Goats don't know how many feet a llama has...
- Thread starter squirrel
- Start date
Warmsy
WKR
Haha. I wish you luck sir!
Warmsy
WKR
You probably should have kept that to yourself...
MuleyFever
WKR
I think that at some point walking up to an animal hiding behind another animal is no more difficult than just shooting it from a distance with a rifle.
I had a friend that shot some African buffalo on a ranch in Texas by walking behind a truck until in range then putting an arrow in it. He was so proud of killing it with his bow.
I had a friend that shot some African buffalo on a ranch in Texas by walking behind a truck until in range then putting an arrow in it. He was so proud of killing it with his bow.
Warmsy
WKR
I might try that at lunch tomorrow on some blacktails.
jmez
WKR
It works with a horse on antelope. No idea on goats.
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Sent from my moto g power using Tapatalk
Well the rifle idea has merit but would be illegal, so there is that...
The truck idea is good too but it will be 20 miles away, and while I have a 20 mile pin on my compound I do not on my recurve. Are you suggesting I hold over? I find that very unethical, can't believe you would suggest it to me.
thinhorn_AK
"DADDY"
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2016
- Messages
- 12,609
Came in here to say: Jeremiah Johnson did it so it must work…also hopefully there aren’t any overzealous goat hunters in the area that might mistake that white llama thing for a goat and take a shot at you…
The wife says just so they don't hit the llama... It's an archery tag, but in camp they'll still have an orange neck band.
Dragonfish
FNG
cant wait to hear if it worked!
Laramie
WKR
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2020
- Messages
- 2,723
It will work.
The update is that this whole 'operate a business that caters to hunters " is total bullspit when it comes to getting away and doing some hunting of your own! The unit requires week of time just to hunt for one day due to travel and hiking distances.
It appears that I can go sans llamas next week. Llama availability will be in October so I'm hoping on a late. fall. Packing a goat on my own back while feeding 22 pack llamas all year?? WTH?
Princess says it's definitive proof of my stupidity... but what the hell does she know. When asked to cover my outgoing rentals she responded with "what part of "sole proprietor" do you not understand"??
It appears that I can go sans llamas next week. Llama availability will be in October so I'm hoping on a late. fall. Packing a goat on my own back while feeding 22 pack llamas all year?? WTH?
Princess says it's definitive proof of my stupidity... but what the hell does she know. When asked to cover my outgoing rentals she responded with "what part of "sole proprietor" do you not understand"??
wind gypsy
"DADDY"
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2014
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- 11,797
sounds like quite the conundrum 
good luck to you sir!
good luck to you sir!Well in the interest of conciseness I will just tag this onto the existing thread. The season didn't play out exactly as I had hoped when I got the email confirming the drawing of the tag, but sitting here looking out at soft white winter peaks I guess it worked out quite nicely given how it could have played out. This was my 6th goat tag, and quite likely my last given the realities of longevity and the politics of drawing a tag in our ever more populous state. Hope you enjoy the story and pics.
Another chapter unfolded in my life- long love/hate relationship with the Needle mountains this past spring. While chasing turkeys and fishing in Arkansas this year I got an email that informed me of success in the CO mountain goat drawing… first choice G-5. Usually my diet it always going to start “tomorrow”, in this case it started TODAY! I had just made a terrible blunder and stepped on the scale before leaving for my leisurely trip of boating, eating , and drinking, and the scale had told me some very depressing news, a new personal record, and not one to be proud of. My goal was to have the first number be a “1” when I stepped on it, it was lofty goal of -53 pounds. But I knew from experience what the needles would do to a fat 60 yr old. I very well remember them spitting out chunks of bruised and bloody 26 year old skinny me.
All summer salad became the new standard fare, no bread, no sugar, little fruit, no snacks of any tasty substance. Fortunately the Princess joined me and made it easier to stick with it and of course she made it into a competition. Whoever lost the most that week got to choose our Sunday menu on our “cheater” day, when we were allowed to eat something resembling real food. I spent the summer getting my pack llamas into some shape, with 22 it is difficult to rotate them all through and get them firmed up for the busy hunting season of rentals. Usually I just go up to a high lake maybe 5-6 miles fish a bit, drink a few adult beverages, and pack back down the next day to see what my royal PITA has on my ‘to do” list. Normally these trips have some sort of extravagant meal at tree line if the brookies aren’t sufficiently fried in butter, this summer the fare was a bit more bland, to say the least. Slowly but very surely the suffering paid off and the scale started to be more friendly to me every Sunday morning on “weigh in” day.
I really wanted to use my recurve bow for this hunt as it is in all likelihood my final goat tag if I killed a goat, given the reality of the 5 year wait and points required to draw vs the increased demand for these tags in our populous state. I left the crutch (compound) in the closet all summer and shot my recurve a lot, finally admitting how badly I sucked at it and put an old sight on it and proceeded to still suck badly, but not quite as terribly as without a sight. My belly was shrinking, my groups were shrinking, things were looking better, but the needles are a whole different game, and I knew this from experience.
Another chapter unfolded in my life- long love/hate relationship with the Needle mountains this past spring. While chasing turkeys and fishing in Arkansas this year I got an email that informed me of success in the CO mountain goat drawing… first choice G-5. Usually my diet it always going to start “tomorrow”, in this case it started TODAY! I had just made a terrible blunder and stepped on the scale before leaving for my leisurely trip of boating, eating , and drinking, and the scale had told me some very depressing news, a new personal record, and not one to be proud of. My goal was to have the first number be a “1” when I stepped on it, it was lofty goal of -53 pounds. But I knew from experience what the needles would do to a fat 60 yr old. I very well remember them spitting out chunks of bruised and bloody 26 year old skinny me.
All summer salad became the new standard fare, no bread, no sugar, little fruit, no snacks of any tasty substance. Fortunately the Princess joined me and made it easier to stick with it and of course she made it into a competition. Whoever lost the most that week got to choose our Sunday menu on our “cheater” day, when we were allowed to eat something resembling real food. I spent the summer getting my pack llamas into some shape, with 22 it is difficult to rotate them all through and get them firmed up for the busy hunting season of rentals. Usually I just go up to a high lake maybe 5-6 miles fish a bit, drink a few adult beverages, and pack back down the next day to see what my royal PITA has on my ‘to do” list. Normally these trips have some sort of extravagant meal at tree line if the brookies aren’t sufficiently fried in butter, this summer the fare was a bit more bland, to say the least. Slowly but very surely the suffering paid off and the scale started to be more friendly to me every Sunday morning on “weigh in” day.
I really wanted to use my recurve bow for this hunt as it is in all likelihood my final goat tag if I killed a goat, given the reality of the 5 year wait and points required to draw vs the increased demand for these tags in our populous state. I left the crutch (compound) in the closet all summer and shot my recurve a lot, finally admitting how badly I sucked at it and put an old sight on it and proceeded to still suck badly, but not quite as terribly as without a sight. My belly was shrinking, my groups were shrinking, things were looking better, but the needles are a whole different game, and I knew this from experience.
I had a looming logistical problem. Long before the computer spit out my successful tag notice I had all my llamas booked solid for the hunting seasons of highest demand, which enveloped my goat season. I feed a field full of llamas all winter and was going to have to carry my own pack? WTF? Not only that but I was going to be busy sending out and receiving back all these rental groups at all hours of the day and night, it is the nature of the business, just the way it is. I called on my dear Princess to help me out honey… please please so pretty please DEAR??? I got an immediate “F@#$ Y%$ what part of sole proprietor (my llc’s tax status) do you NOT understand”?
I knew from cold hard experience that the needles can shut down anytime after mid September, in the blink of an eye, they can be waist deep and deadly, especially up in the goat crags. Through some luck, some negotiation, and a cancellation due to injury I freed up a few short days in late September and had a friend who would provide some logistical support of his young llama string for at least my base camp situation. I had one llama from my herd available to help me get to that base camp. This was gonna be VERY tight as I had a property closing hard deadline looming at the back end of this time window October 1st.
On most of my extensive back country trips I end up with a song stuck in my head, it is generally the last one I heard playing on the radio before leaving the trailhead. On my first 38 day needles trip it was “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” playing in continuous loop for over a month. As I drove up the last 20 or so miles to the trailhead the radio was blaring out some very good music all the way, I can replay Pat Benatar for a month easy I was thinking, then, Ok Def Leopard will work…. Then as I slowed down for the parking lot, Boy George came on crooning “do you really want to hurt me?” OH NO! As I shut off the truck and went to packing llamas. “Do you really want to make me cry?”
Two hours later as I cold camped next to the river 4 miles up from the truck I did really want to ‘make him cry”. Next morning up before dawn and 10 more miles until I found Paul’s base camp, trying to evict Boy George with some Garth Brooks but Garth lost the battle. Next morning I left my wooly helper with Paul’s girls and put 4-5 more miles and 3000’ below me wearing my pack… with compound strapped to it. I had folded at the TH with only a 4 day actual hunt window I had reached for the “crutch” and left the recurve under the seat. Ii was trying to follow what amounted to a pig trail up the gulch I had chosen to hunt and lost it a bit before topping out above tree line. As I was bushwhacking my way up through the rocks I ran right into a nanny and a yearling billy at 25 yards. They were startled at seeing me and tore off up through the rocks, this was reassuring as now I was sure I was not going to be chasing tame goats… or so I thought at that moment. I re-located the “pig trail” and made it to my lakeside camp after about 4-1/2 hours of climbing. I was surprised to see another tent there but settled in to glass the incredible vastness that is the needles in all her glory.
After a couple hours some goats came into view, 7 nannies and kids and started to scamper over the rocks in my direction. I went to get closer to them and they had disappeared into a fold of the rocks, as I looked in vain for them in the valley below they suddenly popped up right beside me and trotted over to the other camp and started pestering the campers for free food… Oh NOOOO! The infamous Twinkie goats. I walked over and sure enough they were as tame as any barnyard goat, maybe more so. I took some pictures and upon my departure they followed me back to my camp just to make sure I hadn’t peed yet. This was bad. I had what I call my “condom” instead of a tent. It is a rubber bag that fits over your sleeping bag, army surplus from Vietnam era issue, very light. But the goats were so aggressive and fearless and fighting amongst themselves I was worried they would trample on me while I was rolled up inside my “condom”. Exhaustion is the best sleeping pill ever invented and I slept through any goat trampling that may have occurred.
I knew from cold hard experience that the needles can shut down anytime after mid September, in the blink of an eye, they can be waist deep and deadly, especially up in the goat crags. Through some luck, some negotiation, and a cancellation due to injury I freed up a few short days in late September and had a friend who would provide some logistical support of his young llama string for at least my base camp situation. I had one llama from my herd available to help me get to that base camp. This was gonna be VERY tight as I had a property closing hard deadline looming at the back end of this time window October 1st.
On most of my extensive back country trips I end up with a song stuck in my head, it is generally the last one I heard playing on the radio before leaving the trailhead. On my first 38 day needles trip it was “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” playing in continuous loop for over a month. As I drove up the last 20 or so miles to the trailhead the radio was blaring out some very good music all the way, I can replay Pat Benatar for a month easy I was thinking, then, Ok Def Leopard will work…. Then as I slowed down for the parking lot, Boy George came on crooning “do you really want to hurt me?” OH NO! As I shut off the truck and went to packing llamas. “Do you really want to make me cry?”
Two hours later as I cold camped next to the river 4 miles up from the truck I did really want to ‘make him cry”. Next morning up before dawn and 10 more miles until I found Paul’s base camp, trying to evict Boy George with some Garth Brooks but Garth lost the battle. Next morning I left my wooly helper with Paul’s girls and put 4-5 more miles and 3000’ below me wearing my pack… with compound strapped to it. I had folded at the TH with only a 4 day actual hunt window I had reached for the “crutch” and left the recurve under the seat. Ii was trying to follow what amounted to a pig trail up the gulch I had chosen to hunt and lost it a bit before topping out above tree line. As I was bushwhacking my way up through the rocks I ran right into a nanny and a yearling billy at 25 yards. They were startled at seeing me and tore off up through the rocks, this was reassuring as now I was sure I was not going to be chasing tame goats… or so I thought at that moment. I re-located the “pig trail” and made it to my lakeside camp after about 4-1/2 hours of climbing. I was surprised to see another tent there but settled in to glass the incredible vastness that is the needles in all her glory.
After a couple hours some goats came into view, 7 nannies and kids and started to scamper over the rocks in my direction. I went to get closer to them and they had disappeared into a fold of the rocks, as I looked in vain for them in the valley below they suddenly popped up right beside me and trotted over to the other camp and started pestering the campers for free food… Oh NOOOO! The infamous Twinkie goats. I walked over and sure enough they were as tame as any barnyard goat, maybe more so. I took some pictures and upon my departure they followed me back to my camp just to make sure I hadn’t peed yet. This was bad. I had what I call my “condom” instead of a tent. It is a rubber bag that fits over your sleeping bag, army surplus from Vietnam era issue, very light. But the goats were so aggressive and fearless and fighting amongst themselves I was worried they would trample on me while I was rolled up inside my “condom”. Exhaustion is the best sleeping pill ever invented and I slept through any goat trampling that may have occurred.
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The next morning I awoke to “do you really want to hurt me?” (yes, I did) I was determined to go in another direction and look into an entirely different drainage by going over a 13,100’ saddle and dropping down to a very high lake hanging onto the side of a 14,000’ peak. This very solid and workable plan was immediately scrapped when I glassed up what was probably the same billy from the day before just 2-300 yards from where he had given me the slip the day before. This time I knew the lay of the land a bit from the day before and I watched with some patience while he chose his day bed, then made my move in his direction. I knew better how to conceal my approach across the face of the mountain and when I got there he had vanished yet again. I ditched my excess gear and slowly began a check over every ledge, keeping the upwind drafts in my face, trying to find where his heat of the day bed was. As I peeked over a stone ledge he was right there at 10 yards lying in his dirt bed. He spotted me at the same instant as I ducked and knocked up an arrow. I eased my head up and he was gone, disappointment was short lived as I saw he was trying to circle me and climb the peak to escape. He didn’t see me as I scrambled to set up a 20 yard confrontation and was at full draw as he rounded a large boulder and we were eye to eye full frontal angle. I put the pin right below his chin and released and the arrow flew perfectly. He whirled and was gone in an instant but I knew the hit had been perfect, and the blood trail told me I was right.
TxxAgg
WKR
- Joined
- Dec 27, 2019
- Messages
- 2,276
Tagged. Good stuff
I followed very cautiously and saw my large billy showing no signs of any wound just 30 yards below me. This made zero sense until I could see he was staring with all his might at a very dead and bloody goat 15 yards in front of him. I pulled the camera out as he spooked, Im not sure which of the two was bigger but I knew damn sure which one was deader. It was a beautiful day and spot for a butchering party and I got him all skinned and chunked in a couple hours time.
Leaving the meat on some rocks to cool I took all my gear and the rug back to camp and took a 65# load the 4-1/2 miles and 3000’ down to base camp. The next day was the hardest with sore muscles to start with and a round trip of 9 miles and 6000’ on the day’s schedule. This second and final trip was a 75# day, and I was feeling every bit of 60 birthdays upon arrival back at base camp. The following day with the wooly boys for help we did a 14-1/2 mile run down another 1600’ and the truck was a very welcome sight indeed.
We name all the mounted heads in our house and my Princess asked if he had a name yet, as sometimes it takes a while to come up with an appropriate choice, but this one was an easy one, he’s going to be Georgie Boy. Thank goodness that it was only 6 days of Boy George another 32 and it might have gotten ugly up there.
Well for some reason all kinds of my pics won't upload on this site, pretty much all the scenery shots won't work and it appears that every shot I have of my billy are too large also. So I guess there aint gonna be a dead goat pic, sorry. This last shot is of the one who was pointing my dead goat out to me as he skedaddled away.
Leaving the meat on some rocks to cool I took all my gear and the rug back to camp and took a 65# load the 4-1/2 miles and 3000’ down to base camp. The next day was the hardest with sore muscles to start with and a round trip of 9 miles and 6000’ on the day’s schedule. This second and final trip was a 75# day, and I was feeling every bit of 60 birthdays upon arrival back at base camp. The following day with the wooly boys for help we did a 14-1/2 mile run down another 1600’ and the truck was a very welcome sight indeed.
We name all the mounted heads in our house and my Princess asked if he had a name yet, as sometimes it takes a while to come up with an appropriate choice, but this one was an easy one, he’s going to be Georgie Boy. Thank goodness that it was only 6 days of Boy George another 32 and it might have gotten ugly up there.
Well for some reason all kinds of my pics won't upload on this site, pretty much all the scenery shots won't work and it appears that every shot I have of my billy are too large also. So I guess there aint gonna be a dead goat pic, sorry. This last shot is of the one who was pointing my dead goat out to me as he skedaddled away.
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