“Don’t look back, you’re not going that way” ~Unknown

Life doesn’t give you do-overs. It may seem that way, but there will be different variables to what looks like the same opportunity. There’s no going back, so the past is irrelevant. The future isn’t guaranteed so that’s also out in the ether. There's now and only now, the one place that we have the hardest time living.

I sat on the barren mountainside where lack of oxygen long ago choked out the idea of any trees daring to call it home. The sun moved in and out of the clouds, creating large puzzle pieces out of the jagged mountains.

A white speck of fur ran up the mountain, gravity obviously not applying on him.

The billy goat I was stalking was gone. I blew it royally. I made the rookie mistake of thinking he was going to be where I thought he should be, not where he was.

How I repeat the same mistakes and never learn is beyond me.

I sucked in air while I prepared myself for the long hike off the ankle-rolling steepness of the 13er I was working under. There was nothing to be done. I blew it and kicking myself over and over would have little positive effect. Learn, that’s all you can do. A fresh wound like that will be felt for some time. Don’t let it heal, let the pain be a constant reminder for next time.

If there is a next time.

There is almost always is, although it rarely feels like there will be. It was time to tuck my tail and get back on the glass. I really wanted this particular billy that I was chasing, but there was no use crying over it. It was time to create other opportunities.

The day denied me another chance, but that was to be expected. The hunting gods don’t like spoiling their disciples. They weed out the quitters early in the game, only shining their light upon the truly dedicated.

I pointed myself towards camp with the thought that mountain goats can be habitual soothing my nerves. Tomorrow he could be back in the same spot as today. No guarantees, but I long ago gave up the belief that there ever would be.

The morning pulsed from black to gray to deep purple. Mountain goats may have been blessed with many attributes, but camouflage in the late summer was not one of them. From where I stood, he was the size of a pinhead, but that pinhead glowed like a fog beacon against the dark of the mountain.

Same spot. No do-overs right? Close enough. The wound hadn’t even started to glaze over, there was no way I would let my waning memory of what happened yesterday botch this one up.

As for him, there was some reason he must not have thought I was stupid enough to attempt the same hike to try and pierce him with one of my arrows again. He was giving me too much credit. I was plenty stupid enough.

I steeled my will as to the inevitable scramble up shattered cliff lines that I would tuck behind to keep out of his sight. This was without a doubt a no fall zone. A miscalculated slip and my wife would be reaching for the will.

Layer after layer was shed to fight off the sweat. Elk shape, sheep shape and then goat shape? Not sure the order, I’ll have to concede this to one of the “hunter/athletes” roaming on Instagram.

I slowed down, reminding myself that I had all day. He wasn’t going anywhere and if I blew this again, chances are I’d be looking elsewhere.

I found the grassy patch that I knew he bedded on, sat on my butt and inched my way down the mountain. Three small schootches, then glass. Repeat until success. He’s not going to be where you want him to be, but where he is. Remember that and you’ll save yourself long bouts of self pity I told myself.

A full hour and a half of this brought me to finger spines of gnarled rock protruding out below the grassy slope. Looked like he wanted a little more protection for his nap.

I slowed it down even more, knowing that he had to be in here somewhere. My binoculars caught a black nose protruding from white fur. Good Lord, a few more inches down and I would have been staring at eyes that in all likelihood would be staring back at me.

This was a game of inches.

I analyzed how his body lay and decided it was best to reverse my steps and get directly above him. I burned another hour of my life doing this until I got into what I believed to be the best position the mountainside was willing to give up.

I could just see his horns and a little bit of fur being wildly blown about by the severe updrafts. It was a good thing I was only 33 yards away from him as the wind was going to add a substantial challenge.

Any spot and stalk hunter who’s worth his salt knows the next part of this game. You wait. You wait some more and then all of a sudden it’s “Holy shit, this is happening!”

He decided another bed was more to his liking and started on the move. In and out of boulders, he moved off to my left, giving me time to stand up, draw and attempt not to come completely unraveled.

He passed the last boulder, the hinge clicked and the arrow was on the way.

The wind took it a bit further back than I hoped but placed it solidly in his liver. Not good, but not the worst either.

He ran downhill and I lost him as he picked his way through the cliff line. I managed to pick him up again when I adjusted my position and there he stood, arrow halfway sunk into him. His pride wouldn’t let him lay down for a full hour. I couldn’t believe how tough he was. I hope I showed half the grace he was showing when it’s time to shake hands with death.

When he finally lay down he refused to quit. His head kept going up and down, defying what should have been his last breaths.

After 4.5 hours I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve pushed animals out too early and lost them because of an attempted early recovery, but this was too much.

I waited until his head sunk back down behind a rock and made my way down the loose scree that separated us. Hopefully the wind would cover any excessive sound that was being made by sliding shale.

At 36 yards I stood up and placed another arrow into him. This extra poke had him standing, but not moving.

For the love of God, go down.

I quickly sunk a third and final arrow home and he took off at a full gallop. Life left him a football field down the mountain.

I stood over him in awe of his absolute grit. He clung on to life just as hard as I tried to take it from him. In the end I had the better tools and was on the offense, but as I sat there I recognized this wasn’t always going to be the case. Try to stay on offense as long as you possibly can, but know that at one point you’ll be on the other side, waiting for your turn.