On these pages last Saturday, I regaled readers with details of bird hunting on the Big Island of Hawaii. Many sportsmen weren’t aware of the wonderful upland gunning opportunities offered by the 50th state, much less the wide variety of species available. I’m betting even fewer outdoorsmen know about the fabulous big-game hunting on three of the main islands.

Along with 13 species of game birds, the Parker Ranch, a 175,000-acre working cattle ranch, is also home to four types of big-game animals. Polynesian wild boar, which can weigh 150 to 200 pounds and brandish five-inch tusks and fierce tempers, flourish in the rolling grasslands and forest edges. Axis deer, with antlers up to 36 inches tall, are also a popular quarry and weigh up to 200 pounds. Spanish wild goat and Corsican sheep ramble the rocky hills and lava tunnels high up on Mauna Kea, the island’s dormant volcano. Spanish billies average 75-125 pounds and can sport horns up to 30 inches, with 14-18 inches being average and anything more than 20 inches a trophy. Corsican rams sport thick, downward-curved horns that can measure up to 36 inches. Billies and rams are fleet footed over the most uneven terrain, and have keen eyesight and a wariness that will send them sprinting to the next mountain ridge at a hint of danger.

To supplement my two half-days of bird hunting, I decided to spend a day trying to bag one of the long-coated, coal black wild goats. Perhaps I’d even see one of the rare black and white calico-colored variations. In the late 1700s, Captain George Vancouver was exploring the Hawaiian Islands and had goats on his ships as a possible food supply in case of shipwreck. Once the sailing vessels safely reached land, the species of Spanish goats were set free, and those few animals were the predecessors of today’s populous, free-ranging wild herds.

Winter weather

Winter months in Hawaii and Maine coincide, but occasional rain is the only January element with which the islands contend. And even on those rare wet days, temperatures are in the high 70s and low 80s. A few hours before dawn on the day of my hunt, I awoke to wind and raindrops lashing the glass door to my room’s balcony. By daylight it was still pouring and the cool rain had caused a thick mist to shroud the ground. I checked in with head guide Pat Fisher and he confirmed what I suspected; it was useless to venture out under those conditions.

Severe rain forces the wild goats to seek cover, which they find in the many mountain caves, under rock outcroppings, and in the deep lava tubes canopied by thick shrubbery. At some point that day the animals would have to leave cover to feed, but with the dense ground fog, we wouldn’t be able to spot them. Sportsmen deal with bad weather the same way everywhere, even in a tropical paradise; wait, watch, and hope. Pat suggested I be at his home by 11:30 a.m. regardless of conditions and we’d see what happened.

The 40-minute drive to Fisher’s home on a usually scenic hillside of Parker Ranch took an hour in the rain and haze. At 12:30 we were still sitting at the kitchen table, sipping soda and staring morosely out the window at rain and feathery fog. By 1 p.m. the rain had dwindled to a fine mist and Pat wondered aloud if the haze was thinner in the high country. We loaded into his pickup and headed for higher ground and, lo and behold, 10 minutes later drove into sunshine and clear skies.

With a degree from Colorado State in wildlife biology, 15 years of guiding, and 25 years of hunting Maui and the Big Island, Pat Fisher has a great deal of insight on locating each of the island’s big-game quarries. Twenty minutes from his house we turned off the main road and slowly bumped and bounced over very rough field roads, among and around herds of cattle, and up – always up – to a high ridge line. Using a huge green water tower for cover, Pat hunkered down and scanned the vast panorama of peaks and valleys with powerful binoculars.

Nonchalantly, as if noting that the sky was blue, Pat quietly murmured after a few minutes of gazing around, “So there you are. That’s a good-size group grazing up that grassy lava flow about a mile away. Let’s pay ’em a visit.” We hopped back into the truck and bounced our way cross country, always keeping some high ground between us and the goats. When Pat figured we were within half a mile, it was time to play sneak and peak. I loaded shells into the .243 Remington 700 BDL, checked the scope, and familiarized myself with the extendable bipod. Pat positioned his binocular sling and we headed cross country.

Rain and fog

After the first two ridges, I stopped looking at what was ahead and concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other, trying to take deep, steady breaths and keep Pat within sight. I figured when he finally spotted the goats, he would stop and eventually I’d catch up, perhaps before they had moved to another pasture. Finally after half an hour of hiking, I looked up to see Pat belly-crawl to the rim of a hill and use his binoculars.

After only a few seconds he scuttled backward and signaled me to come forward slow and low. The goats had been in two flocks when he first spotted them, billies about 200 yards in front of the nannies and kids, but all feeding in the same direction. No way to approach the males without spooking the females and alerting the entire herd. Now, however, both bunches had merged and were feeding about 400 yards away on the opposite slope.

The bad news was that the weather was catching up with us. Looking to the east, a curtain of rain and fog was flowing our way, so time was limited. As soon as the last goat moved over the far ridge, we were up and moving to cut the distance. We went around the end of the next hill and moved to set up ahead of the feeding goats. Halfway down the second slope, 150 yards from where the animals should appear, we took cover among some rocks and high grass.

It almost worked. I was hunkered down behind the scope, bipod out and steady, watching the ridge line when the first rain drops fell. Within two minutes a sheet of wind and water arrived, washing down the lenses of my glasses and the scope, obscuring all vision. Then the fog floated over the hilltop, and with each passing second haze obliterated the surrounding land until vision was down to 20 yards at best.

Soaking wet, immersed in dense fog, and very frustrated, Pat and I lay on the rough, wet ground for 45 minutes. My glasses were in my vest pocket and my handkerchief shrouded the scope, just in case a miracle occurred and a shot became possible. Hunters never stop hoping. We listened to the goats feed closer and closer, gauging their nearness by their constant bleating and grunting calls.

Occasionally a slight breeze would shift the mist and haze enough to offer a ghostly glimpse of a goat’s dark form among the fog, but never time to sight and shoot. At one point several goats meandered and fed within 75 yards of our hiding spot, but to no avail. When the rain slowed and the fog dissipated to a thin haze, the goats had moved out of sight over the next hillocks.

With less than 30 minutes left to hunt, we had one last chance. Pat and I circled around the hill and took up a shooting position overlooking a deep ravine. There were only two paths out of the valley the goats had fled into, and this was one of them. After 10 minutes a nanny appeared, then another with a baby, and a third goat was right behind. The next three goats to ascend the steep slope into the open had horns.

Pat used the binoculars to pinpoint the best goat. None were trophies but time was short. As they climbed the hillside the animals kept grouping up and intermixing – making it difficult to pinpoint the best billy through the scope. As the herd neared the rim, a few hesitated. I took a breath, exhaled half as I positioned the cross hairs and squeezed. My goat hopped forward just before the rifle recoiled. In a heartbeat, the animals disappeared over the ridge.

“Did you hit him?” Pat asked, “Were you on the bigger one? I thought I heard a bullet hit!” “I don’t know,” I said shaking my head, “the sights were right on before he jumped.” Telling me to stay put, Pat headed off at a lope down our side of the valley and up the other, and over the opposite rim. Less than a minute later he reappeared waving, hollering, and dragging my prize by the horns.

As a mist began to fall again and another wall of fog started to roll uphill in our direction, we congratulated each other and took photos. My 125-yard shot had been accurate and the results were a beautiful black 105-pound billy with 171/2-inch horns. Pat’s intuitive knowledge of the Spanish goats and his perseverance made our hunt a success despite the elements. I’ve always said it’s the tough, down-to-the-wire successes that make the best memories.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com