I dreamed to hunt in Kabardino- Balkaria for a long time. The people of elderly generation who lived in USSR told me about the interesting touristic route: it started from Sochi., where the tourists spent several days in Sochi resorts then drove through Kabardino- Balkaria where they enjoyed the beauty of local mountains and arrived to the beaches of Gagra and Gudautary where it finished.
I was invited to hunt in Kabardino-Balkaria not once but each time something prevented me to take the offer- either a sports injury, or doubts about the legality of the organized hunting, or the cost of the service offered.
At last I decided to see it though and began to monitor the situation, to collect the information using different channels. I studied, watched, read, communicated, but then one of my friends, who is fond of trophy hunting, told me about the High Hunt Pro company, that is focused on organizing mountain hunting, and advised me to contact them. The representative of the company made the impression of a person who was professionally versed in the issue, honestly spoke about the possibilities and prospects of hunting in the KBR.
I thought about it but not long and decided not to look for good from good.
Thus, Dmitry - the representative of the High Hunt Pro and I flew to Mineral Vody. After landing we took a taxi to Nalchik. It was a nice trip we were talking with the local driver Magomed Gadzi all the way to the town. He turned out to be a very interesting person and generally a pleasant person to talk to. We discussed everything we could. It was really interesting to listen to his stories about the peoples living in the Caucasus, customs, morals, culture, traditions ...
It'd be a pleasant trip if not the situation on the administrative border between Karachayevo-Cherkessia and Kabardino-Balkaria, where police stopped our car for the inspection. They began to check the gun’s papers when one of the policemen knew that we were the hunters and were going for a hunting. He accused us and all trophy hunters in our person, including foreigners who come to the North Caucasus, of mass poaching. We tried to explain him that hunting was legal and we had all required papers and permits but he didn’t want to hear or to understand us. After a brief argument, he decided to tell us a terrible secret, after which we are unlikely to be able not only to hunt, but also to live. We froze in horror. Turs of Kabardino-Balkaria, as a policeman informed us, were in the Red Book of rare species. It was strange, but the desire to live and hunt after that did not disappear. We took that situation as to the local flavor and the absence of the Red Book on the free sale, we repented sincerely of what we were going to do, and promised to never again participate in trophy hunts, if we received such an instruction from this policeman in writing.
We treated that event as an annoying nuisance first, but then began to use it as an excuse to show off our wit, and for a cheerful discussion of the incident, we got to the hotel without incident.
We accommodated in the comfortable room and went to the restaurant to have dinner and went to sleep after it. Unfortunately, there was no sleep. I worried about future hunting like before the exam: could I pass it or not, could I find a big tur, what the shooting distance would be, would I hit it or miss? I remembered the video of Maxim Vorobiev where the hunter without legs, hunted in Kabardino-Balkaria and got the trophy.
I admire strong people and a person who, by the will of fate, has remained mutilated, and continues to live and overcome any difficulties, is doubly deserving of respect. I did not notice how I fell asleep ...
In the morning, I got up by the sound of the alarm clock. We had a quick breakfast, loaded all necessary equipment to the car and drove to the hunting lodge. The driver made a little detour because I asked the outfitter to fulfill my old dream to see famous Chegem waterfalls, a real pearl of Kabardino-Balkaria.
It was evening when we arrived to the camp. The guides, who waited for us there, was monitoring the surroundings looking for a good trophy before our arrival. Soon one of them came, he didn’t look particularly talkative at first. Maybe because I attacked him asking if he had seen a big tur. He replied yes, but it was late to go to the mountains. From that moment, we continued to talk with pleasant interlocutors in a normal way.
It was 11pm when we went to bed. The plane was to get up at 1.30am.
In the early morning (or late at night?), We quickly collected all things and arrived at the foot of the mountain, where yesterday the guides saw two trophy size males. We started to climb.
In my opinion, it’s easy to hunt in the new place, especially at night when you don’t see where you go and don't know how long you should hike than in the place where you know all difficulties that you will have to endure.
We were rising closer and closer to the dark sky with bright stars.
It began to get light and we began to explore the area. It spites of my effort the guides detected the group of turs first. First of all, they noticed the females but the females also saw us and began to watch us closely.
The guides said that it was a rut season and males should stay close to the females. Soon his prophetic words were confirmed. In a km and a half from us, I spotted the group of turs and two of them had trophy size. We discussed what to do and ran up to the goal. My guide that was very calm and very balanced person a minute ago, became the concentrated energy. We met a dangerous part while moving to the top but he ran through it as if there was an asphalt road. I was convinced once again that the ability to move on dangerous mountain slopes was in the blood of mountaineers.
We did several stops to take a breath and each time my guide watched the group through the binoculars. Suddenly he said that animals smelt us and was moving away. It sounded like a sentence! I was completely exhausted and felt as if I didn’t take a step anymore.
We watched the group that was leaving and felt optimism. It was not the group, we were chasing. There were not big turs at all. Our next act was to go up and check the plateau. Not many meters left to the end but I worried because of the gradient of the slope and because of stone dusting on the way. We tried to walk as quiet as it was possible but it didn’t depend on us. At last we reached the top and began to look around.
Our turs were on the place! Two goats stood out from the larger group – one black, the other lighter. I didn't hesitate to shoot the black one. But Dmitry considered that the light tur was better. I agreed with his arguments that horns of light male looked longer.
We should try to come closer, the distance to the group was about 600-700m that was too much for me. I still remembered how the previous group ran away and disappeared behind the ridge and didn’t want to feel the same once again.
We reduced the distance and approached the group, crawling on all fours. There was no way to go further. Measurements were made: 488 meters and an angle of 26 degrees. I had never fired so far in the mountains. As a result, I began to nervous and shake before the shot.
I made the corrections, took the shooting position and started to aim. I didn’t know why but I had never pulled a shot for so long. Two times I had almost pushed the trigger but stopped. At last, I calmed, balanced the breath and shot. The rumble broke the age-old silence of the gorge and bounced down the slopes, receding away. The herd ran up. Dmitry pointed to the tur that was running behind the others and gradually reduced the speed of movement. I had a half of the second to reload the rifle. Then I peered into the eyepiece of the scope. 24x magnification didn't allow me to catch in the crosshairs. I turned it to reduce to 12x and saw the wounded tur. It was moving hard, reducing the speed but it still carried its head, crowned with large horns. I caught its shoulder blade in the crosshairs and pushed the trigger once again. The distinctive sound of a bullet hitting the carcass reached his ears!
Dmitry and the guide shouted: “You hit it!”
I screamed with happiness, giving free rein to my emotions and feelings, without observing any bounds of decency. There was not happier man on the earth than me at that moment.
Then we made pictures and butchered the trophy. Now I have a burning desire to come back and repeat everything once again in those beautiful Caucasian mountains.
