I planned 14 days for my first hunt in Mexico, then I was up to move to the SCI Convention. The organizers of the tour – the Stalker company - offered a "set trip", which included hunting deer and sheep. I remembered the saying about a bride, who wants everything but she didn't know what to choose.
In the end, I decided not to shoot the deer first and then it would be time left, I would decide on the spot how to spend it. The deer hunting (including the peccary, coyote and another non typical deer hunting), which I had already described on the pages of the magazine, took only three days. Three days from two weeks! I felt how the hunting god ordered to me: Lenya, go and hunt a ram! How could I disobey him?! This hunt is not cheap. But! I reason like this in such cases: I have already spent time on a trip, and it is always difficult to snatch time in a busy work schedule, plus I have issued a visa and paid for tickets. It is more expensive to do it once again! So: “I should do it. So, Let’s do it”.
Sheep hunting and deer hunting in Mexico are two completely different hunts. Although the hunt took place in the same concession, the territories were completely different, located at a decent distance from each other. The main extreme in the first case was the contrast of daytime and nighttime air temperatures (drops up to 40 ° C!), then in the second –the most problem was in the local vegetation. In Mexico, you encounter thorns not only visually. Hiking turns into Asian torture, thorns get you from all sides, from head to toe. It is not for nothing that the organizers advise to use shoes with a strong sole. It is necessary for moving through the mountains. The stones are very sharp there, we were bypassing the thorns constantly, and risked to stumble and ... it was better not to stumble. The mountains were far from the Caucasus ones, but at the same time quite difficult. However, shoes were no less important for resisting thorns! The second recommendation from people who are "lucky enough" to experience the effect of thorns was to use braided, thick gloves on hunting. Preferably leather. You have to brush off prickly pear "pancakes" with your hands constantly or push off from the giant trunks of saguaro cactus trees. If there is an accidental fall, especially on a mountain, a person instinctively tries to grab hold of everything that will help him stay in place. A "friendly" cactus will come to your rescue in the vast majority of cases. It's not fun to hunt with bloody palms.
There are more than 300 species of cacti in Mexico with a rich set of thorns – from very small (which are difficult to extract from the body) to quite hefty ones, which are not inferior in size and strength to a roofing nail. There are those ones whose thorns end with a hook, and it's far from the most pleasant activity that Mexico is able to offer a traveler to pull them out of the skin. Water is in great short supply there, and succulents tease animals with the juiciness of their flesh. Aloe survives due to the burning bitterness of the juice, and cacti fight off herbivores with "bladed" weapons.
I used to think that cacti chose a defensive tactic of fighting a treacherous enemy. But I was mistaken. One of the species (the locals call it choya, or "jumping cactus") got the hang to use throwing weapons and forced others to reckon with their unconventional manners. It immediately shoots thorns if you touch it. The shooting distance is more than a meter. The thorns pierce not only any clothes easily, but also pierce into the tires of a car. I was afraid to imagine what would happen if one of such thorns dug into the cornea of the eye! I had a chance to experience all the treachery of this aggressor, but I'd talk about later.
It was clear that both the shirt and trousers should be made of dense fabric for such conditions. Warm clothes were not needed at the same time, since we spent most of the day under the scorching sun. It was obligatory to have a hat or a hat with large brims and knee pads were mandatory. I advise you to have alpenstock. The locals don't use it there, due to the fact that those places were not rich in bushes or trees suitable for that.
We hunted from dawn until lunch. The animals hided from the heat when the sun was at its zenith, it was almost impossible to see them. Evening hunting started at 4 - 4.30 pm. It got dark at 6 .30 pm and it was very little hope for the evening. The only way was of the heat caught us in the mountains, and we had to stay there until 4 pm in the evening. Once when it happened, we did not go down to the camp, but lay down to rest in the shade, after which we waited for the sheep at the transition to feeding. But without any result. In general, I would not advise counting on evening hunting due to the lack of daylight. Moreover, it’s dangerous to go down from the mountains in the dark for the reasons described above.
The service on hunting in the mountains of Mexico was very unobtrusive. You have to carry everything yourself – a backpack, a carbine, water, and a snack. Nobody suggested me any help.
There were its own peculiarities i the organization of hunting and hunting property. I didn't see any biotech -salt pans, watering holes, fertilizing. All I saw was natural origin. I would like to note the permanent observation of sheep. It seemed to me that everyone was watching. They all were looking for sheep and did it all the time. One day a helicopter appeared in the sky, I wouldn't be surprised if the pilots were looking for sheep there, but it turned out that it was a military chopper.
As I had already hinted, it was not immediately possible to detect the ram. It happened on the fourth day only. But I wanted to note that there was a beast in the mountains, as evidenced by numerous traces of its stay. I didn't' know why we couldn't meet it for three days for some reason.
A group of six individuals, in which there were three adult males, rested calmly among the rocks and did not see us. We went around and eventually occupied the dominant height in order to get to the distance of the shot. I got ready to shoot, but then something startled the animals. The herd started up and ran over the ridge. There was only one thing left – to follow (through the thorns) the sheep. First of all, we descended from the dominant height, then climbed to the next ridge. There were not sheep! We overcame the next ridge – down and up again, then another one, and only after climbing the fourth, we saw the sheep again - the animals settled down to rest. Only one of them had trophy size. It did not lie down, and stood like a sentry on duty. Moreover, it was looking very carefully in our direction. It became clear that If I started to prepare for a shot in that situation, the herd would run away again over the mountains and valleys. We had nothing to do but go around the animals behind the ridge and sneak up from the other side.
Finally, we chose a place to shoot. I prepared. The shooting distance was about 220 meters. But the ram was staring in our direction again. It stood so that it was very inconvenient to shoot. I had to wait more than half an hour. Finally, the ram turned slightly, and I fired. No signs of a hit! The male did not twitch, did not crouch – nothing that could indicate injury. It rushed along with the whole herd, as if scalded. PH shouted that I missed. So, I had to make a few more shots to the running aim. The fourth one hit its leg, and the ram stopped. Then it stood for a few seconds, and suddenly began to lean and fell on its side.
Then it turned out that the first hit was accurate. The feature of the magnum cartridge 300 WinMag is just that it is too "magnum". If the bullet doesn't hit the bone, it just stitches the beast through like a needle, and it can still move on adrenaline for quite a long time. The bullet passed between the ribs in my case. Three bullets, which I fired next, reached the target - in the chest, in the stomach and in the leg. The guides said later that they were very worried about the wounded animal could turn out. I didn’t understand why. I shot at deer before that, and did not miss, not a single animal left. As it turned out, the thing was the following - they were hunting with an American hunter with a bow before me . He wounded a good deer, but the beast went to a neighboring farm, and that's it. They did not take money from an American (but I was sure that they would have ripped me off in full) and were left without a salary and a tip.
I did not let the male out of my sight for a second while we were walking to the ram – it would suddenly jump up and run. Meanwhile, we descended into the gorge to a depth of 800-900 meters. I was in my haste to get to the trophy, and forgot about those choyas. Well, I touched that plant somehow. I just saw how a tangle with thorns came off from it and dug into my leg. It was both unexpected and painful! So much so that I screamed! The guides rushed to my aid, but then the reporter's excitement exceeded the pain. I asked to photograph that picture first, and only then to pull out the thorns! By the way, they pulled out that tangle with the help of two knives, the guides pried it from both sides and abruptly throw it away. After that they began to pull out the thorns that had crashed into the body in an amount of at least two dozen. Then I had to take off my pants and disinfect the place of numerous injections. I should run my hand over the leg to check if all the thorns had been removed, and felt immediately that there was a broken tip in the leg. It was torn out like a splinter with nails and clippers. Blood began to ooze from each tiny hole at the same time, and in general, the sight was quite unappetizing. I walked around choya a mile away with a feeling of deep respect for the next two days.
I was so impressed by the consequences of the aggression that I completely forgot about my trophy. But we had to give it its due - the ram waited for us. When we approached, it turned out that the beast had already passed away.
Then there was a photo session, which was usual in such cases – with everyone together, then in turn with everyone, and finally a hunter with a trophy. To be honest, photographing exhausts me even more than walking around the mountains. But what had I done! Such a photo is an occasion to recall the experiences and the joy experienced. Finally, this is a purely pragmatic matter – a field photo must be submitted to the club if you are going to apply for certain awards.
Then the descend began. It was hard. The porters gave me their backpacks, and they dragged the sheep themselves – all the meat remained the locals, and the wild sheep was very tasty, and therefore the huntsmen approached the issue with full responsibility. We went down for more than two hours, and were incredibly tired. However, we did not deprive ourselves of the pleasure to chat during stops, as far as our knowledge of English allowed both sides. So I knew that the main enemy of the bighorns was the cougar, and lambs were killed by coyotes and eagles.
All the time remaining before the flight to Las Vegas was devoted to pigeon hunting. There was not such a fantastic abundance of them there as in Argentina, but it was still impressive. I was far from the best, I shot 186 rounds, but got more than 100 pieces. I didn't know how, but I was pleased with such productivity. Skeet shooting skills were not in vain. The pigeons were small, very nimble and constantly changed their flight paths – a real sporting.
At first, they put me in an open place without disguise, just on a chair. Pigeons weren't stupid, though small and therefore flew around my position far beyond the distance of the shot. It was pointless to shoot further than 30-35 meters with the caliber 20, the fractions #7. If it was possible to shoot at the one that was flying at the maximum distance for the shot, then fluff fell from it, and the bird continued to fly.
Then I moved to a relatively secretive place, and at the end of the hunt, everything around me resembled a battlefield – there were bird carcasses everywhere. When the shooting was over, the local guys started to pick up the birds. They were helped by scavenging birds like vultures and some small predatory animals. The guys didn't find about 30 percent according to my estimates. Pigeon meat is also not wasted – it goes to food, so the organizers have double income!
That was how my mountain hunting in Mexico turned out to be, unusual and interesting in its own way.
