Success in hunting is not assured—and that’s the way it should be.

By Craig Boddington

It was the last afternoon of the mountain goat hunt. Donna and I were huddled against a boulder, her rifle rested and ready. Two hundred and fifty yards across a nasty canyon rose a little knob, and for the last few days we’d glassed a nice billy trading back and forth across this knob. Now we were as close as we could get, with the country too precipitous and the path too uncertain for a closer approach. So, having failed to find a closer, simpler, and safer goat, on this last day we rolled the dice, and we were hoping he would appear.

Our hunting team huddled in the rocks behind us, hoping equally. Snow squalls came and went, and after a five-hour climb we were all cold and miserable. But our vantage point was perfect, and the odds were good that Donna’s goat would make an appearance. But the clock was ticking. There was no way we could make it down through the rocks in the dark, so we needed him to show up on our schedule, not his.

In traditional outdoor-writer fashion, here’s the way this story should end: As we neared our cutoff point, the billy came up from the backside, materializing on the point with the wind blowing his long, white coat. Donna flattened him, and we raced against dusk to get to him, do our chores, and get down the mountain.

That’s not way it happened. Nothing appeared at all, so when the shadows grew long, Donna and I looked at each other, shrugged, and we all stood, gathered our gear, and started the long scramble down the mountain. It’s entirely possible the goat showed up after we walked away. I don’t know, because we never looked back. Absent a miracle, which didn’t happen, the hunt was over.

From camp and from the far ridges we glassed a big billy several times on that little point. On the last day we gambled and figured out how to get there…but on that cold, snowy day he never showed.

Sometimes it happens that way. We call it “hunting,” not “shooting,” and, please, for heaven’s sake, not “collecting.” Absent good planning, proper timing, lots of effort, and straight shooting when it counts, a lot of hunts are unsuccessful. Even with those elements, the vagaries of weather, game movement, and blind luck dictate that some hunts will be unsuccessful. And even without them, luck is enough of a factor that some hunts are successful against all odds. Nobody likes to get beat, but, after all, the uncertainty is part of what makes our sport interesting . . . right down to the last hour of the last day.

Words matter, and I’m sure there are some who are mentally chiding me for differentiating a “successful hunt” and an “unsuccessful hunt” on the criteria of whether or not game is taken. Yes, I do so categorize hunts. In this case it was Donna’s hunt, not mine, but we work together on such things. The goal was for her to take a Rocky Mountain goat. She never got a shot, so in my lexicon the hunt was unsuccessful. But that is not the only criterion against which a hunt might be judged. An unsuccessful hunt may still be a very good hunt, and this one certainly was. It was made so by a great outfitter with good horses, magnificent mountains, hard work, and a comfortable tent camp in a beautiful valley (with a warm fire). It was also made so by congenial company, not only our outfitter, Mike Hawkridge, and his team, but also by the presence of our friend from Macedonia, Saso Ivanov, enjoying his first hunt in the Canadian wilderness.

By the same token, a successful hunt isn’t by definition a “good hunt.” Even though you get your game, I’ve had successful hunts that weren’t particularly enjoyable, made so by surly guides or campmates, a disorganized outfit, or weather so miserable that all you really want is “outta there.” So there are big differences between successful/unsuccessful, which is a sharp, objective delineation; and good/bad, which is so subjective that it may take some time for the memories to properly sort themselves in your mind. Mind you, this also says nothing about tough/easy. Really hard hunts yield some of the best memories, whether you win or lose.

A decent camp is an important part of any good hunt. Ours wasn’t fancy, but we had dry tents and a warm fire to come back to, and this will yield some of the best memories of the hunt.

There are also, in all things, shades of gray. Donna didn’t get her goat. Neither did Saso. On the other hand, early one morning close by camp, Saso shot an ancient moose, huge-bodied with “downhill” antlers which he, as a European, appreciated immensely. So whether his hunt was successful or not, well, you’d have to ask him. For sure we were all delighted with his bonus moose!

In some ways, it’s a wonderful thing to be growing older. I think we all go through these stages. In my youth, “filling the tag” was of paramount importance. I don’t think I was ever a sore loser—and I still hate to lose—but I don’t take it nearly as personally as I once did. Donna, a relatively new hunter, has an even better attitude about it than I ever have. She takes the bad with the good, accepts that sometimes you win and sometimes you don’t, and happily looks forward to the next attempt.

There’s no point in crying over spilled milk. It’s just part of the deal that sometimes you don’t get what you go after. That is perhaps one of the few things hunting has in common with everything else we think of as a “sport”: No team wins every game, and no competitor has good days every single day. I will admit that there are self-imposed degrees. It’s one thing to come in from your back forty without a buck; it’s another to come home from a long-planned, long saved-for “dream hunt” without the trophy you sought as a memory of the experience. But that’s just part of the deal. If there are guarantees, then it’s no longer hunting. So you must strive for success, but be prepared for failure, and make sure that you savor every moment and record every awesome vista.

I’m getting better at that! Hunters older than I tell me that a further point is reached, where just being out there is the most important thing, and taking game no longer matters much at all. Maybe I’ll reach that point, maybe I won’t, but I have learned that you’ll drive yourself crazy if you get too focused on success or lack thereof. Plan well and hunt hard, and most of the time success will take care of itself . . . but above all, make sure you’re having fun along the way.

Saso Ivanov and Donna and Craig Boddington, packing out at the end of the hunt. Saso’s ancient moose was a real bonus…and we all characterized it as a very good hunt, even with our primary tags unfilled.