After two hunts and 17 days in the field, I was never so happy to collect an animal with my bow.

AS THE PLANE WAS landing in the Kalispell, Montana, airport, I thought, I can't believe I'm back here to try my luck at hunting the mountain goats of British Columbia for the second time. The four-hour drive to base camp of Total Outdoors Adventures gave me time to think about my previous hunt in 2003.

I'd always wanted to take a mountain goat with my bow. My home state of Idaho has mountain goats, but drawing a tag for one of the limited permits can take years. So I started looking for an outfitter who had a good area and was bowhunter friendly.

After I'd talked with five outfitters several times, one stood out to me. Total Outdoor Adventures owner Vince Cocciolo ex-plained that he had never had a bowhunter for goats, but that he would put every effort in helping me get a long-haired billy.

Arriving in October at Vince's base camp in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, I was impressed by the first-class accommodations. Gun season for elk was open, and I would be sharing camp with six other hunters. From camp we could see goats feeding along the cliffs. Best of all was the bluebird weather with temperatures in the 70s. I couldn't wait to get hunting.

The next morning, we awoke to clouds and drizzling rain. We could not even see the mountains. The second day was similar, but we headed into the mountains anyway and two hours later spotted a large herd of goats on a long ridge. We decided to get above the goats and hunt down the ridge.

We soon encountered snow, which made climbing slick and dangerous, and the higher we went, the deeper the snow got. Leading the way, my guide finally reached a spot where he could not move.

"Stay put!" he warned. At that time I was thinking, I really don't want to cripple myself or, even worse, die, for a goat . When he finally returned to safety, we agreed not to take that kind of chance again.

This gloomy weather -- snow, rain, and fog -- lasted the rest of the hunt. I had one close encounter with a goat, only to have a large grizzly ruin the stalk. In all, I'd seen over 100 goats but had failed to get close enough. Bad weather, cliffs, and sore muscles were burned into my memory.

THREE MONTHS LATER, I talked with Vince again and arranged to give the mountain goats another try. To give myself a better chance with the weather, I would start hunting September 1.

It was exciting to see the country again and meet the hunters in camp. Archery elk season opened the following day, so spirits were high. That night, Vince teamed the clients with guides. My guide would be Wayne Byram, who was my age and was also a traditional bowhunter.

The following morning, when we arrived at the trailhead at first light, Wayne pulled out two six-foot-long walking sticks and offered me one. "It will make climbing a lot easier," he said. I declined the stick but regretted that decision later. For the rest of the trip, I accepted it.