Serious trophy hunting, and especially mountain hunting, can definitely be classified as extreme travel. Extreme in itself implies it. But every extreme and risk must be well thought out and justified. No trophy is worth a human life or injury. I have had to deal with almost every climatic condition that can occur during a hunt. We have also hunted in the mountains of Tajikistan and North Ossetia in sweltering heat, when the thermometer exceeded +42°C. Often in the Sayan Mountains and Tuva we had to walk for 6-8 hours in the heat below +30 °C with a minimal water supply and a full outfit: weapon, backpack with all equipment and provisions. We had to hunt near the cold pole in Yakutia, where the standard temperature in winter is -50°C, and the rifle bolt refuses to work at such temperatures. In the mountains of Tajikistan we have more than once passed heights of over 5000 meters. But now I will tell you everything in order.
At the very beginning of my work in Tajikistan, I got mountain sickness. At that time there was little information about what it was like to be at 3000 metres above sea level and higher. How to prepare for the altitude, how to move and generally how to survive for a few days at such a height. I also had no personal experience in 1999. We spent more than two days travelling from Dushanbe, the capital of sunny Tajikistan, to Murghab. I remembered the road for the rest of my life. The road ran along the Pyange River, well known from the fighting in the area, along the border with Afghanistan. The silent war continued in 1999. Those were turbulent times. Officially, the war in Afghanistan seemed to be over, but unofficially, localised shootings, robberies and drug-trafficking caravans accompanied by armed Afghans kept the whole district on edge. Until a certain moment, the situation was somehow kept under control by our troops from the 201st Motorised Rifle Division. But later, Emomali Rakhmon asked them to leave, only admitting his mistake in the early 2000s. But at that time we were accompanied by an armed major of the Tajik armed forces with a Kalashnikov over his shoulder, driving a UAZ 452 on a mountain road that resembled a bombed-out frontline road. On one of the passes, 2500 metres above sea level, a car with luggage on the roof got stuck. The car had no first speed, the battery was dead and the wheels were stuck between the rocks. On the left are rocks, below a very steep cliff and the azure waters of the Pyanj River.
We were waiting for the ZIL to be pushed out of the trap. I was in the car with our American client and wanted to take some pictures of the beautiful mountains and the Pianj River. But I was sternly warned not to. It turned out that the Afghans could simply send a bullet into the machine's optics, mistaking it for a rifle scope. Our driver was asked to back up a bit. We reversed. I controlled the movement. Manoeuvring on the edge of the precipice did not inspire much optimism and, frankly, it was scary that we might fall. But the fear was something that was hard to imagine at that moment. When the driver had brought the car to the edge of the cliff, I shouted at him to stop. Within 5-10 seconds of the car stopping, we heard a rumble. One meter from the back of the car, a boulder twice the size of our car had crashed into the abyss. What if I hadn't stopped the driver? We'd have been dragged out of Pianja in pieces. Let's keep on driving. We slept in the car. Constant stops and checks. During the journey my passport was checked 42 times! And they checked young men in army uniforms from an unknown army, with their AK dangling almost from the ground because of their short stature. I have never seen anything like it in my life.
When I arrived at the camp at 4200 metres, I could not sleep. I felt nauseous all the time. I couldn't eat. I was dehydrated. I felt dizzy. It took me several minutes to walk a hundred metres to the canteen. I had never seen the beauty of the mountains before. I have photo and video equipment and I can't move to film the mountains. After a few days it became easier and I "rushed" to film. And the next day I was "punished" by the first signs of altitude sickness. The condition was terrible, but at the same time it was interesting to observe the symptoms. As well as dizziness, nausea and heart failure, which manifested itself in the blueing of my lips and nails, I could clearly hear my lungs making strange noises. I had the impression that when I exhaled, I heard the sound of crumpled paper, and when I inhaled, the paper unfolded. All this was a manifestation of the first stage of altitude sickness, and the locals said I had to descend immediately. In Murghab, at an altitude of 3,500 metres above sea level, I was given something and water was severely restricted. At that moment I was more thirsty than ever. But consuming too much fluid could lead to pulmonary oedema - the second stage of altitude sickness. This, in turn, could lead to cerebral oedema - the third stage and incurable i.e. death. At the time, there had already been several deaths from altitude sickness in the Pamirs. That's what hunting can be like. It was a good lesson for the future. Since then, I have not only learnt how to prepare myself for mountain hunting, but have also developed recommendations for hunters going into the mountains for the first time. I was also able to help a Polish hunter who became ill at an altitude of only 3500 metres in Kyrgyzstan.
Later I was in the mountains many times at altitudes of 3000 to 5000 metres above sea level. One year I had to fly to the Pamirs three times in four months. I can honestly say that going up and down from such heights is the hardest blow to the body. The last altitude of 5000 meters was unforgettable for its effect on the organism. Without any adaptation or acclimatisation, we found ourselves at this altitude on the second day of our stay in the Pamirs. We were hunting sheep. The ascent was a movement, it seemed, on a not very steep slope, but... 20 meters - stop. Another 30 meters - stop. My heart jumped out of my chest. It felt like a hammer was pounding in my temples. When we were still at 5000 meters, I tried to dictate some text while filming the scenery. I immediately realised that my speaking apparatus was out of control. My jaw, tongue and lips could not move properly to produce sound. My client began to lose his orientation in space and almost fell off the path in the gorge. But the task was completed and by some miracle we managed to get a good sheep.
At the camp, the guys told us that at the same altitude, a good cyclist who was taking part in the Tour de France, a multi-day cycling race, had just, as they say, "lost his mind" and almost lost his life because of his inappropriate behaviour. He left the place where he was supposed to wait and was found in tears and utter despair far from where he had left. Horse riding is one of the most difficult and dangerous ways to travel in the mountains. In Kyrgyzstan we had a case where one of our pack horses fell down a precipice with some of our equipment. In the Altai Mountains, a horse with a hunter fell a long way, but survived. That's the price of neglecting safety. A man simply did not want to dismount and take the horse by the reins to cross a dangerous section of loose rock. Many times we have heard of hunters or accompanying huntsmen or outfitters falling from their horses. There have been very dangerous cases with horses. Riding a horse is dangerous enough. And riding a horse in the mountains is doubly or even triply dangerous. Steep slopes, descents, ascents, rocky holds. It takes a lot of physical and moral strength, and above all, it takes a lot of concentration.
Once, in the same Altai Mountains, on a narrow mountain path, my horse decided to disobey my commands and continued to move at the moment when a thick birch branch leaned at my level, which could easily have thrown me from the horse. With great effort and skill I managed to avoid the direct impact of the branch on my body, but my right arm was badly injured. The abrasion was all over my forearm.
More than once I had to make night crossings on horseback in the mountains, along gorges. In some of them, the water of a rushing mountain river bubbled noisily, making me feel uncomfortable and sending shivers down my spine. You walked with your feet out of the stirrups, hoping to be able to jump off quickly if something happened. But it was not always possible. One case in Kyrgyzstan is remarkable. It was caused by another burrow of a marmot that was right on the trail. My horse had apparently relaxed her attention, smelled the proximity of the camp and realised that it would soon be free. Its front foot hit a rather deep marmot burrow. In a split second it fell to its front knees. It took a little longer for me to fall over her neck and head. At the same time, my left leg was freed from the stirrup, but my right leg, because everything had happened so quickly, was stuck in the stirrup - the "trap". I fell on my right side, but I kept a firm grip on the reins. That's an important detail that I've always remembered. It's best never to let go of the reins. That way you have some control over the horse. But I was only partly helped at that moment. The horse quickly stood up on all four legs. The saddle moved sideways because my foot was in the stirrup. This position of the saddle, unfamiliar to the horse, often makes it nervous, to say the least. The horse began to kick. When I saw that there were huge boulders all around me, I gripped the reins even tighter. Our guide Beshenbek, who was riding a little ahead of me, came to my rescue. He ran up and I handed him the reins. But the situation did not improve for me, quite the opposite. The horse could not be controlled. He began to twist and kick even harder. When I let go of the reins, I lost another
foothold, turned round and found myself almost under the horse. It stepped on both my legs at regular intervals with its hooves and horseshoes.
The only thing on my mind at that moment was to protect my head from the possibility of a hoof strikes. I had to cross my arms in front of my face in anticipation of this blow, the consequences of which were hard to imagine. I could hear hooves whistling at my head from both sides. But I was extremely lucky. I did not receive a single blow to the head. The horse finally managed to stop. My back was saved from damage by my rucksack containing my photo and video equipment. (By the way, the equipment was not damaged either, thanks to the special design of the rucksack with soft straps inside and outside). I was also fortunate that the horse only damaged my legs, which looked terrible when we arrived at camp. My thighs and shins were covered in huge bruises and abrasions. The wounds were swollen. But there were no fractures. And the horse never stepped on any of my other vital organs! But my colleague in Kazakhstan was less fortunate. Her horse dragged her 500 (!) metres over rocks and stepped on her stomach several times. She spent about a month in hospital. After taking painkillers and rubbing anaesthetic cream into the wounds on my legs, I even managed to fall asleep, but only after an hour and a half.
I often had to spend the night outdoors. I usually enjoy it very much, but only when the weather is good. For example, when I hunt in the Sayan Mountains in autumn, I like to sleep outside the hut. You lie in your sleeping bag and above you is a bottomless anthracite-coloured sky covered with myriads of diamond stars. You hear all the sounds of nature. Marals roar, grouse sing.
But it's a different matter when you have to crawl into your sleeping bag in sub-zero temperatures after a full day's walking. And even if it's snowing, sleeting or raining. Then it's a bit sad. Especially when you have to try to get into frozen mountain boots in the morning. Once in the Altai Mountains, after one of the hardest horse crossings in the mountains, all our clothes were wet. There was a tent for sleeping, but... It was just for the entourage, as they call it. The temperature inside was the same as outside, -15°C at night! What do you do, how do you survive? You lie down in a sleeping bag with your clothes on, and what you take off you dry on yourself. That's how we lived for a whole week! Often we had to sleep in the snow at temperatures of -30°C. The most important thing in such situation is to have a good sleeping bag and clothes. Such survival skills in extreme conditions also come in handy when hunting in our area. I have slept at -27°C while hunting deer in our Vladimir region. In general, a real hunter should always be ready for such challenges! That is why you start to respect yourself. You have gone through it and withstood it.
The stories of such extremes are many and long. Here are just a few examples of what I have seen in my 30 years as an outfitter. In this article I would like to tell you about one more experience. It is about night climbing. There have been many in my practice, but I will focus on one, the most difficult.
Caucasus Mountains.
The month of October. The darkest time of the day. It was good that in the dark we could not see the steepness of the climb. In daylight, just by looking up, we would have doubted the possibility of climbing such a vertical slope. In addition, and with the peculiarities of the mountain terrain, which is impossible to explore from below. So from 23:10 to 6:30 we climbed up the moving rocks with three guides. The rocks were sharp and slippery from the condensation that had frozen to the surface. At times, sparks from the feet of the person in front of us were clearly visible in the darkness from the impact of the rocks. Along the way, we helped each other when a rock slipped under the person in front of us or stones fell on our feet. The person behind us had to wedge his stick into the loose rocks to prevent it from sliding down. One step forward and a few metres back. This is what our climb looked like from time to time. Wildly tense legs and arms. Heart beating fast. We're already 3,000 metres above sea level. And all this in pitch darkness.
I have led many foreign hunters into the mountains, but I have never been in the conditions we were in with my hunters. I think it unlikely that any of the foreigners would have been able to endure such a climb. Most likely, after half an hour of climbing, they would have shouted all their profanities at me, turned around and gone back to their cars, accusing me of all earthly sins. It's happened to me before. The only exception would be Norwegian hunters. They are tough and resilient guys with good physical fitness. I was very glad at that moment to have our young guys with Russian hardness with me.
At about 4am we heard a rumble. A section of the glacier on the neighbouring slope had broken off and was crashing down the granite into the valley we had come from. There were cars parked there. A few minutes later another part of the glacier broke off. Goose bumps. Absolute silence in the team. As dawn broke, we could see part of the path we had travelled. One look down could make an unprepared person dizzy. And we'd already passed it.
To this day, when I think back on that route, it is hard to comprehend how we managed to do it with rucksacks and weapons behind our backs! 17 hours a day in such conditions! People of modern civilisation have already forgotten who gave them the joy of communicating with nature, who defined the boundaries of mountain ranges, who discovered new species of animals. Yes, the pioneer naturalists had to go through such thorns. It was these outstanding people who survived in harsh climatic conditions, at the expense of the skills acquired during hunting. And it was hunting and fishing that gave them the opportunity to move around, observe and describe wildlife, and simply survive in harsh conditions.
Fortunately, thanks to my knowledge and skills, I have had no serious health problems in my life in such extreme conditions, apart from injuries to my legs and arms, all of which are still scarred, but I am lucky in that my skin heals quickly. I can still walk dozens of kilometres in all climates at all altitudes and cycle a hundred kilometres in +30°C heat and tolerate, tolerate, tolerate.
P.S. Test yourself, travel, because nowadays there is an opportunity to prove to others and, first of all, to yourself that you are a real man! Good luck and safety to all inquisitive hunters!
Sincerely yours,
Dmitry Vstovsky.
