Rocky Mountain Angoras

By Denny L. Vasquez

“Are you gonna make it?” my guide whispered in my right ear. I didn’t even make an effort to turn toward him, but just gave a slight nod of my head in response. I snickered to myself’ “Are you gonna make it?” he asks. Hmph, I thought! a fine time to ask me that seemingly senseless question now.

We were almost to the trailhead, and it didn’t matter that I was gulping air as if it were some type of coolant that could soothe the fire in my lungs or that my body felt like rubber from running across the face of this hell that he called a mountain. At that moment I couldn’t have held still for a steady shot if my life depended on it. And to top it off, we were up at a minimum of 10,000 feet in elevation; but it was probably closer to 11,000.

Now to some of you I am sure that 10,000 or 11,000 feet doesn’t seem like much. But it is a bit much for a flatlander whose usual habitat is 50 feet above sea level, even if he has exercised for six months prior to the hunt. (One thing I had learned on this hunt is that you are never fully prepared, no matter how much you exercise. Not when you go from 50 feet above sea level to 10,000 above sea level.)

“What”, some of you ask, “hunting Angora goats in the Rocky Mountains? Isn’t that what we used to have on the ranch when I was a kid?” Well, yes it is in one sense, but in another sense, it also isn’t. Let me back up a bit and explain how I got to be in this peculiar predicament.

During the summer of 1993 I received a call from an outfitter friend of mine inviting me to come hunt elk and mule deer with him on a Colorado ranch which he was considering purchasing. If things worked out, then he would be adding this ranch to his list of ranches that he has to offer his clients. Knowing how much I love to hunt, it didn’t really take very much to twist my arm into adding another hunting trip into my busy fall schedule. The ranch is located in the Grand Mesa region near Colbran, Colorado.

The area of the Grand Mesa’s northern slope, where we would be spending 10 days trying to find a good bull elk, is called Storm King Mountain. Even though most of the lower slopes of the mountain and the top of the mesa have fairly good roads, you must still do a lot of walking if you want to find the best game. During my stay not only would we use four wheel drive trucks and horses to get around over most of the mountain’s side in our hunting area, we would also use a lot of foot power to make our way through the aspen groves and oak brush.

The topography for this region is typical of that found in mountainous areas in that part of the country. The lower slopes have tall prairie grasses, conifers, aspens and oak brush while on top of most of the ridgelines you only had the clinging oak brush that is about knee high. This brush is so thick in some places that you have to detour around it, which adds to your time allotted for walking from place to place. Several times this thick brush made stalks, on unsuspecting game, impractical. On top of the mesa are stands of conifers and aspen mixed in with smaller oaks. Up here the oak brush doesn’t seem to be as thick, so walking is easier and quieter.

I first spotted the tiny white dots on the higher slopes of Storm King while we were chasing the illusive elk bull that we just couldn’t seem to find. When we stopped to rest in our search, I asked my guide what they white spots were, I thought that they might have been mountain goats but I wasn’t sure as I didn’t think that there were any of these high country dwellers this far south. He informed me that they were feral Angora goats and that the part of the ranch that we were now on was part of the previous owner’s exotic hunting park. He had stocked these goats and other animals here to be hunted, much like the exotic game ranches do in Texas.

It was perfect terrain for goats, steep, heavily covered in the ever-present clinging oak brush and rocky to the extent that the footing was iffy at best. My guide went on to inform me that like most animals, for example feral hogs, once these domesticated animals were turned loose, they reverted back to a totally wild state. I was intrigued, but we were after elk, so I forgot about them for the time being.

It wasn’t until we were enjoying a liquid beverage on the front porch of the ranch’s lodge later that evening in celebration of the good bull elk that I had taken earlier in the day, when these wandering rock climbers came back to my attention. I glanced up at the ridgeline over looking the valley in which the ranch headquarters is located and in the setting sun I saw those elusive tiny white dots once again. After I called everyone else’s attention to them, we dove into a discussion concerning these wary little animals.

My guide informed us that hunting them wouldn’t be that much different than hunting a true mountain goat. They liked the high, rocky and inaccessible places near the summit of the mountains and ridgelines of the surrounding country. Being hardy little creatures, they can withstand the ice and snow that hits the high country with the onset of a full blown rocky mountain winter. Consequently, with the help of their thick winter fur coats, there is very little winter die off among these animals. At this point the conversation took a turn toward the usual friendly banter that is found in hunting camps around the globe and I couldn’t resist my guide’s proposition that we once again mount the slopes of Storm King in pursuit of another of the area’s challenging wild inhabitants.

To make the event even more challenging I decided to use my in-line action muzzleloading rifle in .50 caliber which I had topped off with a compact riflescope. Along with some Buffalo Bullets and Pyrodex RS, I knew that if given the chance, this compact little rifle could be counted on to make a clean kill on one of these high country loving goats.

Now before we start our tale of the hunt, let me give you a little background on these feisty little white goats. The angoras belong to the conic horned game category. A trophy-sized billy, as recognized by the Trophy Game Records of the World, will have wide flaring triangular horns with a slight curl in excess of 30 inches, with a basal measurement of 8-9 inches and a spread of 30 plus inches from tip to tip. A mature billy will weigh from 75 to 100 pounds and stand around 25 to 26 inches at the front shoulder. The nannies will have about the same height, but usually weight 5-15 pounds lighter. The wool of both the billy and the nanny will be coarse and somewhat curly with a length of 1 1/2 to 3 1/2 inches. The coloration of an angora is usually snowy white, though other coloration variants have been noted from time to time. The last major physical characteristic of a billy is the long thick beard coming off of the lower jaw and hanging down 8-11 inches. The hide quality is very good with thick curly hair, while the meat quality of a mature billy is quite poor. Now on with the hunt!

Before light the next morning, we saddled our horses and started up the steep mountain trail once again. The light snow of the previous day had turned the trail into a quagmire of mud and mush and I wasn’t looking forward to hiking around the mountain in this muck when we tied off the horses to the brush later. I was hoping that my boots with their hard rubber knobby sole would hold out as well as they had during the dry part of the hunt.

Most of the morning was spent hiking across the face of the mountain, as our little “walk” took us through aspen groves, brush covered slopes, mountain meadows, rock slides and around frozen beaver ponds. But as usual, these animals were in the most inaccessible place on the mountain’s face. The area in which we eventually found them was almost all rockslides and small trails in the loose talus that over looked drop-offs of several hundred feet. It wasn’t my choice of an ideal place to hunt, especially since my hunt for elk had taken place on the gentler slopes of the mountain.

As we carefully choose each spot in which we put our feet while traversing a rockslide, my guide commented that several of these small white dots were only about a mile and a half away and 600 or so feet above us, up the rock slide. He asked me if I were up to the climb. After glassing them through his binoculars, he felt that two of the billys might have trophy potential and be worth a closer look. So after discussing our approach route, we decided to attempt a stalk. But to do so meant that we had to descend back into the aspens so that our approach wouldn’t be seen.

We were able to close the distance to about half a mile before our cover played out. Then after carefully glassing the goats again, we confirmed that one of the goats was definitely worth a trip up the mountain. My guide thought that he might even be in the top 10 of all angoras taken with a muzzleloading firearm, as per the records maintained by the record keeping system, Trophy Game Records of the World.

Upon glassing the surrounding terrain, we decided that I could approach to within 200 yards of him by doing a duck walk and belly crawl up a small ravine that ran next to the ridgeline that he was on. After my crawl, I would have to ease out on to a trail that we could see running up through the rock slide, as it made its way in his general direction. If I was careful, I should be able to sneak close enough to get a shot at him. This is also provided that none of the other goats in his area gave the alarm which would cause the whole group to go racing off across the steep face of the mountain and that I didn’t misplace a step which would result in me sliding down the mountainside with all of the other rocks and clods of dirt.

As I mentioned earlier, we had been racing against time and had literally run across the last mile or so of our stalk through the trees to get to our lookout position as the horses had been left behind earlier. So, when my legs and arms quit shaking and I could breath without trying to inhale the clouds, I eased into the gully to start my slow climb, after securing my rifle and shooting bag to my back with a couple of leather thongs.

The crawl up the ravine was not a major obstacle it was just time consuming. However, once I reached the trail that ran out across the face of the rockslide, I realized that we had made a bad error in judgment. What had appeared to be a trail from down below, turned out to be a thin, 2 1/2 foot wide, ledge that followed the contours of the face of the rock slide. As I slowly stood up, behind a large boulder, it also became apparent that the goats could not see me here. I glanced down at my guide and by prearranged signals he was indicating that the goats were still in the general vicinity of where we had seen them earlier.

I looked out at the trail and decided, “What the heck. I had come this far to get a goat and can’t stop now.” So I checked to make sure that my rifle and shooting bag were still secured to my back and then I eased out onto the trail.

I was able to control my forward motion by using my left hand to hang onto the roots and limbs that protruded through the rockslide. I only looked down the rockslide once and that was all it took to convince me that I didn’t want to do that again. It appeared that I was several hundred feet up and that it would be a long drop or roll down the face of the slide. I definitely didn’t want to slip and end up on the rocks below so I slowed my progress down in order to carefully place my feet on firmer footing while trying to locate the goats before they either saw or heard me.

I had made it about 150 yards out onto the trail and so far so good. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw a white rock roll across the face of the rockslide. But wait that isn’t a white rock, it’s a goat, and it’s coming my way. I froze and tried to be still as the ground on which I stood. Soon several more goats appeared in front of me as I wondered what it was that they found so attractive about the solitude of the rockslide.

At this point I had no idea how I was going to position myself in order to able to make a steady shot. The ledge wasn’t wide enough for me to turn and face the goats, in a classical freehand position, nor could I kneel to attempt a shot. I quickly turned to survey the surrounding area, trying to find a solution to my problem, and noticed a small tree about five feet in front of me. I quickly determined that its overhanging limbs could serve as both a rest and provide a little cover for me to hide behind, so I eased slowly forward hoping that my actions wouldn’t be seen by the sharp eyes of the goats coming my way.

After moving in behind the little tree, I found that I would have to lay my rifle across the fork in a limb and brace myself against the rocky wall of the ledge in order to maintain my position for a shot. It wasn’t the most comfortable spot that I have ever been in, but it would have to work. Recapping my rifle, I settled it in the crotch of the fork as I prepared to take my chances with the hand that the god’s of hunting had dealt me.

Now as I turned my attention back to the goats, I couldn’t locate the big billy that we had picked out from down below but there were several groups of nannies and kids moving across the face of the rockslide now. I saw only one small, solitary billy as I continued to scan the area of the rockslide where we had previously spotted the group of larger billys.

At first I didn’t see a sign of them and then I noticed a little gray rock that was swaying back in forth. The rock turned out to be the horns on a billy that had lain down among the rocks. Upon looking closer, I could just make out the heads of several more billys in the same area. They appeared to be about 125 yards of so away. As I continued watching the nannies and kids move slowly in my direction, I wondered if they would spook before I had a chance to take a shot at one of the mature billys.

After about 15 minutes of watching, the older billys decided that it was time to join the rest of the group. They started a slow movement down the face of the rockslide after the rest of the herd. When I was able to determine that this movement would take them across my field of fire, I knew that I still had a chance to take a good specimen. So I lowered my body into a squatting position in order to elevate the angle of my barrel and waited for my chance.

The first couple groups of nannies and kids passed by above me before the first mature billy came in to my field of fire. I let him pass by unmolested at about 50 yards. The third billy in the group looked to be the best of the bunch, so I decided to try for him. Slowly, another group of nannies and kids passed by further up the slope. This group was about 75 yards away and I had to be really still so that they wouldn’t spook. Then the second and third billys stepped over the rocks and their full bodies came into view.

As they trotted to catch up with the first billy, I knew that I couldn’t make a clean shot as I wouldn’t be able to move to keep up with them and remain undetected. Then I heard a snort or bleat behind me and I froze. It was clear that some of the goats had come up behind me and had blown my cover.

As I watched, the two billys above me also froze and seemed to be watching something on the slope behind me. It was now or never. I put the cross hairs of my compact scope on the larger billy’s shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

At my shot, a thousand things happened all at once. First, the mountainside exploded with goats and I couldn’t see the billy that I had shot because of all the smoke. Then, the sudden mad exodus of the local goat population created a minor rockslide as pebbles and stones slid down the face of the rockslide after being dislodged. I was kept busy trying to protect my firearm from the falling debris while not letting go of the root that I had grabbed as a tether with my left hand. Somehow, it wasn’t as serious as it seemed at the moment and I didn’t take a final plunge down the mountain.

After the dust and smoke cleared, I looked around for my goat, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. My heart dropped like a stone at the thought of having missed my one and only chance. When further searching from my perch proved fruitless, I decided to head back to the edge of the rockslide. Maybe, with my guide’s help I should be able to locate my billy. I knew in my heart that the shot had been good. I had even heard the ‘whomp’ of the bullet as it had found its mark. So I felt certain that it would just be a matter of some good old fashion footwork now.

As I rounded the last bend in the trail before I got back to the ravine, I heard my guide yelling something at me. I looked down in his direction and saw that he was trying to get me to look up the rockslide above me. When I turned to look I saw my billy. He was about 25 yards out upon the rockslide and about 40 yards above the end of the trail. It was a small matter to attach a rope to his horns and drag him to a safer area. It was a fitting end to a very good hunt. After all, I had taken elk, mule deer and now a wild angora goat this trip.