In the late spring a fellow bowhunter stopped by to share some stories. He told us of a spot in Northern BC that was said to have some of the oldest game in the area. The spot was deep – you wouldn’t want to pack an animal out of there. So we went.
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We hiked in, farther and farther from the truck, depleting our food cache. We reached the farthest we could go, and came across ancient mountain goat. After watching him for a few days, we sneaked inside 10 yards and let loose a fatal arrow. But celebration soon became concern – we had to somehow pack him out. So we field dressed our harvest, loaded it into our packs, and lit out.
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We scrambled up and down ravines, navigated through 10-ft. high vegetation and endured a constant rain, barely keeping a half-mile an hour pace. After three days and 50 or so miles, we made it to the truck.
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