I grew up in the Welsh hills wondering how I could find the goats that I knew were roaming the hills nearby. It took me until I was almost out of Uni to meet them and it was worth the wait. In the foothills of Snowdonia, Cwm Bychan, I met a single goat standing on the other side of the river Artro. I chased it with my camera and a Kodak film through the trees and out onto a plateau looking out over the Rhinog Mountains – I had discovered the elusive nature of this shaggy beast.
Years later I am still curious about these lovely animals. I next met them en masse as I traipsed the wilderness of the same valley. They were sitting in a large group – I counted 21 this time. There was a combativeness about these, rutting with one another – I was impressed by the strength of their horns – something I had considered mainly ornamental previously.
I think, in all, I have only met these creatures five or maybe six times – but they’re there, living amongst the hills, an entirely nomadic independent existence.