I have wanted to go hunting in the republics of the North Caucasus for many years. It started since my childhood when my grandmother, who was exiled to Kazakhstan, invited her relatives, her sister and nephew. That visit has been very vividly preserved in childhood memories: interesting gifts, delicious treats, but most importantly were the stories of a great-uncle, a real highlander and an experienced hunter: "We make a corral, wild boars, roe deer, red deer run out of the forest. And if the horseman is strong, he goes high into the mountains where he hunts chamois and tur.”
When my friend, outfitter and professional hunter Sergey Tyutchev offered to accompany him to hunt chamois and tur in the Caucasus mountains, I agreed without hesitation!
The end of November is the time of the rutting season for these hollow- horned ruminants, but there is already a lot of snow in the mountains and it is quite cold. The forecast gave a serious frost - up to -20 ° C. But that didn't stop us. Sergey is a Siberian. He grew up on Lake Baikal, became a hunting biologist in Irkutsk, and I had been hardened by winter expeditions to the Altai in recent years, where frosts were also strong. However, talking ahead, I would say that the forecast was a bit false, and the temperature did not drop below -5 °C in the afternoon in the highlands.
Our first target was the Caucasian chamois. This interesting animal is found on the upper border of the forest, loves rocky areas with thickets.
The guides took us out of the hotel in complete darkness, then we drove along a mountain gorge on ZIL-131. There was a dense fog, icy crumbs were falling from the sky. Such weather cooled the hot hunting hearts.
We couldn't get far. Fresh snow and not yet frozen clay on the road stopped the iron monster. But there was also a positive moment – we drove above the clouds, and the morning sky gleamed with azure over our heads. Then we walked along the logging road. It was very unusual for me to walk through such a winter deciduous forest. Beech, hornbeam, alder, hazel... Huge trunks went tens of meters up. Branches rose to reach out to the clouds, like giant hands, trying to grab them. The overgrown edges of the winter forest were unrealistically fabulous, along which we made our way through snowdrifts. Umbelliferae family were half a meter in diameter there, and pipes were four meters high!
They looked like alien creatures from distant galaxies, when sprinkled with snow and overgrown with frost overnight.
Meanwhile, the fog caught up with us, and the surrounding space turned milky white again. We talked about what to do if it didn't dissipate, called out to higher powers, but it seemed to me that everything would be fine.
There were no clouds, the sun was penetrating more and more intensely into the surrounding milky world, and it was only a matter of time before the star would dispel its charms.
Two hours later we came to the place. According to the guide, a rocky cliff, a favorite place of chamois, began about a hundred meters away. We should have crept up carefully from above and looked for animals on the rocks below. So far it was impossible because of the thick fog. So, we decided to boil tea, had a snack of pita bread with homemade cheese.
We didn't have to wait long, after about twenty minutes, the sun dispersed the dense veil and showed the Caucasus Mountains in all its glory. The views were mesmerizing with monumentality! It seemed that giant had punched the earth's crust with his fist, the layers rose up, and climbed on top of each other like ice flew during an ice drift. And so they froze.
We dressed up in masks, prepared weapons and walked carefully along the edge of the cliff. There was no visibility under the rocks yet, wisps of fog were spiraling in the gorges, and there was no opportunity to inspect the area thoroughly. Although we detected fresh footprints on the ridge below! The animals were definitely somewhere nearby, and we were slowly changing positions, looking for secluded areas on the slopes.
We didn't have to look for long. As soon as visibility improved, they noticed a group of chamois, which were resting in the shade under a rock. The rangefinder showed 215 m. We decided that Sergey would shoot first, what he did without any problems. The chamois ran a couple of meters after the shot and fell into the trees. Many animals scattered, but part of the group went along the slope, clearly disoriented by the shot. I estimated the direction of their movement and the nature of the terrain, and I decided that I could intercept them if I quickly ran over the ridge.
So, I ran out to a suitable place with a good view, took a comfortable position, and soon four chamois appeared. The only thing that I had to do was to determine the size of the male's body, then I aimed and pressed the trigger gently. I shot through the branches, but only three chamois ran out from behind the bushes, and I realized that I had hit. I heard a whistle that proved my guess – the guys could see better, and they signaled that everything was OK.
We congratulated each other and went to look for a gentler descent. We spent at least a couple of hours until we got to our trophies. They were two males (let me remind you, the female chamois horns are exactly the same as the males, only slightly thinner). The body of the local chamois was larger than the Pyrenean one, which I have hunted before. The color was very bright, chocolate with almost orange markings.
We butchered the trophies and loaded them in our massive backpacks, and began the descent. I had to get nervous in several places – the descend was sheer, often with ice... Crampons and an alpenstock helped a lot. One ice waterfall was passed on a rope, which was taken by our guide. In general, the descent turned out to be much more difficult than the ascent. At night we reached the gorge, where another guide was waiting for us.
I thought that I knew everything about bonfires in the forest, but then I realized that I didn't quite. In order not to freeze, our guide built a classic Caucasian bonfire from standing dry wood. It warmed very much, and we did not fail to take a break, drink tea and dry off a little at that mountain fire. And then there were kilometers of descent to the car…
The total result of the day: 18 km by horizontal, 700 m ascent, 900 m descent, 2900 active kCal.
The next day, we made an excursion, due to bad weather. We went to the neighboring republic, to the ski resort "Elbrus". I even managed to go skiing, and added another one more slope to my geography of ski slopes.
Mountain Balkaria
Kabardino-Balkaria became our third stop on our way after hunting chamois and a ski day on the slopes of Elbrus.
In the morning, a local huntsman picked us up from a small hotel, and we were driving about an hour along mountain roads, and took a couple of guides along the way. The guides put on chains on the wheels and we managed to climb quite high thanks to them, from where our group started climbing on foot.
The guides led our group very confidently, we walked along a cold path that they had filled three days before. It was easy to walk, despite the height. The strategy was classic: to go to the top point of the watershed, find turs and make an approach from above. The height on the watershed was recorded of slightly less than 3,100 m.
The panoramas that opened to the eye were mesmerizing! The pointed peaks of the mountain castles soared skyward, it seemed that the mountains were absolutely impregnable, the gradients were almost vertical, the stones were razor-sharp, cliffs without end and edge... I fastened the crampons to the soles of my shoes because I was shivering inwardly from all this recklessness. The mountaineers nodded their heads approvingly.
We began to move slowly along the ridge, carefully scanning the circuses, opening from above. The chains of footprints, stretching half a mountain, were clearly visible in the light snow on the slopes. These were traces of turs without a doubt.
Our Jura, as the huntsmen called the main guide jokingly, gave a sign that he saw animals. We crept up to the observation point carefully. The turs grazed a kilometer and a half lower along the ridge.
I took out the scope that I had been carrying all that time. The herd consisted of thirty heads. Several large males stood out in dark spots. The last one in the group looked the most experienced and big. We took a video, waited for the animals to move to the north side, and continued the approach. Then we made a stop on the next control point, defined the direction of movement of the group, it was to the north as we thought, and ran to the south side to shorten the distance.
We decided to play who will shoot first in order not to fuss and not to make a shootout. Sergey won.
Then we crawled out to 230 m, the turs had already heard us - the snow crunched treacherously. Several animals were looking in our direction, and the main herd began to move. My partner aimed quickly and fired. We all heard the clap and it became clear that there was a hit, but the group started moving, and it was unclear which of the males he was shooting at. After a couple of seconds, the old male turned sharply to the right, swayed and stopped. After that, I started shooting at the running animals, but, it did not work out qualitatively because of the wavy terrain. As a result, several shots were fired at nothing.
After a couple of seconds, the whole herd disappeared into a nearby gorge, and the shot male fell! Sergey received congratulations even before he fully realized his happiness. His happiness just doubled when we took a closer look at the trophy. The tur was great! It was a fourteen-year-old giant with massive horns like logs! We didn't have to be a trophy appraiser to understand that this was a gold medal with a touch of platinum.
We decided to drink tea and have a quick snack. Then some of us had to take out the meat and the trophy, and Jura and I had to catch up with the departed group. My guide knew what he did, he was sure that the animals had nowhere to go, and ungulates would stand up to suck somewhere in the rocks. after a couple of kilometers. Our task was to explore methodically all the stone circuses, castles and couloirs...
We left the guys, and followed in the footsteps of the departed herd.
The first thing we made sure that I did not wound the animal and then we went a little higher, along the steep cliffs. I will say that walking on such cliffs is not safe, there must be good mountain and physical training. My guide didn't seem to be worried about it at all, and I felt uneasy in places. Crampons saved the situation, the not yet frozen soil clung well to the sharp teeth, but then I stepped, carelessly on a smooth stone slab covered with a snowball on top, and I fell off.
Man is a life-loving being! It seemed that I had not reached the slope yet, as I managed to turn around in the air to face the mountain and plunged an ice axe into its surface with both hands. In general, it worked out. Jura looked approvingly at my steel claw.
Fatigue began to affect after an hour of walking (my legs were tense all the time), but we walked without stopping – the sun set early in the Caucasus, and there was little time left
We came to the northern slope of a large gorge. The huntsman made it clear that the turs should be somewhere there. I prepared the carbine, and began to creep quietly along the ridge, looking for animals. I saw them first. The group stood in 200 away from us. Jura immediately realized by my actions where they were, and began to examine the turs through binoculars. One of the males seemed bigger than the others. I caught its shoulder blade in the sight, and fired.
Teke (it turned out, it was a male tur in Balkar,) rushed down a narrow gap. It was wounded, and I waited for it to stop. It stopped after about thirty meters. Only small thickets of rhododendron separated it from the edge of a kilometer-long abyss. I hit the second shot to its neck. Teke fell and, entangled with its horns in the evergreen bushes. It froze on the slope.
It seemed that the body had no strength left five minutes ago. I felt apathy and indifference to what was happening took over the mind, but then a cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline changed the person in an instant! Joy gushed over the edge!
A hard, honest hunt in the Caucasus mountains ended with an excellent result. We got four trophies in two hunting days! We had to be in a hurry to do everything before the darkness. So, we went down to the prey – we needed to have time to take a couple of photos, butcher the trophy and carry all meat to the trail. I didn't know yet that we should descend heavily loaded 1,500 vertical meters on slopes with a gradient of up to 60 degrees. Our guys came up while we were butchering the tur, and together we began the descent to the car.
It was probably the most difficult final of the hunt that year. An ice axe turned out to be completely unsuitable when traversing through a vertical forest, the traditional Caucasian staff helped much better, I could lean with all your weight, unlike my stick.
But even a difficult road ends sometimes, and at last we got to the guy who was waiting for us on the mountain road.
The result of the day was 600 m of ascent, 1600 m of descent, 25 horizontal km, 3000 active KCal spent on the extraction of one of the most difficult mountain trophies.
Hunting in the Caucasus mountains is not for everyone, but that makes it even more wonderful!
Good health to all, live actively!
