Last-Chance Billy: While battling MS, a diehard hunter draws a one-shot mountain goat tag

Justin Christensen used to run through the mountains of Utah. His friends used to call him “the mountain goat” because of his ability to cruise at an astonishing pace through the most treacherous backcountry terrain. After decades of hunting big mule deer in the Wasatch Range, Christensen knew the terrain and habits of the animals that lived there by heart.

But he doesn’t go to the mountains much anymore. Christensen has secondary progressive multiple sclerosis, a chronic disease that affects the central nervous system. MS essentially causes the body to accidentally attack itself. That means Christensen’s once fit and healthy body is slowly weakening. He has problems with balance and coordination, which makes him dependent on a pair of walking sticks. A really good day for Christensen is one where he doesn’t fall.

He was diagnosed with MS in 2014. At the time, he was chief of police in the small town of Escalante, population 821.

“I knew something was wrong because I couldn’t run anymore,” said 54-year-old Christensen. “I loved running, but I would sometimes stumble because my right leg just wasn’t working properly.”

The diagnosis was devastating for a lifelong outdoorsman like Christensen.

“That diagnosis was difficult because I was very active. I couldn’t find anyone who could keep up with me,” he says. “It’s difficult now. Walking has become really difficult. And when I go somewhere, I have to use the walking sticks. I’ve almost worn them out. Some days just really hurt, and it’s hard to do anything.

Christensen shot big bucks and bulls during his heyday as a mountain hunter. But one animal still on his bucket list was a mountain goat from Utah. For decades, he dreamed of chasing goats in his unit, which is home to Mount Nebo, the highest peak in the Wasatch Range at nearly 10,000 feet.

The chance of drawing a one-time mountain goat tag with limited access in the Nebo unit is incredibly steep. There are only nine resident “any weapon” goat tags for the unit and there would be more than 600 Utah applicants in 2023. But Christensen had twenty preference points to his name after twenty years of applying and waiting. Finally it was his turn to win the lottery.

“My days were numbered to draw this goat picture while I could still do something,” Christensen says. “I finally signed a limited entry, a gun goat tag on the Nebo unit… It’s funny because no one else in my family signed anything [in 2023]. It was as if someone said, “Okay, here’s your last hurray, and everyone will be there to help.”

Getting dialed in

Hunting goats in Utah’s Nebo Unit is not easy. Mountain goats live in some of the worst terrain in the world: places where most other animals (including humans) can’t go. A successful hunt in goat country usually requires serious shooting skills, saint-level patience and excellent fitness.

Christensen has six adult children: Jacori, 31; Jaquel, 30; Brock, 26; British, 25; Braden, 22; and Jarrett, 20. They all hunt and were all excited to help their father fill his goat tag.

Getting close enough to a goat to get an ethical photo is tricky for hunters in their physical prime, but for Christensen it could prove even more challenging. Sneaking over steep, rocky terrain was impossible, so he knew he would have to push the limits of his effective firing range.

To do that, he had a rifle custom built for longer shots. His rig was built on a Remington 700 action, with a 6.5-284 Norma chamber and a 6.5-20x50mm Vortex Viper MIL-dot scope.

His son-in-law worked up a handload with Norma brass, 93 grains of Hodgdon H4831 Short Cut gunpowder and a 143 grain Hornady ELD-X bullet. All Christensen had to do was set the range time. After enough time getting comfortable with the rifle, he also confirmed his altitude narcotics.

“About two weeks before the hunt, we drove up the mountain so I could shoot at altitude,” says Christensen. “I shot at 1,000 yards, and it was just right. I felt pretty good and my son-in-law was beaming.”

A long shot

Christensen and his family decided he should wait until this late in the season to time his hunt with the rut, when billies are less wary and often move to lower elevations in search of babysitters. But when early snowstorms hit Utah in October, Christensen decided it was time to make his move.

“We decided the weekend before the gun deer hunt and everyone would come to the house,” Christensen said. “My daughter and her husband brought their horses, and we sat side by side. We were willing to go anywhere.”

Christensen, three of his children and their spouses loaded up their UTVs and took an old mine road up Mount Baldy the second weekend in October to look for goats.

“To be honest, we thought we were going for a little side-by-side ride. We thought we would go to where the road ends in a small saddle, sit there and see nothing,” Christensen said. “Then we would come back down from the mountain, load up the horses and spend the night on Dry Mountain. That was our plan.”

Those plans quickly changed when Christensen’s daughter Jacori stepped out of the UTV and said, “Hey dad.” I think there’s a goat there.’

After discussing whether the white object was actually a goat or just a goat-shaped rock, Jaquel took out her telescope to settle the argument.

‘No, that’s a goat. That’s a good goat,” she said. “Get your weapon ready.”

Christensen rushed over as best he could to take a look. Sure enough, the white blob wasn’t a goat-shaped rock, but a beautiful Billy lying down and facing the group. Christensen ranked him at 923 yards.

“We didn’t think we could get me any closer,” Christensen says. “So we lie there in this saddle watching this goat, waiting for it to move so I can shoot. I felt really comfortable shooting at that distance.”

While he waited for the Billy to stand up and give him a chance, some other hunters in ATVs rode around the mountain and started driving their way. At that moment the goat stood up, but instead of turning around, he turned around and lay back down in the same place. Only now he was looking away from Christensen.

“We got a little nervous hoping those hunters wouldn’t see him and try to shoot first,” Christensen said.

Knowing that with his limited mobility he might not get another chance to shoot a mountain goat from such a stable position, Christensen decided he had to shoot.

He set his sights on the goat and made a clean shot when his family saw him through their optics.

“I ended up hitting him in the hindquarters a little lower than I wanted,” Christensen said. “He staggered away a little bit, so I shot him again. That time I hit him on the other side. At that moment he turned and tumbled down the hill into some pine trees, out of sight.’

As if to confirm the miracle, an annular solar eclipse passed over them almost immediately after the recording, bathing the mountain in an unearthly glow.

The recovery

Now they had to go to Billy and carry him off the mountain.

“We left to recover it, but that mountain is really quite gnarly,” Christensen said. “I went slowly because I had to use my walking sticks.”

Jacori stayed with her father to make sure he didn’t stumble as the rest of the family walked on to get to his goat. Nearly five hours after firing his two shots, Christensen managed to walk almost close enough to get his hands on his goat. Almost.

“I couldn’t get to the goat for the last hundred meters. Everyone was there, but I couldn’t get to it,” Christensen said. ‘He had fallen into a rocky chute that I just didn’t dare cross. If I had fallen, the goat’s recovery would have become an emergency rescue. That was really difficult. I couldn’t take pictures of me there with the goat where it was lying.’

At that point the sunset was weighing on them and Christensen decided to head back to where they had parked that morning. He knew it would be much more difficult and dangerous for him to walk out there in the dark.

“I was probably 300 yards off the trail when they passed me while I was unloading my goat. Everyone was busy because it was getting dark,” Christensen said. “I hadn’t even seen him yet. All I saw was the white hair when they pushed him past me.’

Christensen didn’t get a chance to get his one-of-a-kind goat until he returned to the parked side-by-side he had pulled into that morning.

“They bring him over and put him in front of me, still strapped to the backpack,” Christensen says. “I got to unwrap it as a Christmas present and see it for the first time. All I could say was, ‘Wow.’ I had no words.”

It was dark and cold and everyone was hungry, so Christensen rolled his goat back up and the whole group walked down the mountain, smiling. When they got home, his wife scolded him severely for hiking so far over the mountain, and then gave everyone hot taco soup. They ate, laughed and talked about the hunt until almost midnight.

“It was a good time. No one was injured. We all went in and out. I just couldn’t get it to where it fell,” Christensen said. “It was a pretty cool feeling knowing that I had waited all these years to get one and when it finally happened, almost everyone got to attend. He’s not a record book goat, but he’s a good one. Much better than I ever expected.”

Christensen won’t be hunting this year, not just because he hasn’t signed any tags, but because his body just doesn’t work like it used to. He feels blessed to have finished so well last year and to have been able to share the experience with his family.

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He is also looking forward to picking up his goat from the taxidermist.

“I get a life-size mount,” Christensen says. “He has super long, beautiful white hair. I can’t wait to get him back.”

In addition to his horse, Christensen has casts made of Billy’s skull and replica horns made for each of his children.