Land of the Goats
Land of the Goats
The morning started with high hopes and lofty goals. I had set out to capture the elusive waterfalls in a new part of Table Mountain, near Oroville, CA, a spot I’d never ventured to before. My mind was set, my camera ready, and the air smelled fresh—crisp with a hint of wild sage, damp earth, and the faintest fragrance of wildflowers hidden in the grasses. The wind whispered across the rocky hills, and the sky above loomed with heavy clouds, promising rain but holding back for now.
As I hiked through the rocky outcroppings and across the open fields, the landscape was mesmerizing in its own quiet way. The volcanic rocks were jagged and moss-covered, ancient and sturdy underfoot. But despite their rugged beauty, they lacked the perfect waterfall shot I had come for.
I wasn’t disappointed, though. Nature has a way of giving you what you didn’t know you were looking for, and that’s when it hit me—a sudden shift in the air, a subtle but noticeable smell. Something musky, wild, and unfamiliar. My eyes swept the area, and that’s when I saw them.
Droppings.
Scattered across the trail, unmistakable. Not the kind from deer, nor rabbits. Goat droppings. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be? The hope I’d carried for so long, the one I’d pushed to the back of my mind, suddenly flared to life. Could there really be wild goats here? I’d dreamed of photographing them, but deep down, I didn’t think that day would ever come.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I ventured further, each step quieter, more deliberate. I rounded a bend, my eyes scanning the horizon. My senses were heightened—the cool breeze brushing my face, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, the distant caw of a hawk soaring overhead. And then, just beyond a large tree, I saw them.
Three goats.
I froze, barely able to believe what I was seeing. There they were, standing like sentinels atop a rise in the land, framed by the gnarled branches of an ancient tree and the rocky terrain that stretched out like a natural amphitheater behind them. My breath caught in my throat. These wild, elusive creatures were right in front of me, oblivious to my presence as they slowly grazed and meandered through the landscape.
I raised my camera, my hands trembling slightly from excitement. I took in every detail—their soft brown and white coats, the way their horns curved upward, and the almost ethereal stillness of the moment. The air felt charged, alive with a rare, sacred energy. The smell of wild grass and damp stone filled my lungs, grounding me in the present, in this incredible, fleeting encounter.
The shutter clicked. Once, twice. Each shot felt like magic, like capturing a piece of a dream I had been chasing for as long as I could remember. The goats continued their slow, steady climb up the rocks, pausing now and then to graze or look back at me as if to say, “Is this what you came for?”
The waterfall? I’d forgotten all about it. This was the photograph I was meant to take. This was the moment I had unknowingly waited for.
In that instant, the wildness of the land and the untamed spirit of these goats became one with my own journey. It wasn’t what I set out for, but it was everything I didn’t know I needed.