Chris took his time, then made up his mind. "I think we should take a closer look at that one down in that pocket. Look at how big he is in the body, and his mane is spectacular." I agreed.

He was moving around among his nannies, and his mane was incredible, long and flowing, more like an Arctic grizzly than any kind of goat-thing. His horns were thick and even, but whether they were longer than the other bulls we could see was beyond me. They seemed plenty good enough.

We dropped into a chute that would give us a bit of cover, and we half-walked, half-slid and mostly scrambled several hundred yards down the mountain. Chris had earmarked a rimrock ledge for our next vantage point, and we got to it without undue panic on my part. By now the tahr had moved up a bit and to the right, still feeding along. A rocky finger led down to one last outcropping. It was steep, but not too bad. If I could anchor myself there I should have a relatively simple shot.

We slithered down, me first. I pushed my backpack ahead of me, grounded it on the rocks, and slipped in behind it, Chris taking a spot just behind and slightly above me. The tahr were feeding slowly, the bull partially hidden in a deep cut. Finally he stepped up out of the draw, legs still hidden but body exposed. I was shooting nearly straight down, something less than 200 yards. I put the Nikon low on the chest, relaxed against the pack and began the trigger squeeze.

The bull dropped to the shot, then somersaulted backwards down the cut. I worked the bolt quickly but I could no longer see him. Chris could. "He's lying in the gully; nice shot."

We climbed down to him and admired the thick, heavy horns and wonderful mane. By the time we got the skinning done, the afternoon was moving along, and that was an awfully big mountain behind us. We took him straight down to the bottom and then, despite my protests, Chris took off at a dead run around the mountain to borrow a truck.

The Asiatic water buffalo is more heavily built and considerably outweighs its more famous African cousin. The species can weigh more than a ton and features heavy, sweeping horns.

Now we had some time. In spite of witnessing the ordeal Chris had put me through, Brittany still wanted one of these longhaired goat-things for herself. She'd tried Chris' .25-06 and shot it well, so we had no gun problem. As far as the snow problem and the mountain problem, we'd have to see.

It warmed a bit the next couple of days, and the snow gradually left. One afternoon Chris spotted a bull walking along the top of a grassy slide, almost into the rocks. As we watched, he dropped into a cut beside the slide, so it looked like a possible stalk. The only rub was some domestic sheep shared the slide. It would take a lot of luck to keep them from spooking the tahr.

We closed the distance to the bottom and started up that smooth green slope. Yes, it was longer and steeper than it had looked. Brittany was badly winded (who wasn't?), but she understood we didn't have much time and never hesitated. We got past the domestic sheep, barely, and I thought we were in good shape. Chris picked out a couple of bushes that would give us cover, and we slowly made our way over to the left, expecting to find the tahr about 100 yards above us. Nothing.

We moved farther up, one sparse bush at a time. Still nothing. Then Chris saw him, far above us. Apparently the sheep had given us away, and the bull had moved up into the rocks. He wasn't spooked badly, and now he stood between some thick bushes, looking down at us. It was pushing 300 yards, but this was a great tahr.