The weather in the mountains changes quickly and unpredictably. The sun was hot, and sunscreen was used, and a few minutes later the gusts of hurricane wind that have rosed out of nothing cool you down in seconds. But suddenly they subside. It’s hot once again.
It was the fifth day of the hunt, 6 o'clock in the morning. The wind ruffles the tent mercilessly , pressing the walls and roof. I remember about Ellie and Toto gone with the wind and even begin to understand why planes fly. There is absolutely no desire to leave a warm sleeping bag. And it looked like it was snowing at night. The frozen grains rattled on the tent. Every morning I look out of the tent, you expect surprises from the weather. You never know what kind of weather you'll wake up in when falling asleep in the evening.
We have already been binoculars at this place one morning and a couple of evenings. The result of previous observations did not inspire optimism. But the guide's voice who announce a wake up puts an end to the dispute of desires. Now I need to turn into a cabbage head quickly (I mean to put everything on) in a cramped "greenhouse" and to open the tent floors, to find out what the weather will surprise us with today.
A little snow has fallen, but it's not cold. The wind died down while I was getting dressed. I take binoculars in the teeth, a mat in the hands and - forward, to the dominant height to review of the slopes.
I am always surprised at the abilities of local guides to find an animal with binoculars, whose place is in the trash. Ten minutes later, Shukhrat calls me and tries to explain where he sees a maral with a calf. I stare until my eyes hurt, but I don't see anything. At last, Shukhrat gave me a more accurate reference to the location of the beast and I saw it. We have nothing to look at in the absence of bulls at least we can watch a female with a cub.
Soon we detect the bull. It grazes leisurely, slowly climbing the slope towards the fir trees. A few more minutes later, it disappears for a day in the silence and coolness of slender mountain firs. The plan is ready. And now we are packing the camp and go back to the cordon, where a delicious lunch, a hot bath and a normal bed have already waited for us.
...And it all started very well. On the first morning we noticed a group of ibexes, which were rising from feeding for a day in the rocks, and decided to meet them in the evening on the way down to the watering hole. By 4 pm we were on the spot. I clang to binoculars, we checked into every fold of the terrain. I found the ibex, which was lying on a ledge, and tried to convey its location to Shukhrat. The beast disappeared while I was talking. Five minutes later, Shukhrat spotted a herd, descending to the stream just below that ledge. We determined the position where we should be, and ran down. It took us 25 minutes to get there. The rangefinder showed a distance of 520 meters, but it was possible to shorten the distance. That ibex was not outstanding in trophy qualities, but I didn't want to risk to miss or to waste time searching for the bigger one. We descended twenty minutes more by the steep and extreme path, and reached 180 meters to the goal. It was almost vertically below us. The animals had already managed to replenish their water balance by that time and began to rise. The deeper sound of the shot was repeated by the echo reflected from the rock, my 8x68 cal. left no chance for the male. The ibex tipped over and rolled down. This is a joyful and a sad moment at the same time, the culmination of the hunt and its ending , when everything transfers to the category of memories.
... In the evening, Shukhrat and I went out on the slope, from which the spruce forest was clearly visible, and where the female with the calf disappeared. We assumed that a male should be somewhere next to the female because it was a rut season going on. We saw it later, but it was too young. Ilshat went to the slope where they saw a grazing bull, but it didn't come out.
By morning, the ground was covered with a ten-centimeter white blanket, the sky was thoroughly covered with clouds, and the snow was definitely not going to stop. The morning was lost for hunting. However, our chances to find animals, on the snow-covered slopes, increased dramatically. So, we had time to go down to the lodge and relax a little.
It snowed for 36 hours, and only by lunchtime the next day the clouds began to spread. The pieces of blue sky gave hope for an evening hunt.
We packed up, had lunch and got into the saddles. An hour later, we were already at the point from which the view opened almost 360 degrees. The snow-covered slopes were perfectly visible even without binoculars. We monitor the surroundings.
Soon a female appeared in the gorge, and a few seconds later another one. We knew the bull was somewhere nearby, but it didn't come out. I had already known that it was mine as soon as the horns came out from behind the tree. It was twice the size of its girlfriends. It was a powerful and beautiful owner of mountain gorges. There was more than enough time to approach. Snow and blue sky gave a good increase in visibility even after sunset. Ilshat remained with the guy who corrected our movements by radio while Shukhrat and I got on horses and shorten the way as much as possible. At last we climbed such a steep ascent that Shukhart's horse fell on its side, we jumped out and went on by our feet, sinking into the snow. Finally, we had managed to come to a relatively flat area though we were stumbling and scrambling along the slippery slope all the way to the place. There were only 100 meters left, and the male would be clearly visible. None of us felt cold and snow in the excitement, although my feet were already wet from the snow, clogged into the shoes.
Twenty meters to the crest of the ridge left. I put the optics on and we overcame another dozen meters following each other. The females were grazing on the opposite slope, looking carelessly in our direction. We were on the same height with them. I put on all fours, then laid and crawled further. I pushed the bipods to the maximum length. It was barely enough to keep the rifle from drowning in the snow. I was crawling to the edge.
There it was, like a true lord of the harem, the maral was lying on a juniper bush. The rangefinder showed 170 m. I caught it into the crosshairs. Sorry, We all heard a distinct slap of a hit, but the bull got up and walked unhurriedly through the gorge towards the females. I followed it into the Christmas trees, and saw its friends had appeared above the spruce trees, but it was not there. A minute passed, and everything became clear...
