It's prestigious for American and European hunters to get four species of ibex living in Spain: Beceite ibex, Gredos ibex, Ronda ibex and Sierra Nevada ibex. So, I also got the idea to get these species. And if I had three trophies of Beceite ibexes, then I was not lucky enough to add the other three to my collection yet. Telling the truth, these ibexes differ outwardly only in the shape of the horns and then only slightly. Only a specialist or an experienced hunter can find the differences. In my opinion, let all four of them out into the field, you can't see the difference. But they are listed as different species in the SCI Trophy Book.
The four-hour flight to Madrid by Aeroflot flew by unnoticed. There were the May holidays ahead, and I could fit in ten days of the program not only three ibexes (Gredos, Ronda and Sierra Nevada), but also a Balerian goat, as well as a hybrid in Mallorca and a Pyrenean chamois. There were two days for each trophy, and the whole program was structured like that: when I got the trophy – and we had to move immediately to another place. There were five places in total - by type of trophies.
Well, and rushed! We rented the car and set off! Our trip had begun.
The result of that half-crazy journey was that I realized what exactly meant under the words "Spain was different.” It was true. At first, we went from Madrid to Portugal side to get the Gredos ibex, and it was about 300 km from the capital.
After arrival, we dropped things at the hotel, grabbed sandwiches with traditional jamon on a large white bun and - moved into the fields! We were in a hurry because the license closes in the month of April. It was on April 30th. I didn't mention– the day of arrival in Spain. It would be invalid on the next day - May 1st. And nobody would give me money back. It was impossible to postpone the deadline due to the fact that hunting was carried out on state lands. You snooze, you lose. The representative of the host party asked Anton, who accompanied me in that expedition, when we were already on the road: “Can he walk?” They asked about me. It seemed funny to me until we started "walking". We hiked more than two hours in the mountains. Fortunately, we didn’t waste time for looking for animals. It was done by the local police, or by rangers who looked after that area. It turned out that in the morning they hunted with hunter with the penultimate ibex license and two guides stayed there, when had found a herd of ibexes so that I didn't have to look for animals. Ibexes were grazing, guides were looking after them. The animals went over the ridge - the rangers followed them. They kept the animals constantly in sight constantly. The male that I was allowed to shoot was in the herd. There were even two of them (the guides had determined their trophy qualities in advance). We had only to walk, then approach the guides and then sneak up to the ibexes at a distance of a shot.
It took us two hours walk. It was about 6 pm. It got dark around 9.30 pm. I won't torment the reader for a long time with the intrigue of "managed / did not have time", I will say right away - we've reached it on time. We carefully crept up to the guides, and they showed a group of ibexes grazing in the valley. Then we began to argue what male I’d have to shoot. The one guide said to fire in the one, the second pointed to another. It was all in a whisper behind a big stone, and in Spanish, emotionally - only hands flashed. I didn't understand anything. One guide was drawn me to one side of the stone, the other to the other. It was impossible to make out which one to shoot at at all from such a distance. Well, at least for me.
As a result, we started hiding – we tried to crawl to the right distance.
We reached the place, I put a backpack on a rock, a Blaser caliber rifle.30-06 Spring, optics "Zeiss". What else did a person need... and all that!
I chose the one that was more convenient to fire, in my opinion. It was lying down, and half of its torso was visible, while the other had only its neck visible.
The Shot! The herd jumped up, but did not run away – they did not understand clearly where to run and where the danger was from. Finally, the nerves of one of the ibexes could not stand it, it took off, and the whole herd followed it. My trophy stayed on the place! Hurray! Congratulations, photos, measurements… And two hours walk in the mountains, in the valleys.
The mountains were very beautiful there, a little more than two thousand meters high. I was impressed by the sanctuary church on one of the peaks. I still did not understand who built it and from whom it is supposed to hide. But it was quite obvious that that was protection for both shepherds and tourists. Although the doors were locked with a padlock, but that was not a problem, since the lock didn't close. There were stone tables nearby, and a spring with the purest and very tasty water gushed out of the ground. As the local shepherd said later: "We have two attractions - rocks and water."
We had rest and resumed our march Down.
After we had descended to the car, we had a short picnic on the hood with traditional jamon, cheese and white rolls (they have only white bread). But the wine was red, without which the picnic would not be a picnic. I was surprised that they drunk wine in a circle from a bottle with a nipple. The wine poured into the mouth and did not stain anything (again, hygiene).
And... in general, that was it. It was getting dark, and we still had about two hours to drive to the hotel.
It was very late when we arrived to the hotel and went to the bed immediately.
I guess that fans of El Greco or Cervantes would condemn me for not spending an hour or two in museums or galleries and at the amazing ruins of Moorish castles, but that time I was not up to saturate my soul with beautiful images of the past.
We got up early because had to drive almost 700 kilometers towards the coast, to the area of another ibex with the beautiful name Sierra Nevada. It took us eight hours to get there. The scenario was the same– things to the room, a short snack and forward to the mountains. I should note that the mountains there were radically different from the previous ones - they were relatively young, because they were dry, without vegetation and without water.
Hunting was structured as follows: we drove along the serpentine and tracked down ibexes. We stopped periodically to observe the surroundings and examine the area with binoculars. We watched all together. After two hours of generally fruitless searches, we guessed to listen to the guide, who told us that saw in the morning two ibexes (decent in size) on a rock, where we could drive by car.
We drove to the place, stopped at the site for photo, and again "feel out" the rocks with all our eyes. There was the ibex! The only one. We left the part of our team with a walkie-talkie at the observation post, and tried to shorten the distance by car. The animals there were accustomed to the noise of car engines and were more afraid of a walking person. We drove about 800 meters to the cliff and then should have to climb - steeply. We left without slamming doors under the protection of trees. Anton turned around and drove the car to the "command and observation post". The guide and I were almost crawling on all fours, bent double and hiding behind irregularities, we snacked up the slope. It took us not less than an hour.
The animals were lying in the same place where we found one of them. There was a whole herd. Two ibexes had trophy size. But how to get close? They were higher than we were, the slope was steep and I should have to shoot almost into the sky! I needed where to put the rifle, and problems arise with that: there were no bipods; if I shot lying down, leaning on a stone, then I couldn't see the goats. There were about 300 m to them. It was normal. But the hands do not obey the head after climbing the "vertical wall", they lived their own, autonomous life, I breathed like a dog in the heat, the chest worked like a bellows. I didn't know what we could have come up with in that situation, but the animals were ahead of us – they suddenly began to descend. It was a real luck! - they were going down to our side. The hunter's task was one - to wait.
I chose a clearing where they should appear, and began to whisper to myself all sorts of useful spells in such cases.
Twenty minutes passed. It already seemed to me that half a day…
At last, the first one came to the meadow. I wanted to shoot, but the guide closed the eyepiece of the sight with his hand. Not the one we needed. “Pequeño” - small. Thanks to the fact that my daughter studied at a school with Spanish, I knew some words and even phrases from the school curriculum. I waited for the “Grande” one. It didn't take much time for that – it comes out second. But it crossed the clearing, which was under the bisector of fire, too quickly. Too fast! I understood that there was a second left for a shot. I could see its ridge only. Shoot! The animals that were on the clearing take off instantly and run away. And suddenly another mature male appeared from above. The huntsman gave the command to shoot, because I probably missed the first one. However, the voice on the radio from our "NCP" gave the command: “Disregard. Don't be silly”.
The ibex laid. It fell like a log. It was interesting that I hit its the spine, like the one from Gredos. It should be taken into account for the future - the carbine was shot at three hundred meters, and the distances there was less, therefore the bullet went higher. I did not take my carbine, due to the difficulties in obtaining a permit to export from Russia so I had to rent a weapon on the place.
There were traditional photo shoot, measurement, skinning and the road down. I took a picture with the trophy against the background of the flag of the Club of Mountain Hunters. And I did it in order to popularize the club not only in Russia, but also abroad.
One more early the morning, the rise at 5.00 and the road for the Ronda ibex. I had managed to save three days by that time, which could have been useful on some other, less successful hunt, and if I got lucky, then it was not worth letting it out of my hands. That's why we left early in the morning for Malaga.
We left the things right in the car, changed into hunting clothes and moved to a Range Rover - to the mountains. It was three hours’ drive. Two guides had been already waiting for us on the top. Two guides - once again. They were both called Anton. But the strangest thing was that I was accompanied by three guys who were also called Antons. It meant there were five Antons in one group. What could one Leonid do against five Antons?
Hunting for Rhonda ibex was different in that we were not looking for the trophy, driving along the serpentines, and didn't place observers in places where they might exit, but walked stupidly along the ridge and looked around.
It wasn't correct to say that it was an easy morning walk. It was more like an Alpine ascent, which did not pass easily – we were soaked to the skin with sweat, our hands were shaking, as if in a fever. Those six hours were very difficult for us. But we didn't see any sign of the animal.
The command for lunch was also the command for rest, because it was extremely exhausting to make such hikes and transitions in the midday heat. And it was useless in terms of hunting.
We didn't go down low to save time, stopped at the first tavern, had lunch, waited for the heat to subside.
Taking into account the fact that I didn't sleep well last three nights, all my dreams had been short, the state of the body was not the most excellent. Some kind of sand in the eyes. The rest on the steps of an inn was not the same as in bed, but also a rest…
We slightly changed tactics in the afternoon – then we drove around the observation decks and walked around looking for ibexes with binoculars. We were riding like that until dark and had plenty of time to admire the Andalusian mountains for the rest of our lives. We hadn't seen a single male, but we saw females more than once, and that was something.
Finally, we go to the hotel to sleep next five hours. The good news allowed me to sleep peacefully – one of the rangers saw a male on the slope almost in the dark. Let's hope he would wait for us there until morning
The morning rise was given with great difficulty. I wanted to sleep so much that yawned, my cheekbones were already cramping.
We were going to the huntsman who saw the male. The door was closed. We knocked on the window, on the door. The sleepy wife opened it and said that he had been in the forest for a long time, on a detour. In ten minutes a huntsman rode up on a sports mountain bike. Everything was good, the animals were on the slope!
A long, protracted climb into the mountains and no less tedious hiding began. It was not without falling on the rocks. There was not much to tell about the culmination of the third hunt. The trophy was taken from the first shot, and the Grand SLAM was closed. And it became... a little sad.
But hunting in Spain was not closed yet for me- there was a flight to Majorca ahead, and there was hunting, then a flight to Madrid, and hundreds of kilometers to Cantabri (they took a license for chamois), and then north to the Pyrenees. Those were the plans, but, life made adjustments, as it always happened. There were no tickets to Mallorca. The only way out was a flight through Barcelona. We flew, but there were 2 hours and 15 minutes left for sleep because of the delay
I already thought about five hours of sleep as happiness. Do you remember the joke about the black and white stripes in life: it turns out that five hours has been a white stripe.
Mallorca welcomed us with warmth and good organization. It was decided to hunt not in the evening, but immediately after arrival due to the expectation of the arrival of two hunters from Russia and, the best news was that they to arranged a license for the Cantabrian chamois. It turned out that the stripe was still white.
So, we got moving: short fees, a sandwich in the teeth and - go ahead, to look for a goat of red coloring with a characteristic black cross.
We reached the mountains in an hour and a half. The serpentine in the mountains, was distinguished by an extraordinary sharpness with 180-degree turns. The car didn't enter the turn from the first time, all turns were with overdriving and waltzing back and forth. If the equipment fails in something or the driver makes a mistake, then everyone flies into the abyss. Fortunately, I was not our case. The reader guesses, since I am writing these lines, neither the technique nor the driver failed.
We climbed to the very top, and then went along the paths. The results of that day were five hours in the heat of 35C degrees, two shots offhand, and two trophies. As the guides told me, we were just lucky that everything happened quickly enough. I was especially lucky, because after shooting back, we booked a ticket for... early morning.
The journey for Cantabrian chamois began at 4.00 am - the car to the airport, then the flight, and six hours by car to the place. It ended at 6 pm. It was four hours before dark. It was late to move to the mountains. But it was enough to test the carbine. Was it worth to do it in the rain, which was promised from minute to minute, if tomorrow morning we could shoot? The guide asked me, using an auto-translator: "Are you going to get married or may have to do it tomorrow?". An inner voice recommended insistently "get married", but only tomorrow morning. I was completely agreeing with him, but it would still be possible to go look around…
So, we tried to climb the mountains after shooting the carbine at two hundred meters, where such fog and clouds fell on us! Nothing was visible at all. It started raining, it became incredibly cold – the temperature dropped to zero degrees! For two hours we hid in the car or escaped under an umbrella. I put on everything I took with me. It was a little over an hour before dark. It was clear that there would be no hunting that day. But as soon as there was a break in the clouds, the huntsman offered to climb the first ridge - 500-600 meters and to look from there. Why not? Suddenly!
We began climbing. Everything had gone limp; the feet were constantly slipping in the dirt. But we were crawling up. Somehow, we climb the ridge, inspected the mountains and noticed a chamois on the crest itself. There were about 200 m to it. The animal was moving actively. I put bipods just in case. Why not? Suddenly!
The beast stopped literally for a few seconds. The guide who accompanied me offered to shoot, but the local huntsman shook his head - it was useless. I shot, and the beast fell as if knocked down. It just disappeared. The guide, as it seemed to me, spoke in a whisper in Spanish: "And now climb after him yourself.” As a result, we descended from the top to the trophy, messed with it for thirty minutes and then came and carried a head with a cape skin and two hind thighs. There were ten minutes left before dark – just in time to take a picture and to make initial measurements.
Next morning there was a long road to the Pyrenees – in total, I spent more than twelve hours in the car. We camped for the night, and in the morning, we set off again towards Andorra.
The hunt took place after lunch and until dark. I remembered it by its climbing that was so steep that I thought the main task was not to fall off. There was no time to look for the animals, and it was not up to them in such conditions. But we saw them. Unfortunately, either they noticed us earlier and hid, or we were very far away, or there were females. The next morning (at 5 am, as you guessed), we ascended the mountains once again. And there was a strong wind in the mountains. We waited for the animals would enter the hollow after sunrise. The wind didn’t abate. The local huntsman shared the revelation after a long silence: "There is nothing worse than the wind on a mountain hunt.” I didn't agree with him – rain, fog and cold could be much worse. But I remained delicately silent.
We spent more than two hours there and were already going to move to another slope, but then our attention was attracted by the barking of dogs. And they were getting closer. Three dogs with radio collars rushed past us. Well, I thought it was all over, now they'd definitely dispersed everyone. NO! Vice versa. Those dogs raised a large herd of Pyrenean chamois, and now they appeared at a distance of 200-250 meters. We sneaked up, they showed me which animal to shoot. I shot from the knee. The guide shouted: “We got it”.
We climbed up, inspected everywhere, but there was no trophy, no blood. We began to examine everything by centimeter. Anton– our outfitter, who traveled everywhere with us, was attracted by the sharp smell of the beast and he was wright. We found a mortally wounded male of 17 years old with beautiful horns just in five meters behind the stones. Our joy cannot be described!
That was all. We did everything! So, we could go home earlier, to meet on May 9 in Moscow and to watch the parade…
In those days, I spent eight nights in different hotels, traveled more than three thousand kilometers by car, made three domestic flights. An average, night's sleep took no more than five hours. That trip was a gallop through Europe, or rather Spain. But I was satisfied with everything – both the hunting organization and the trophies! Thank you, Spain!
PS. I want to express my special gratitude to one of the Antons – Anton Zagorulko - without whom that hunt simply would not have taken place.
PPS. I not only want to, but also express: THANK YOU VERY MUCH, Anton!
