It was on the day of my long-awaited departure on the 9th January that Storm Goretti had decided to unleash a fierce blend of wind, rain and greyness on the city. After all the year-long build-up leading to this moment, I thought I'd never take off and the whole entreprise would be canned from inception, had I optimistically told myself. I had packed all my gear, weighed whether going it alone would be a good idea, decided I could do with a bit of disconnection from the far too hectic world I inhabit, and researched the destination to its maximal possible extent, and now something outside of my control would come and ruin it!
I had hugged the kids and kissed my wife goodbye. She wished me to make the most of the experience but did give me one of those conditional looks fellow hunters may perhaps have witnessed, displaying an acceptance for one's husbands passion with an air of not total reassurance as to what may lie ahead, but all lying beneath a veneer of approval sufficiently comforting to not deter departure completely. What was clear is that there will be a hefty price to pay for this foray upon one's return...!
This was not my first international hunt, having pursued some of the European species here and there, such as Polish bucks, French Alpine and Pyrenean chamois, and Spanish stags and rams, but it was my first trip to such a remote destination which is separated from its Kyrgyz border neighbour by a strip of landmines, and its Afghan one, which is where I was headed, by a group of peaceful gentlemen who call themselves the Taliban...
The project had been booked the previous January with one of the premier professional outfitters, ProfiHunt, who know the ex-USSR countries like few do, and the decision was then made to organise an expedition to go after the Bukharan subspecies of the Mid Asian Ibex: capra sibirica alaina, and possibly some giant boar (sus scrofa) if time allowed. Being in my thirties, I was also after a physical hunt rather than an exclusively horse-based one and so Tajikistan was chosen. Whilst one of the lesser known central-asian republics to the average man it is famous with hunters the world over for its emblematic grail-like species the Bukharan Markhor (capra falconeri heptneri), the infinitely-twisting-horned sheep the Marco Polo argali (ovis ammon polii) and its two subspecies of Mid Asian Ibex, one in the high altitude Pamir mountain range to the east on the border with China and its slightly shorter horned cousin but darker furred the Bukharan ibex, which I was after.
The gear was packed and bags loaded with every item of gear someone who reads a bit too much fiction could want (yes, of course i'd be needing emergency lightsticks and water purification tabs..!). I had gone to the range several times and trained with a long distance coach to comfortably hit orange-sized steel up to 600m and dialling my scope up and down, taking account of sidewinds, and somehow got somewhat fitter and lighter for what lied ahead. Check-in went smoothly with Turkish and in no time I had all my kit loaded through customs and didn't even need to speak to any customs folks. Fast forward to a few hours later and I was in the air on my way to Dushanbe via Istanbul, flying east but leaving all comforts west and slightly apprehensive of the unknown that awaited in that direction and which I'd have to face on my own.
Landing in Istanbul after the first leg of the trip was a revelation and I couldn't help but notice two types of people in the mass of travellers: those who had come for their hair transplants and god knows what else, and all the others, recognisable by their outdoors branded clothing, who had come for another kind of thrill entirely. Istanbul, aptly marking the confine between the occident and the orient, paved the way for the second leg of the trip which took me over the exotic sounding cities of Baku, Ashgabat and Samarkand. Final destination was nearing..!
Upon landing at 02:00 on a completely lightless airport, all hunters were conveyed to the same "VIP room" to pick up rifles, ammo, bags and sundry. In other words, give your passport to a pre-1991-looking uniformed official, pose for a photograph, give out €/$90 and not see the former for a few hours without being allowed to ask questions...! When in Rome... Then a sigh of relief washed over me as I could first see that all my kit had made it, but also to hear the first theme-appropriate conversations: "you here for marco?", "what caliber do you shoot?", "first time in Tjk?", all heralding the true start of the journey with fellow hunters waiting for their next transit and chomping at the bit to get their boots dirty. This is where I got acquainted with the other hunter I would be sharing camp with, a very experienced Dutch mountain hunter, a real pleasure to hunt with and learn from, who at 73 years and after having successfully pursued a dozen capra species and even more ovis species, was after his last ever ibex...
Once all formalities were done with, an army of assistants loaded everything on the pick-up truck, parked under a gigantic picture of Tajikistan's president (in power since the 90s... popular chap!), and a fellow Dutch hunter and I were driven by a military-uniform-clad man to base camp about 4.5 hours south east of Dushanbe, and about a few dozen km from Afghanistan, in the region of Baldzhuvon. Getting some much needed kip would have been the clever thing to focus on but the combination of first-timer excitement, loud local music and the driver's intent on overtaking lorries exclusively in icy curves at high speed meant I was staring ahead like an owl instead and praying, whilst the more experienced entourage had all dozed off. Eventually, after having gone from tarmac to smaller road, to country lane and finally to icy track, we miraculously arrived at base camp at around 0700, under a beautifully inky starlit sky which was giving way to a glorious dawn. First sight at the immensity of nature and our playground for the next ten days - how marvellous. We were welcomed by the numerous local team, shown to our rooms and offered a hearty breakfast of the ubiquitous chai (tea), wonderful pistachios, dates and cashews, as well as a sort of rice porridge, all the while being shown the extent of our hunting area on a map by a comforting wood fired stove. Finally, we had arrived!
As this year's winter had shown so little snow, it was granted all fauna would be stuck in the highest peaks and we had better climb up to higher and more remote "fly camps" if we were to see any, and the plan was thus made to immediately check zeros on our rifles, pack our bags "for 4/5 days in the mountains" and head out - straight from the airport. Great! What should I bring?? "Just your sleeping bag".. right! Rifle, ammo, bipod, glass, tripod, sleeping bag/pad, torch, powerbank, clothing, trekking poles, a toothbrush, meds, some energy bars and a day's ration of freeze-dried food I had prepacked and off we went again, in other pick up trucks down a scenic mountain track and over a pebbly stream until a point where only horses could take over. Having had a horse allergy a few years back, and despite I had pills with me, I saw some of the local guides starting an Everest-like line of mountaineers carrying parts of the camp and thought i'd join them as well on foot, with a chance to stretch my legs and slowly climb up the valley. It only was "3 or 4 kms away" anyway, so how hard could it be...
That is when I discovered how "vertical" Tajikistan really is... thankfully the local guides take your pack but when reaching the upper reaches of this red-dust Martian landscape of a mountain, when the night falls, with high winds sweeping the ridges and getting the dust in your eyes, your torch left in your pack, and despite being "just a few hours away", the 6 hours climb really is draining, especially on day 1 after having spent the last 48 hours with only a couple of hours of sleep and to the point I thought I really wasn't going to make it all the way up... Whilst we did spot a herd of the elusive Bukharan Urial sheep (a type of mid-asian bearded mouflon), the hardest part was probably seeing the sheer cliffs hanging on either side of the goat track we were on in the dark, and the lack of visual on the goal, the surroundings being pitch black. Thankfully and despite dangerously losing balance a few times, the guides constantly push you, lend you their torch and encourage you to get going, but how surreal it is to finally have that fire smell reach your tired senses in the abyss and seeing those embers in the distance waiting to comfort you after those long hours and that 900m+ ascent. Talk about taking it easy on day 1!
We thus arrived at the new location, 1850 meters altitude, and immediately crashed in the makeshift refuge that was dug out in the mountain, just under the ridge. In there, sheer magic awaited. Tadjik rugs on the floor, a wood fired rusty stove, and a platter of nuts, pomegranate, bread and the ubiquitous cups of chai. My newly acquired Dutch friend of 73 on the other hand did the whole journey on horseback, and arrived fresh as a daisy! The only thing I can remember after that was collapsing into my sleeping bag with my full kit on and not needing much help to fall into a deep slumber!
Day 2 feels like we've been here a week and starts at around 0715ish with daylight coming through the tent, the discovery of what we had climbed and the sheer beauty of our surroundings. We are located on a knife-edge ridge overlooking two immense valleys, one of Mars-like red dust and dried vegetation to our east which we climbed to get here, and a much more mineral, higher and broken landscape to our west, interspersed with green cypress trees and shrubs. It is the latter we will try to find ibex on and immediately start getting the scopes out and glassing in search of capra, whilst getting warmed up with copious rations of boiling chai.
Thankfully, and despite the previous day's hotspots, feet are devoid of blisters so I put on my down jacket and get behind the scope to start checking the surroundings in the sharp cold of the mountain. Having never seen an ibex "in the flesh" and despite having watched my fair share of hunting videos to train my senses, I'm not sure what to look for, but the local guides' incredible eyes (who do not hesitate to push you aside to use your gear themselves!) spot them from miles away and its not long before we see the first herds, or rather, are told to look at them. We are after mature males though, and these tend to be on their own rather in herds with females (nannies), which is more reserved to juvenile or immature males (billies), and so we keep on glassing for a suitable quarry. Meanwhile, the odd curious eagle and even a strikingly beautiful bearded vulture (gypaetus barbatus), evidently not used to human presence, glides over us, adding to the scenic atmosphere of the moment. Eventually, we spot what looks like a solitary male ibex and after a few discussions decide to get closer to have a better look. This will take the best part of what remains of the day and at around 10:30ish we get going by walking on the ridge for a mile or so before climbing down the mountain to glass the ibex from below. Two excellent local guides (Saybali 61, and Vinsho 26) as well as a ProfiHunt representative/interpreter come along, providing much assistance. The weather is crisp and cold with a fair wind but high sun. We stop to glass for a good half hour after a 2.5 hours hike and decide to pass on a billy which the local guides qualify as "normal". I take a risk here as it could well be that we don't see anything else for the week but given I have 7 days allocated in the mountains I take my chances - although we know a snow storm is due in 3 days... Future will tell!
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