Tajikistan-it was with him that my passion for mountain hunting began. Not in the sense that the first experience of mountain hunting took place in this country, but in the fact that I read an article about two Spaniards who went to the Mountain Badakhshan for Marco Polo's sheep. The article made an indelible impression – what kind of hardships and difficulties the hunters did not have to go through! I couldn't help but respect these cool Spanish machos for their perseverance and perseverance.
And I also got the impression that the most difficult hunting is hunting in the Pamirs. Because of the long, tedious road to the grounds, because of the small number of animals with high trophy indicators, because of the peculiar relief: large flat spaces, on which sheep often keep, imply a long shot. Alas, in the conditions of the Pamirs, a shot at 600-900 meters is not uncommon. At the same time, a changeable, gusty wind does not give confidence to the shooter. The cost of hunting Marco Polo sheep can hardly be called a difficulty, but it definitely does not make the task easier, rising from year to year, as, indeed, for all mountain hunts. But the above does not go to any comparison with the main cunning of the Pamirs called mountain sickness, or as it is also affectionately called by climbers and experienced mountain hunters, mountain girl. The first time I experienced these indescribable sensations was in 2012, hunting for capricorns on the Tien Shan. A wild headache to the point of loss of consciousness, constant nosebleeds, vomiting, and all this against the background of panic fear. Thanks to Alexey Podtyazhkin, outfitter and founder of Ibex, who accompanied me on that hunt, everything turned out well for my health. But after the Kyrgyz experiment, the suffering experienced and the accompanying failures, I decided that everything would not happen again. I simply will not allow such a situation!
The offer to hunt in the Pamirs came unexpectedly…
Not to say that it was by the way – at that time I was not in a very good condition both physically (a cold affected me) and morally. However, I remembered a joke about two types of gifts. The first – which no one really needs, and the second-which is never given. And I decided that this is the second option. I was offered an almost free ride to the Pamirs for the company and in the process get a ram Marco Polo. Well, Capricorn at the same time – to "not get up twice" (!!!). At the same time, only I seemed to feel that I had hit the jackpot, since I had only allowed myself to dream about such a hunt occasionally until now! In general, I had Marco Polo rams and capricorns from the Tien Shan, but I could not boast of Pamir trophies yet. Of course, it turned out at the same time that the tickets have already been purchased and we are flying in a week. If I had been asked to agree to the count of "three", I don't even know how much I would have endured, but no one was going to count to three, and I agreed to the count of "one". A friend who invited me to hunt planned to get Marco Polo sheep, capricorn and markhur.
I had to be nervous even before the flight. Having left for Sheremetyevo Airport with a large margin of time, we barely managed to catch the plane. But this did not dampen the mood at all. The anticipation of new adventures in hitherto unknown places kept drawing in my imagination successful shots at animals with record trophies. U-u-x-x-x-x-x-x, something will happen!
On this trip, we took three rifles: two Blaser R8 in 7mm calibers and .300 WinMag, as well as HS Prcision Pro .338 LM.
While waiting for weapons in the VIP hall of the Dushanbe airport, we refreshed ourselves with a hearty pilaf and green tea, then loaded our simple belongings into cars and set off. The road to the hunting place is about 600 kilometers. If it were not for good cars, then after the rocky, sometimes very broken tracks, the trip would seem hellish. However, the slogan "Toyota-manage your dream" turned out to be not just a form of speech, but a real reality.
The road stretched along the Panj, along the border of Tajikistan and Afghanistan. A couple of times we stopped to warm up and take photos against the background of populated areas. On the other side of the river, I saw Afghans grazing cattle, washing carpets, children having fun and playing. But in the not so distant past, these places along the border were full of danger. Such thoughts were prompted by the Tajik border patrols, which met in large numbers along the route of our route.
In the city of Khorog, according to the plan, we had to spend the night in a hotel. However, a friend suggested that we move on and, without wasting time, start hunting as soon as possible. Remembering my Kyrgyz experience, I still offered to spend the night in a hotel for acclimatization, to which a friend who had slept most of the way in the back seat of an SUV objected in the sense that we had been drinking diacarb for a week, and now we are not afraid of anything.
As they say, Kent pays for the banquet, so we drink to the bottom.
Having reloaded things and weapons into another car, they rushed on. My friend, still sitting in the back seat, fell asleep safely, and I began to ask the driver about the customs and customs of the Pamir people. I learned a lot of interesting things.
We overcame the pass and at the entrance to the base camp in the pitch darkness managed to notice a pack of six wolves. We chased them in the hope of getting a better look at the predators and, if we were lucky, send a couple of experienced ones to the realm of eternal hunting. I must say, the wolves were very big. As one of the drivers later told me, they are called "Russian wolves" here. According to him, the local wolves are mostly small, and these larger ones come from Afghanistan. Then why are they Russian?..
Carried away by the chase, they did not notice the hole under the snow and fell straight into this trap. After two hours of ordeal, they were freed with the help of local rangers, who came to the headlights from the base camp and watched the daring chase of the wolves.
Pretty frozen, we finally found ourselves in one of the buildings of the base camp. We were immediately offered hot tea, and a little later a rich meat soup. At dinner, as is usual in all hunting companies, jokes, laughter, stories, all sorts of stories began to sound. We sat at the table and went to bed late after midnight, although the rise was scheduled for 6 am.
Having risen at the appointed time, after the water procedures, I decided to do some push-ups. This is a common thing for me. I did push-ups five dozen times, decided not to stop there and did push-ups for the same amount. I felt very good, it looked like the diacarb was working 100%!
Then there was a hearty breakfast and a trip to the shooting range. Everything seemed to be in order…
For two hours we rode on the UAZ on the grounds, looking for suitable captured sheep and ibex. The number of the latter is quite large here, but there were few worthy individuals in the herds. Several times we came across small groups, very good by the standards of Kyrgyzstan. But we are on the Roof of the World! Naturally, being impressed by the glossy photos of hunters with their monstrous Marco Polo sheep, we did not want to compromise and continued to fanatically search for the most-the most. Moreover, my fears about the difficult hunting conditions were not justified.
To tell the truth, it was hard to breathe, but the minimal movements, which consisted in leaving the UAZ and moving within five meters to the telescope, made me naively believe that this was the most light hunting in which I had ever participated.
Towards the evening of the first day, the guys found two large herds of ibex, in one of which three good capricorns stood out.
One of the huntsmen asked which of us would shoot at the black ibex, which with its carcass and color was much superior to the others. I resolutely refused the right of the first shot, but to the credit of my friend, who invited me to this hunt and knew my reverent attitude to this trip,he immediately rejected my refusal and offered to cast lots, adding that there are no generals on the hunt and in the bath. It's not the first time I've heard this expression from him, and it's always very funny to hear it from him. For ethical reasons, I will not say why it is always funny for me to hear this expression from the mouth of this respected person, but those who are in the topic will understand. Frantically they began to search for coins. I tried to find iron rubles in my pockets, the guys were looking for somoni – the local currency. The Pamir people won. Somoni was thrown up, which lay down so that Fortune smiled at me.
I had to get ready in a hurry. It was 850 meters to the capricorns. They began to hide them, moving steadily. We made a small semicircle, as a result of which we managed to reduce the distance to 482 meters under the cover of stones.
I took a firing position and tried to calm my excitement. It was very difficult to breathe, and if breathing calmed down many times faster in the Caucasus mountains, it took a long time here. For a long time I looked at Capricorn through the optical sight, and every minute I was growing confident that I was holding the best capricorn from this herd in the crosshairs of the optical sight. He turned to the guides. Everyone was focused and waiting for the shot. I looked around and felt as if I was on another planet. No vegetation, just cold stones! And ... hypoxia began to make itself felt. It was like a dream…
Meanwhile, my target at a distance of 482 meters suddenly began to worry, sensing something amiss with some animal instinct. The senior huntsman quickly said that capricorn was alarmed, it was impossible to delay with the shot.
I took a deep breath, exhaled, inhaled,exhaled, and gently pulled the trigger. The usual push of the butt into the shoulder announced that the Berger bullet had left the Blaser's barrel. After a couple of seconds, I restored the image in the scope, having previously pulled the shutter to add, if necessary. But the accurately sent bullet did its job. And I realized that I became the happy owner of the Pamir capricorn!
The next day, everything was repeated. In the morning-getting up, push-ups, breakfast, binoculars, and by 11 o'clock we found very good sheep. The coin tossed decided this time that I would be a mute spectator of my friend's hunt.
Even during the training camp at the car, a local guy said that it would be difficult and offered not to take a backpack and weapons himself, but to pass them to the accompanying people. I flatly refused, joking in the sense that I did not come here from the hospital. To which I received an equally witty answer: the main thing is that I don't get to the hospital from here. This was said with a smile in a friendly manner.
So, it was about two kilometers to the rams. We moved slowly, choosing the best position for hiding the animals. After 300 meters at an altitude of 4700 m, I suddenly felt uneasy. I decided that the tight straps of the backpack were to blame for everything. But soon thoughts began to appear to give the backpack and the gun to the escorts. After another 200-300 meters, I turned very pale, which my companions began to talk about with alarm.
I had a feeling that my chest was crushed by a huge log, and I can't throw it off. Soon all my things were taken away from me, and on the advice of a friend, I lay down on my back. The pain became unbearable. It feels as if a sharp dagger has pierced the chest from the left side to the right shoulder. I rolled over on my right side, it became a little easier to breathe. I tried to breathe in more air, but at a temperature of-18 ° C and a strong wind, I began to freeze quickly. Neuralgia appeared. At that moment, as it is easy to understand, I didn't want anything anymore – just to get back to where I could breathe as soon as possible. The escorts insisted that I go back to the car. I refused to help, so as not to spoil the hunt for a friend.
How I walked these five or six hundred meters to the car is a separate story. I will say that I crawled on all fours for the last fifty meters, turning on all-wheel drive, until the driver noticed me and helped me.
At the base camp, they helped me undress. I just didn't have the strength to untie my shoelaces. For the first time in my life, being a physically strong and developed man, I understood what infirmity is in the somatic sense of the word.
An hour later, a guy appeared, saying that he was a shepherd doctor. He gave me an injection and gave me two validol tablets. It didn't get any easier, I felt a headache, the wildest weakness, and my breathing became less frequent and more difficult. The doctor urgently demanded hospitalization. I was put in a car and taken to Khorog, to the Aga Khan IV Hospital, which was located more than two hundred kilometers from the base camp. They found pulmonary edema there, but the prompt and professional measures of the doctors saved my life.
So my hunt in the Pamirs ended, once again confirming the axiom: The Pamirs do not forgive mistakes! As, by the way, and other mountains. I didn't get my Pamir ram Marco Polo. So... there is a reason to return! But next time I will prepare for the conquest of the Pamirs more responsibly and thoroughly, not neglecting acclimatization and bringing my physical form to the right condition in advance.
And I am sincerely happy for my friend – he has realized his dream!
