After only two years of trying, I was lucky enough to draw a goat tag out of Sadie Cove across the bay from Homer, Alaska . Not many people get a tag, and I was told by Fish and Game, about 2% actually fill it. I take it that means about 1-2 people a year kill a goat in this area. I had planned to go across Kachemak Bay with my friend Craig who has a sailboat. We set off in early October.
The trip across Kachemak was beautiful. We saw whales and dodged seals and rafts of ducks on the way. Craiggars has hunted in the area and was a wealth of knowledge. We started spotting goats right from the start. The ridge bordering Sadie crawls out of the ocean and quickly climbs into the clouds topping out around 4000 ft. There are a few cabins inside the cove, and one lodge that sits inside the only break in the ridge- Sadie Creek. I had asked them if I could use the creek basin as an access weeks prior to leaving, and they responded very nicely that they didn’t want to help me kill “their” goat herd. The only advice they could suggest was from the beach, which was the steepest. I wasn’t real excited about climbing from the beach, but had no other choice.
The first day, we spotted some relatively low lying goats on the south side of the cove inside a small runoff. Craiggars anchored nearby, and I paddled the raft to the beach. On land, I could not see the creek or the goats. I made a guess as to the best approach and started braiding my way through the alders. The path I chose required climbing a few rock faces between 10 and 20 ft high. I made it up the first two, but was unable to top out of the third. At one point, I was within reach of it when my shoes lost grip and I fell all but the last three feet. My shirt had caught a spruce limb and I hung just off the ground. The shirt ripped but still works fine. Kim has asked me to throw it away several times, but in the end, she’ll sew it for me and it will be a reminder of my adventures.
I slowly and quietly made my way up the crick. I couldn’t see the goats above me nor the boat below me. The boulders that made up the crick bottom were cold and wet, and each step was more perilous than the last. I stopped below the area I knew the goats were and sat down. I waited and listened and glassed and waited some more. I couldn’t see or hear anything but the water rushing by. When the sun began to set, I headed back down to the ocean and paddled the raft towards the sailboat. I glanced up to where the goats were earlier, and there they were, still lounging on a rock bench, maybe 40 ft above where I had sat to rest. Craiggars said they hadn’t moved.
The hike up to these low goats had exhausted me, but thankfully, Craig had dinner ready on my return. I was a little disappointed that I was so close to my target without seeing them, but Craiggars was enthusiastic about tomorrow, and helped bolster my hopes.
We woke on day 2 and settled the boat beside the beach. Again, I left the raft above high tide, and found my way through the alders, my rifle catching on each tree with every step. I had planned to climb the mountain inside a crick that at its top, was 500 ft from the goats. I took a small meal, and no water, planning on drinking the water the mountain provided.
Halfway up the hillside found me so tired, I sat to rest every 10 steps. My lungs burned and my legs quivered. I guess it took about 2 hrs to emerge from the brush and alders. I was dizzy with exhaustion. I lay down in a dry ravine and fell asleep for a short time. When I woke, clouds were beginning to roll in, covering the mountain top. I walked to the crick for a drink of water and gorged myself. The water came right out of the rock face, and tasted like the best water ever made. From where I stood, I could see half a dozen goats above me. I found my way up and behind a huge boulder to hide me from the herd, and half walked half crawled closer. Suddenly, above and behind me I could hear something walking on the rocks on top of the mountain. It was a goat, and by this time I had told myself, the first legal animal was dead. Lying flat on the hillside left me no where flat. The mountain was steep here, and I was holding a bead on the goats head, lying around a 60 degree angle. The first shot hit the rock wall behind her head. As I rolled another shell in, she started running up and over to the other side of the mountain. I took another shot but missed again. The noise the shots made echoed against the rock, and I could hear the 6 goats I was originally headed for scramble in all directions. I was upset at myself for taking a quick shot, and scaring the rest off.
With no goats, and the clouds now allowing 30 ft visibility, I hiked down the mountain. Every step forward made my legs cramp solid. I had to reach down and help each leg finish the step. I found the raft and paddled back to Craig. He had dinner waiting, and the heater inside the cabin on. As I stripped down to my long johns, I told Craig nothing could make me climb that mountain again. I fell asleep fast.
The 3rd day in Sadie Cove was overcast, and raining. We decided to run to Homer for water and gas. The top 1000 ft of mountain could not be seen, and neither of us wanted to sit on the boat all day long. On our return trip to Sadie, the sun poked its head out showing us the goats above. Somehow Craig convinced me I would go up tomorrow, our last day hunting.
We woke early. The forecast was calling for winds and rain, but for now, it was clear enough that we spotted 15 goats scattered across the mountain top. We discussed an easier route, climbing as much of the grassy hillside as possible instead of the ravine. In two hours, I was in the same place as two days prior, much less exhausted. I had taken a bottle of water this time along with a small meal. Once near the top, I was sitting about 300 yards from a small pod of 5 goats. I could see a nanny with a kid, and 3 smaller nanny beside them. I decided to turn south and climb where I could not be seen. The last 500 ft was much steeper, and it was another hour before I reached the top. From here, I walked on a 6” trail towards the target. The mountain fell steeply 100 yards or more on each side. I took my time, peaking at the goats now and then. Stalking these goats on top of the world was the most amazing experience I have ever had. The anticipation would have been overwhelming had I not been so drained of energy.
I walked along the goat trail until I reached the place where I imagined they were lying. I slowly crawled over the mountain top and saw all five goats sitting 20 ft from me, without a single sign that they were spooked. All five goats remained stacked side by side, staring at me. If I had shot one now, the bullet would surely pass through the first, and kill the next two behind her. I took a few steps closer and they stood and separated. I raised my rifle flicked the safety off and put a bullet through one. She ran a few feet and stopped. I jacked another shell in, and put it behind her shoulder an inch from the first. The nanny bolted down the hillside. By the time the next shell was in she was 100 yards away. I put the sight on her neck and pulled the trigger. The goat collapsed, rolled down the mountain, and lay there twitching.
I slid down the grassy slope on my butt, and found her tangled in the alders. Both horns had popped off, and I could only find one. After gutting the nanny, I decided to take her down whole. I lifted her onto my back and headed down, but each step had me falling or caught up in the alders, so I tied a rope around her head and dragged her to the beach. Going down with the goat was just as bad if not worse than climbing up alone. When I made the beach, I tied the goat to the raft, and paddled to the boat. Craig was beaming. He had a meal ready for me, and quickly started out of the Cove. The weather was starting to turn, and we had an hour long ride back to Homer.
The first thing I told Craiggars was that this was the greatest hunt I never want to do again. A few days later, I decided if I had another tag, I might do it again. I guess its kind of like having a baby. So happy with the result, you forget the pain.
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