Tails from the Trails: Goat Heaven
Reading Time: 5 minutes
The best adventures start at the end of a bumpy dirt road, and this one would be no different. After being jostled around for several hours in the back of a beat-up truck, my goats are anxious to get unloaded and stretch their legs at the trailhead. I’ve found that for these scenarios, they do best packed in like sardines, each goat being able to lean on its string-mate for balance, and the smarter ones lying down for the trip. In instances where I only bring a couple of goats, I’ve found that a storage box placed with them to take up space can help prevent bullying. However, on this particular trip, I have 10 packers with me, and unloading them at trailheads has been likened to a clown car. A pickup with a camper shell is preferred for these trips, as many of my treasured backcountry spots here in Idaho are barely accessible with a vehicle, let alone a trailer.
Unloading is a process I’ve developed over years of adventuring. I prefer to stage gear first and then unload and saddle one goat at a time. My gear has been meticulously packed and balanced in panniers by gear type, which makes sorting it out when we get to camp easier. A digital luggage scale is a handy tool to have on the trail because it allows me to weigh and balance to near-exact amounts, but anything within a half-pound will do. I pack a spare in each set of panniers for convenience and as cheap insurance in case one fails.
There’s no particular order for unloading; it will just be whoever is waiting at the back gate for me. This time, it’s Titan, my string lead. At 240 pounds and 36 inches at the withers, this Alpine is a dominating force on the trail. His massive horns are a relic of his previous occupation as our breeding buck during the early days of developing our Saberpine (Sable, Boer, Alpine) pack goat crosses.
Delayed Wethering
Goats left intact for a year or more tend to have impressively large horns but may not reach their maximum height potential due to excess testosterone fusing their growth plates at roughly 6 months. The trade-off is that the longer we wait to band, the better chances they’ll have of passing urinary calculi (UC) stones later in life, as the urethra can fully develop in size. UC is the primary killer of pack goats, and many are now wethering their animals at 4 months or later because of it
I tie Titan off to the truck with a short lead and place his saddle — each has the goat’s name emblazoned on it, so the adjustments are already set. Yoke strap, front cinch, back cinch, and then check the rump strap tightness. These goats have been through this process many times before. I place the panniers, resting the nearest one on my leg and affixing the loop straps over the crossbuck, then set the opposite load and release the weight with my leg. After a couple more strap adjustments, it’s on to the next goat. This is where careful and meticulous balancing of each load, not just by weight but by bulk as well, comes into play. These animals are sharing the load burden on our pack trips, and my top priority is ensuring they’re balanced and comfortable doing it.
As we head down the trail, I pay close attention to the string dynamic and ensure all my adjustments are correct, stopping a goat occasionally to make a slight correction. The first few minutes are pure excitement for them as they get back out, doing what they love. However, playful fighting can lead to hang-ups and gear wrecks. I’m thankful that once these moments pass and we fall back into routine, the soft jingling of their tack is a subtle reminder of their unquestioning devotion to me as their lead. Rather than stringing them together as is required of some larger pack stock, goats are left untethered and able to shift positions freely within the string, their competitive nature and willingness to follow pushing them to keep up. In times when I need them to cross a particular spot like a stream or shallow river, I can lead one, and the others will follow, but for the most part, I’m left to manage the group while they follow me through hell and back over some of the toughest terrain Idaho has to offer.
The trail is dusty and winding, full of switchback upon switchback as we climb to our final destination. I take a 10-minute break every hour or so once we find a safe spot to move off the trail. I’m always mindful of running into other people. Encounters with other recreationists are always unique to the situation. With larger pack stock, such as horses, we move to a safe spot below the trail, even if it means backing out — never above where we risk spooking their animals — and always calmly talking to the riders as they go by. With hikers and dogs, we ask that they leash up and step a ways off-trail so we can pass. With an excited or aggressive dog, I place myself between it and the goats until the owner can get it under control. Bike and dirt bike drivers stop slightly off trail, and the goats give them a wide berth. At times, I’ll lead them around a larger group as they wait with their bikes turned off. I’m always gauging my animals’ reactions and finding better ways to handle those situations in the future. We’ve been fortunate to have mostly positive experiences in hundreds of encounters.
After cutting off-trail and another hour of picking our way through a drainage area, we reach our final destination — a remote hunting camp surrounded by jagged 9,000-foot peaks. “Goat Heaven,” as I like to call it, is a remote area where I can find solitude with my packers. I strip off their packs and set camp while they forage around me, one last snack before I tie them out for the night. I prefer a high or low line with my packers, as it allows me to quickly check on them throughout the night and prevents them from getting spooked and running off. A rustle in the brush from a busy squirrel putting away his cache for the winter can send all of our imaginations ablaze.
Off in the distance, a herd of elk slowly works its way across the face of a hillside, and an echoing bugle resounds through the valley as the sun retires over the mountains. An inquisitive deer stops on the outskirts of our camp to take a brief look at us before a snort from one of my boys sends it bounding off. As I close my eyes, I hear their gentle grumbling and the occasional pawing as a goat settles himself in for the night. “Goat Heaven,” I chuckle to myself as I doze off. There’s no place we’d rather be.
NATHAN PUTNAM is a board member of the North American Packgoat Association. He and his wife, Jackie, own Putnam Pack Goats in Mountain Home, Idaho, where they breed SaberPine crosses and build pack goat equipment. They enjoy hiking and hunting in the Idaho backcountry with their goats. You can learn more about them at putnampackgoats.com or on Instagram @putnampackgoats
Originally published in the May 15, 2025 digital issue of Goat Journal
