The most puzzling thing to me, at times, seems to be our capacity as humans to do great things and to do immense harm. My summer on Quandary has been witness to the strength of individuals overcoming obstacles both personal and external, like summiting a mountain with the use of only one leg, or without wearing shoes on your feet. Yet, there are those among us with whom a great darkness resides. On July 3rd, 2018, two medium-sized mountain goats were reported to have been killed at point blank range with a pistol, directly on the trail of Quandary Peak, at what appeared to be the middle of the day. There have still been no reported witnesses and there is a hefty bounty regarding the capture of the individual(s) responsible for this senseless crime. Any and all information should be reported to Colorado Parks and Wildlife at 1-877-COLO-OGT or game.thief@state.co.us immediately.
July 5th, we came back to our project after a few days off, our eyes still unopened and our hearts unaware. For the weeks prior, we were often met with the listless gaze of our goat herds on Quandary, staring at us quarrying large rocks for steps up high at 13,700 ft. I never felt threatened or in any danger as we would pass them on the trail, both of us attempting to just live our lives, separately and with respect. I didn’t see them that first day as we normally did, mulling about the grass, grazing, and moving about. As usual, we decided to push up to our high site on the second day of our hitch, with the ability to leave camp at 5:00 am to get as much work time as possible before incoming afternoon storms would push us down.
I started the day of July 6th with my mind set on improving my hike time. Taking off my warm layers at the bottom of our hike and heading off into the darkness up the trail towards morning’s light. The shadows of the trees only interrupted by the moonshine on white rocks amidst dark roots tangled between. As I got above tree line, the view opened up – a dark symphony of blue and black and a deep red. Climbing onto the ridge, you meet a familiar gust of wind, ever stealing the heat from my bare, sweaty arms. The sweat dripped down my back and into my pants, as we pressed forward with streams of pink exploding above us as dawn took the sky. I’ll never forget as the smell slithered like a snake into my senses, a smell I had only smelled once before deep in the jungle of Tanzania. The smell of rotting death. Choking as I pushed higher, the smell followed me across the ridge and into the final pitch of our daily commute, spoiled by insidious odors. We all noted as we gathered around our tool cache, how strange that odor we encountered was, what could it have been? It was hours before a passing hiker told us of the murder on our mountain, the place we felt ownership of as we spent each day of our summer working here. They told us of the goats, our companions in the experience of the cold morning winds and warm afternoon sun on Quandary, who were now slain.
We learned more as weeks passed, of the scattered details of the goats who died, but a certain emptiness began to creep into my daily experience. Who would do such a thing? Was it in self-defense? An act of poaching? With no new information arising, my mind was lost in thought. I think for the purpose of understanding, it is important to find some sense of meaning behind something so tragic and strange. While my heart quakes with rage for an animal who has no ability to speak for itself and defend its own actions, I hope my mind can offer some sort of clarity in understanding that this mystery has yet to provide.
I think what we need is to educate ourselves of the places we go and the animals we share this earth with. Whether or not a certain innocence can be attributed to any case, what we lack is a common misunderstanding with the majority of the natural world. While some of us are motivated to act as stewards of defenders of life and wilderness, others wander off along the paths of misinformation and fear. I hope that in time we can learn to share the path, to concede with respect that our differences will not always lead to a situation we always understand or like, but one that is natural and honest. If we could only accept our responsibility for our presence in a place that was not only ours, but instead belonged to all life there equally maybe our existence can both be improved.
My hope by writing this is to offer an invitation to a question about our own path, about where we want to go from here. I still don’t know any more about what happened to those goats. Since their death, the others came out less and less. Weeks after July 3rd, a baby goat was born and my crew and I have watched it grow as time passes on Quandary. I remember the first time we saw each other, as I passed beneath the baby goat and its parents on the trail, the small goat and I locked in gaze as I continued to walk by and it continuing to follow me downhill locked in sight. The goat’s coat seemed soft and white, innocent and pure. I could feel the curiosity in its eyes, and could see the potential in its steps. I hope that the young kid grows strong and gets to live a long life, a natural goat’s life. I feel privileged to have been able to meet the herd up on Quandary, although saddened by their loss, I am hopeful with their gains. I hope that someday we would know more about what happened to those two goats on the trail, that some sort of natural justice is met. I don’t think a sum of money going to some government body will ever give back to the herd what they lost, but I hope that in us all learning of the goat herd’s tragedy that we can be motivated to learn more about how to share these special places with all their inhabitants.
