It was one of the most unforgettable hunts of my life! Of course, there was a miss, but let me start from the beginning... Upon arrival at the base camp on the first day of the hunt for the Kolyma snow sheep in the Magadan Region, the hunt organiser, Fyodor Chernyshov (as he had anticipated before heading to the hunting grounds...), found the sheep in a "saddle" between two mountain peaks. Unfortunately, it was already getting dark, and the distance to the sheep was about 4 km in a straight line, or roughly 8 km by detour. However, their silhouettes were clearly visible against the "fading" sky. Of course, the next day we set off in that direction. The climb was quite steep, around 500-600 metres, and after about an hour and a half, we managed to spot a group of sheep, one of which had very good trophy qualities. We decided to close the distance as much as possible and try our luck... But there was one serious problem – a strong side wind, about 4-5 m/s with gusts up to 8-9 m/s... I must admit, I had little experience and skill shooting in such wind, and the distance was no small matter either – 520 metres. I took the shot "on the spot", but the bullet was severely deflected to the left, toward the neck near the head, which the sheep lowered at that very moment. The strong wind and the sheep's sharp desire to feed at that precise moment played a cruel trick on me – I missed! The sheep bolted and stopped only at a distance of 890 metres! And then, another miss: the bullet was deflected even further left! The sheep were in an open area in the "saddle" during the shots, and apparently, the wind there was even stronger than at the shooting position. Although all calculations were made, they were obviously incorrect. This marked the end of the first day of the hunt for the Kolyma snow sheep. Over the next six days of hunting, we saw several herds of sheep, but either they were females with lambs, or non-trophy males.
As the laws of drama would have it, everything happened on the last day of the hunt. Completely by chance (at least for me, but not for Fyodor), on the summit of a small hill directly opposite us, Fyodor spotted three 6-7-year-old rams, two of which were grazing calmly, while the third kept looking at us and then at the slope below. Fyodor suspected there might be more sheep lower down... And within 5-10 minutes, three more trophy males appeared on the horizon, one of which had very good trophy qualities! The first three sheep crossed over the slope and disappeared, while the new trio quietly, unsuspecting, began grazing in their place. It was clear that I couldn’t afford to miss this chance! In the end, from a distance of 510 metres (angle +16), I harvested a magnificent 15-year-old Kolyma snow sheep trophy! A huge thank you to Fyodor Chernyshov for organising the hunt and for the memories that will last a lifetime!
This hunt took place near the spa town of Baile Olănesti, famous for its thermal springs! My companion during this hunt was my younger son Mihailo! We enjoyed the autumn views of the Carpathian Mountains and a great hunt, during which I managed to take a good male Carpathian chamois.
The beginning of November I met in the Irkutsk region at Gennady Kislov's base "Buguldey". The hunt was organised by Artyom Veselov and the company 'Profi Hunt'. As always, everything was organised at the highest level, the hunt was quick and productive. I managed to take a good male musk deer. I shot from 230 metres. The hunt was not difficult with a little snow and light frost. Thanks to all who organised and conducted the hunt.
After hunting the Gobi argali, we immediately set off for the area where the Hangai argali live. Time was limited, so we drove through the night, taking turns at the wheel: first the gamekeepers, then me, and later my videographer. Finally, at around 1 PM, we reached the hunting area, had a quick lunch, and immediately set off in search of a trophy.
On the first day, we spotted several groups of argali and approached them to within 300–350 metres. I was ready to shoot, but the gamekeepers persuaded me to wait, as they wanted me to harvest a larger argali. Sadly, I later regretted this decision. On the second and third days, we couldn't find any males, and our second attempt in the evening failed—the wind or the animals' keen instincts allowed the argali to spot us, and they fled.
It was only on the evening of the third day that we spotted another group. Closing to 204 metres, I was able to take the shot. This particular specimen was well worth the wait: a large, mature male with excellent trophy qualities.
The hunt was expertly organised by Nimrod Hunting Tours.
Last year, I was fortunate enough to visit Mongolia, where I harvested three subspecies of ibex and the Altai argali. This year, my plans were just as ambitious: to take two more argali subspecies—the Gobi and Hangay argali. Once again, I turned to Nimrod Hunting Tours and booked my hunt with them. Finally, the long-awaited day of our expedition arrived.
We set off into the Gobi Desert in search of the Gobi argali. By evening, we reached a mountain tent camp, where we were greeted with an incredibly warm welcome and a delicious dinner. I was captivated by the landscapes of the Gobi, especially the sunsets that transformed the desert into a canvas of fiery colours. The night was warm and peaceful, and the next morning, after a quick breakfast, we began preparations for the hunt.
The whole team was on edge from early morning, eagerly awaiting news from the scouts. The day was scorching, with temperatures reaching 30 degrees under the blazing sun. Hunting in such heat was challenging. We searched the area thoroughly, but the argali seemed to have disappeared, and by midday, our hopes were fading.
Suddenly, three argali appeared in the distance, moving away from us. The team acted without delay: We quickly got into the vehicle were driven to a good shooting position. Time was of the essence. As soon as we were in position, the argali came into view, and I had to shoot offhand. I aimed for the third argali, the largest. The first shot missed, but the second, fired from a distance of about 200–250 metres, was accurate.
The Gobi argali was taken—a fitting end to our day. Every member of the team worked seamlessly, and thanks to their professionalism, the first day of hunting rewarded us with a triumphant trophy: a magnificent Gobi argali.
Mongolia welcomed me with its harsh and beautiful nature. My goal was to harvest the pride and treasure of Asia: the Altai argali, a unique species that demands complete dedication.
As before, the hunt was organised by Nimrod Hunting Tours, and together we devised a route that promised to be a true challenge.
The Altai argali, a trophy I had dreamed of for years, is renowned for its impressive size and majestic stature. In preparation, I studied the experiences of those who had ventured before me, watched countless videos, and immersed myself in hunters' stories. But no matter how much I prepared, Mongolia always manages to surprise.
Upon arriving in the mountains, the fierce Mongolian wind quickly reminded me that success here is never accidental. The temperature dropped, and the wind battered us relentlessly, shifting direction unpredictably. We set out early in the morning, expecting the hunt to last only a few hours. We spotted a group of argali, but approaching them proved much more difficult as the wind was not in our favour.
We circled the mountain, climbing and descending at altitudes of 3,300-3,500 metres, covering a total of 20 kilometres in conditions that alternated between snow, sun, rain and winds of up to 10 m/s. In the evening, as fatigue and the biting cold took their toll, we finally spotted a magnificent Altai argali.
From an awkward position, I took a 460 metre shot - a testament to my determination, resilience and patience. The trophy, taken on the first day of the hunt, was a worthy confirmation of the long-awaited hunt.
It was a beautiful, clear day in the Caucasus. We got up at 2 a.m. and set off on horseback from the village of Khurzuk towards the snow-capped peaks. The snow was already deep, making it difficult for the horses. At times, they couldn’t move forward because the drifts on the slopes were over a metre deep.
After four hours, we finally reached Lake Chuchkhurlyu-Kel. From there, the mountains became steeper and higher, so we left the horses behind and continued on foot to the ridge summit. This was my first experience climbing in such deep snow. It was far from easy, and I wouldn’t recommend attempting it without solid physical preparation. After another three hours, we reached the ridge and began our search for a trophy. As luck would have it, the first target wasn’t far. Within half an hour, we were just 200 metres away.
Everything seemed ready, but the shooting position was far from ideal—I had to take the shot while standing on tiptoe. Unfortunately, I missed. An hour later, we unexpectedly came across another group at just 100 metres. This time, I found a suitable rock to stabilise my shot. We waited for the tur to turn broadside, and I fired. The shot echoed, and a broad smile spread across my face, but fate had other plans. Through the scope, I could see the trophy clearly, but a rock obstructed the bullet's trajectory, absorbing the impact. The turs scattered, and I felt defeated, ready to call it a day.
But fortune smiled on me once more. Nearby, another group of tur had moved about 380 metres away, confused by the noise and unsure of its source. I decided this would be my final shot; if I missed, so be it. The situation was challenging - prone position, distance - 380 metres, -31° angle. The target was broadside, and with no wind, I didn’t need my weather station. I checked the ballistic calculator, made the adjustments, lowered the magnification to 12x, took a deep breath, exhaled, and repeated.
The shot cracked. The tur didn’t fall immediately, but its front leg was disabled. It managed to walk another 100 metres before lying down. I decided to take a follow-up shot for a clean finish—BANG, hit. Moments later, the trophy, an 8-year-old Mid-Caucasian tur, rolled down the slope. Got it!
While waiting for the weather to improve for the snow sheep hunt, the organisers arranged a stalking hunt for a brown bear. On the first day, we conducted some reconnaissance, and on the second day, we encountered a large, old, mature male. We stalked him for about 500 metres, hiding behind solitary, slender dwarf birches. We closed the distance to 170 metres.
I had long wished to go hunting in these remote areas, far from the European part of Russia. In the end, it turned out to be a very emotionally charged and eventful expedition. The flight from St. Petersburg to Yakutsk, as expected, was just a small part of the journey towards the long-awaited dream. Ferry crossings, the muddy Kolyma highway, the onset of frost in the hunting area, and significant snow in the mountains—each of these elements proved to be a fascinating and educational addition to the hunt itself.
The hunt itself lasted two days. On the first day, we found some good sheep, but the goal was achieved on the second day. A good sheep with average trophy qualities was taken, but it was a very thrilling hunt. The snow in the mountains made it impossible to take a shot from a stable position. As a result, I had to shoot from my knee at a distance of 380 metres, bracing one hand on a larch tree.
I extend my heartfelt thanks to everyone who took part in this hunt with me.
