain goat and couldn't be happier, well, unless it would've been a Boon'er billy, of coarse.
All in all it worked out pretty perfect. The goat died instantly, we were a couple hundred yards from our spike camp, it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon with plenty of daylight left, and the weather was good. We were able to take our time skinning her out and packaging her up.
Once again, as luck would have it, "Bum Leg Billy" came down off the mountain and presented us multiple opportunities for close range shots that would've only sent him tumbling down a few yards of mountainside at best. I guess he must've known that our goat hunting was over.