Young willow trees slap me in the face as I weave my way through the island. I can’t see more than two feet in front of me even with my headlamp on. I’m tripping on dead cottonwood branches and occasionally stepping into pools of water. I have cockleburs in my hair, stickers in my legs, and my stomach is growling. “F****** goats.” If you think it would be fairly easy to find a whole herd of goats in a relatively small area even at night, you’re wrong. You…