Mid Asian Ibex in Kyrgyzstan

I could hear Jim mumbling behind me and as I turned my head to gain a better understanding of what he was saying, I could see him talking into his video camera. He was  saying goodbye to his wife and kids. At any other time this would this would have seemed strange behavior but here, 6,000 miles from home, perched precariously on the side of a glacier, it all seemed pretty normal. All of us were quite literally one misplaced step away from death. The glacier cascaded a couple thousand feet into a field of jagged rocks below. it would be one heck of a ride down but the landing wasn't so appealing. I strategically kicked another toe hold into the icy surface and then paused to look back again. Jim had put the camera away and was doing the same as he took another step across the near vertical slope. His cousin, Jeff, was about 50 yards behind him and struggling a bit. Oakley, one of our Kyrgy guides, wearing nothing more than some cheap rubber boots, was doing his best to help him across the slope.

We were in the middle on the Tien-Shan mountains in southern Kyrgyzstan and we'd just wrapped up the first leg of our adventure. Both Jeff and I had taken exceptional Marco Polo rams and Jim had scored on a dandy mid-Asian ibex. Jeff and I still had ibex tags and our guides had led us into some pretty extreme country in search of them. This was my second Asian hunt and if there was one lesson I'd taken away from the first, it was that plans were fluid at best. Very little went as planned, or at least the way the plan was explained to us. Late-night drives on precarious mountain roads, clandestine routes around military check points and hurry up and wait were all pretty standard operating procedure at this point of the hunt. The unexpected became the expected. What was stressful a week ago was now mundane; other than the 300 yards of glacier we had left to cross that is.

The hunt had started a couple years earlier, like many do, over a few drinks at the SCI convention. I'm not sure if it was the rum talking or if I really wanted to go but somehow, I'd asked Bryan Martin from Asian Mountain Outfitters to put together a Marco Polo hunt for me. It was only a few months later that Bryan contacted me about a unique experience to travel to a virtually unhunted valley in Kyrgyzstan, with a couple of fellow Canadians from British Columbia. There was the added bonus of hunting ibex. 

These Asian hunts are not for everyone and it takes a certain personality type to deal with the unexpected but Bryan assured me that Jim and Jeff would be the ideal traveling companions and he was right on the mark. Jeff had a horse go down on him during the ride in and he broke several ribs but he never once complained nor indicated he wanted to head out. We wrapped him up the best we could with a tensor bandage and some electrical tape and he toughed it out. Jim knew exactly when to call the out fitter's bluff and when to just let things go. We had become a pretty cohesive team in a very dysfunctional part of the world. We were feeling pretty invincible; until the glacier that is.

The trip had begun a week earlier with three long flights, followed by nearly 20 hours of driving and then two hard days of riding horses, including a brutal ascent through a 14,500-foot pass. It had only taken a couple days for Jeff and I to get our rams and for Jim to get his ibex and then we had ridden another long day and part of the night into ibex country. We'd seen plenty of ibex in the sheep mountains, mountains that were actually quite easily traversed but our Kyrgy guides insisted that we move to finish up the ibex portion of our hunt, despite being told we'd hunt everything in the same area. But then again, plans were fluid.

After a short night, we'd downed a couple granola bars for breakfast and headed out from camp on foot toward a particularly jagged pile of rocks. The first 1,000 or so feet of elevation went pretty well but as we came around a corner the glacier lay ahead. I looked above it and saw what looked like a pretty reasonable route but the Kyrgy guides were having nothing to do with climbing another thousand feet. It was one of those times I later wished Jim had been more forceful but we all just went with the flow. And, for the first hundred yards or so I thought maybe I'd been wrong about the chosen route. The snow was quite soft and actually offered very solid footing but it was near the center where things got bad. Soft snow gave way to blue ice. The smart thing would have been to turn around but then again, if we were smart we likely wouldn't have been in this remote part of Kyrgyzstan to begin with. I made it to the solid rock footing on the far side of the glacier first, followed shortly by Jim and Jeff. The worst was now behind us and we vowed to find another route back to camp. We were now back on the hunt for ibex.

As we made our way up through some boulders that guarded the route to a sharp shoulder that would hopefully offer a view into the mystical ibex valley beyond, Bucket, the head guide, started waving frantically. We stepped up our pace. As we peeked over the steep slope, we were greeted to the sight of over 70 ibex below. All of them were males. Our guides were urging us to shoot quickly but that was nothing new. The truth of the situation was that the ibex had no clue we were there and we had all the time in the world. The rangefinder in my binocular read 360 yards. It was a long shot but definitely doable. Jeff had picked out an ibex he wanted and I found a superb male off to the left. The plan was to shoot on the count of three but as often happens, my ibex had turned slightly when Bucket reached the end of the countdown. At the report of Jeff's rifle, the ibex that I was focused on spun hard to the right. I lifted my head from the scope just in time to see a big ibex tumbling down the steep rock slope. Jeff's shot had been perfect. The remainder of the herd was running across the valley and showed no sign of slowing down. The guides were urging me to shoot. I knew better. At over 500 yards, a running shot would be foolhardy. 

My guide, Sumat, tapped me on the shoulder and pointed above the fleeing herd. Without the aid of binoculars he'd spotted a previously unseen ibex beneath an over-hanging rock. It took me a couple of minutes to find him and the rangefinder read 579 yards. It was an extremely long shot but one I had practiced extensively for. I snuggled in behind the scope but even on the bipod, the rifle felt unsteady. Sumat passed me some small flat rocks and I placed them beneath the rear of the stock. Now the crosshair sat perfectly still and I felt good about the shot. As the 550 yard crosshair settled high on the ibex's shoulder, I had no doubt what the outcome was going to be. The report of the 270WSM startled me a bit but when the three Kyrgy guides began to cheer loudly I knew my shot had been true. I watched the ibex through the scope as he moved down the steep slope. He was struggling to maintain his balance but gravity finally defied him and he tumbled several hundred yards through the boulders, coming to rest on a small bench. I took my first breath in what seemed like hours.

Oakley shook my hand firmly and was trying to ask me how far the shot had been.  As I signed 579 with my fingers, he shook his head from side to side indicating that I was wrong. I handed him my binoculars and after a quick look through them, a broad smile enveloped his face and he extended his hand and shook mine vigorously once again.  He signed 579 with his fingers several times to the Sumat and Bucket. They came over and shook my hand as well.

We all climbed down to Jeff's ibex first. It was a spectacular billy and we casually took some photographs and enjoyed the afternoon sun. We were in no hurry to go anywhere and were content to just sit and reflect on the week's events. After 20 minutes or so, we headed over to inspect my ibex. He too was an excellent billy and we set him up on a rock for photos. While we still had a treacherous climb down and a long and precarious ride back to the vehicles, none of us really gave it a second thought. We were living in the now, just soaking the adventure in, each in our own way. It was then that plans became fluid again. Our outfitter, Saku, came riding up from the bottom on one of the horses and stressed the urgency of getting down the mountain quickly and getting all our gear packed up for the ride out. We suspected that there really was no urgency to get out and that his ominous warning of bad weather moving in was little more than a tale to convince us that riding through the night was a good idea but there was little we could do but laugh and head down to the tent to pack our gear.

 

We made it through the high pass just as the sun was setting behind the mountains to the west. A fresh blanket of snow made the footing treacherous. My horse fell down on one particularly steep slope but luckily was able to regain his footing before tumbling down the thousand-foot slope. The horses were grossly overloaded with not only riders but over 100 pounds of gear tied on behind the saddles in makeshift bags. It was tough country for a horse without a rider but add 300 pounds to their backs and it became ludicrous. I gained a lot of respect for those horses on the trip. A couple of pack horses would have made the journey so much safer and more enjoyable but in a poverty-stricken country like Kyrgyzstan, such luxuries are unfathomable. 

It was well after midnight when we got back to the Sheppard's house and we were welcomed like returning heroes. In no time they had killed one of their sheep and his wife was cooking us a hot meal, our first in a few days, while the vodka flowed freely. It was close to four in the morning when dinner was finished and none of us were feeling any pain. The plan had been to spend the night with the Sheppard and then drive down the following morning. It was nice to just let go and relax a bit. Sleeping in warm house, even one constructed of yak dung was going to be welcome. But, an hour later Saku announced that it was time to leave. We were driving back down in the dark. We just laughed....plans in Kyrgyzstan were definitely fluid.