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Final Draft of Goat Story Submitted to Backpacker Magazine

eyedclaareyedclaar Posts: 6,980
edited August 2008 in All Encompassing Trip
I know a bunch of you already read this, but this is a much improved version. I'm hoping Backpacker accepts it... Kind of long, sorry.


July 7, 2008: The Mountain Goat Stampede

Beyond the historical mining town of Atlanta, Idaho and high in the jagged Sawtooth Mountains, my wife and I are on our second day of a backpacking trip searching for what is supposed to be the state’s most elusive hot spring. Day one ended in failure, an impassable dead end of sheer rock walls dropping hundreds of feet to the raging middle fork of the Boise River. We had attempted a descent on the wrong side of a massive granite outcropping and with night approaching we had no choice but to call off the search and set up camp.

Earlier this morning, we found a steep and rocky game trail on the other side of the granite mountain face. It is a slow process carrying full packs over the treacherously steep and rocky terrain, but at least we seem to be on the right path. Finally, we work our way to within fifty yards of the river. We can just make out the icy water through the trees ahead and the roar of the spring runoff is all we can hear. The hot spring should be right below us at the river’s edge. My wife, who is ahead of me, suddenly crouches and motions for me to follow suit.

“Goats!” she whispers and points down the trail.

Just ahead, the trail opens into a plush and muddy meadow smelling slightly of geothermal activity. In the meadow, not more than fifty feet away, is an entire family of mountain goats. There are at least three generations, from a huge adult male with impressive goatee and long black horns all the way down to a couple of new born fluff balls. The adults’ shaggy white coats are ratty and shedding in the summer heat.

My wife and I take cover behind a Ponderosa pine and slowly remove our backpacks while exchanging looks of complete bewilderment and excitement. I’m sure if satellites are watching us, her smile can be seen from space. I suspect I have a similar grin glued to my face. Neither of us have ever been this close to mountain goats in their natural environment. Usually, we are lucky to spot white flecks on a far away cliff face with high-powered binoculars. These creatures are close enough that I can make out the individual leaves matted in their hair.

They radiate a Buddha-like calm that floats an air of peace over the entire meadow. We have forgotten the hot spring and are ecstatic to sit quietly and observe the goat family. The young ones look like giant cotton balls so fluffed we can barely see their stubby legs. The family seems content to spend their afternoon munching away on the long meadow grasses.

We have been watching them for less than five minutes when there is a sudden change in the air and the goats appear to detect something disturbing. A few of them develop a case of restless feet and the nervous energy spreads across the herd. Suddenly, the goats raise their heads simultaneously in alarm. Across the river, two large canines come bursting over the rise and charge down the bank to the water’s edge.

“Wolves,” I hiss. “No way!” We are about to witness a real National Geographic episode unfold before our very eyes.

The mountain goats panic and charge and that’s when we realize the seriousness of the situation. We are standing on the only trail out of this narrow ravine and, even if we can avoid the impending mountain goat stampede, we’re still stuck on a narrow trail between wolves and their intended prey. My rational mind knows wolves don’t attack people, but these are strange circumstances. What if the wolves get confused and assume we are the ones they are chasing?

There is no time to think. The goats are fifteen feet away and charging fast. I step in front of my wife with hands raised in what I hope is universal sign language for “We come in peace; please don’t kill us.” The goats hadn’t even seen us until that point. They are momentarily confused, trapped between humans and wolves, until all three hundred pounds of the herd leader charges to the front and stands facing us with intense eyes and lowered horns. He blasts a wall of air out of his nose inflating his top lip. I know he can cover the ten feet of ground separating us before I can possibly react.

“This is going to hurt,” I think to myself.

The majestic animal stands proud and fierce while the others find the courage to slip behind him and around us improvising new trails up the rocky mountain face. Our hearts drum in our chests as the goat stampede washes over us.

The last two goats, a mom and her newborn, don’t see us until it is too late to find an alternate route. My wife and I bend slightly to one side and the nanny does the same as she pushes her way past us on the trail. A this point, she doesn’t seem scared or even rushed. She is determined to escort her child to safety and seems to understand that we mean her no harm. I can literally scoop up the adorable newborn in my arms as it scampers past my shins but I suspect that might be the last thing I ever do.

The giant male waits until his family is past us before finally releasing us from his steely black stare and moving on. At that point our attention immediately reverts to the wolves. Or, what we thought were wolves.

The two canines have been joined by a third on the opposite river bank and, unless wolf packs are allowing spaniel-heeler mixes to join their ranks, these are not wolves. These are dogs who are excited to be in the wild and off-leash. Now that I have a second to asses the situation, I realize the first two dogs we saw are big husky mixes of some sort so I don’t feel overly stupid for the mix up.

There must be hikers on the other side of the river letting their dogs run out in front of them. Maybe they don’t realize this is wolf country and that canis lupus would be all too happy to kill their dogs. We’ve seen the wolves’ elk and deer hair laced scat everywhere. We both experience a pang of disappointment that we won’t see an actual wolf hunt, even if we might have wound up on the wrong end of the chase. The hikers top the rise a few seconds later. They don’t see the mountain goats and are oblivious to the stampede caused by their dogs.

My wife and I spend the next few minutes in a heart-pounding, adrenaline-fueled state babbling about what we saw and how we felt. We both agreed it was the most astonishing experience with wildlife we’d ever had. Oh, and we did find the hot spring we were looking for but somehow locating the nearly impossible to find pool seemed secondary to what we had just witnessed.
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