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Dear friends!New Year's meeting of membersThe Mountain Hunters Club will be held on December 12 (Tuesday), 2023!

Dotsev A.V., Rodionov A.N., Zinovieva N.A.Genetic studies of markhor (Capra falconeri) populations from Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. The markhor (Capra falconeri) was first described as a species in 1839 by J.A. Wagner. In 1913, R. Lydekker proposed an intraspecific taxonomy of C. falconeri and identified five subspecies: Suleiman (C. f. jerdoni), Afghan (C. f. megaceros), Kashmir (C. f. cashmiriensis), Gilgit (C. f. falconeri) and Chiltan (C. f. chialtanensis). In 1945 V.I. Tsalkin identified the Uzbek and Tajik markhors as separate subspecies and gave them scientific names - C. f. ognevi and C. f. heptneri, respectively. However, at present, according to D.E. Wilson and D.M. Reader (2005) the broad-horned, straight-horned and Bukhara markhor are considered as subspecies of markhor. They classified Gilgit and Kashmir markhors as wide-horned, Afghan and Suleimanov markhors as straight-horned, and populations from Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan as Bukhara markhors. Thanks to the close cooperation between the Mountain Hunters Club and the Federal Research Center for Animal Husbandry named after Academician L.K. Ernst, the research aimed at clarification of the taxonomic status of markhor populations from Tajikistan and Uzbekistan is currently being conducted. Whole genome genotyping was carried out on 6 samples from Tajikistan (Shurabad and Darvaz regions) and 11 samples from Uzbekistan (Surkhandarya region). As comparison groups, 4 samples of markhor from Pakistan belonging to different subspecies were added to the study: Suleiman (n=2), Kashmir (n=1) and Gilgit or Astor (n=1). More than 5 thousand polymorphic loci distributed throughout the genome have been identified. Using this amount of such genetic markers the structure of markhor populations can be reliably studied. Principal component analysis (PCA) revealed that populations from Tajikistan and Uzbekistan formed their own clusters (Fig. 1). This indicates that each of these populations has its own genetic identity. It should also be noted that samples from Tajikistan turned out to be phylogenetically closer to Pakistani ones, in comparison with samples from Uzbekistan. Calculation of pairwise genetic distances - FST, showed a high level of differentiation between populations from Tajikistan and Uzbekistan - 0.246, which suggests the possibility of considering these groups as different subspecies. When comparing populations from Tajikistan with those from Pakistan, FST values ranged from 0.247 to 0.292. In a similar comparison of the population from Uzbekistan, these indicators ranged from 0.306 to 0.361. Values ranging from 0.193 to 0.246 were observed between markhor populations from Pakistan. Thus, the ongoing genetic studies have confirmed the hypothesis of V.I. Tsalkin, who considered markhors from Tajikistan and Uzbekistan as separate subspecies.Figure 1. Principal component analysis (PCA) of the studied populations of markhor from Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Pakistan.

In my opinion, mountains are beautiful at any time of the year and have always attracted me. At different times in my life, I was fond of rock climbing, hiking and mountain skiing. With the advent of the Bavarian mountain hound and the Breton Espagnol in our family, a passion for hunting was added to the hobby of the mountains. Both hunting for animals and feather hunting with a hunt dog. It is quite logical that sooner or later I had to come up with the idea to try myself in mountain hunting, relying on the support and knowledge of the dearest person to me - my husband Artyom, who is a member of the Mountain Hunters Club (MHC) since the founding of the club. France was not chosen by chance as the country for this debut. First of all, where else but in the romantic land of Dumas and Saint-Saëns can we celebrate our little family holiday - our wedding anniversary! The best wines, excellent cuisine with Provencal herbs and exquisite cheeses - all this charm is at your service in France. As for hunting, Artyom thought that for me my first experience here would not be the most difficult. And at the same time, he planned to close a couple of items on the list of trophies of the (MHC) - to get Chartreuse and Vercors chamois. And so at the end of November 2021, having been vaccinated and having safely passed all the coronavirus barriers, we found ourselves in Uriages-les-Bains. This resort town, founded at the time of the Roman Empire, is comfortably located in the foothills of the alpine massif of Chartreuse in southeastern France, literally a dozen kilometers from Grenoble. Women's audience, of course, will immediately remember the world-famous medical cosmetics based on thermal water, produced in this region. Although, to tell the truth, the Chartreuse mountains with their picturesque gorges, fogs and frequently changing weather, stretching from Grenoble in the north to Lake Bourget in the south, are better known for the tart and thick herbal liqueur of the same name, which for 500 years and until now has been made by monks of the Cartesian order. And mountain hunters from all over the world are attracted by the possibility of catching a trophy of the chamois subspecies of the same name here. In the evening in the lobby of the luxurious Grand Hotel & Spa Uriage we met the organizer and guide, Philippe Simon (Natureservices - Hunting services in France). During a short discussion about the upcoming hunt and the necessary mountain outfit for this time of year, I was quietly glad that thanks to my husband's experience I had everything I needed in my bag, including a waterproof but well ventilated suit and my favorite mountain boots which I had seen in various countries and continents. Everyone who has ever stormed a mountain peak knows how important proper clothing is, and comfortable, fixing footwear is vital. My husband and I did not get to enjoy all the delights and opportunities of the world-famous hotel and its chateau architecture. The next morning Philippe arrived well before dawn, and we set out into the mountains, planning a short stop in a small hunting lodge at the beginning of the planned ascent for coffee and croissants (what can we do without them in France) and a test shooting. It is worth saying that we agreed in advance that we would rent carbines with optics because it was too tiresome to travel with our own weapons in the middle of the pandemic. Artyom chose BlaserR8 caliber 7mmRemMag, and I got a lightweight Sauer in the same caliber. The stop didn't take long-the carbines were well aimed. After checking our outfit once again and completing our final preparations, we returned to the car. Philip and his assistant Lilan Tefani warned us that we would drive as far as the heavy snow would allow. The first turn of the serpentine showed that we would have to walk the whole way. The car got bogged down in the white and fluffy snow so that we had to leave it. We got out of the cabin into the fresh air, and the guide waved his hand somewhere under the clouds with the words, "That way!" The first steps up the steep slope immediately reanimated all my climbing skills. Under the snow that had begun to melt in the sun, slippery rocks were exposed. We had to check every step and in some places to hold on to bushes and ledges with our hands. The relatively low altitude of 1300 meters above sea level at the start of the ascent made itself felt. Trying not to give in to uncertainty and with the strong desire not to let my husband down, I waited stubbornly for my second breath to open. After a while I found my rhythm, it became easier to move, and at short stops I enjoyed the view of the rocks and pine-covered ledges, the panorama of the sunlit valley far below. The weather was favorable, and the visibility was excellent. During one of our stops, Philip discovered a group of chamois a few hundred meters away. For these animals it is quite difficult, and sometimes impossible, to determine gender identity. The male representatives of this glorious family have only slightly thicker horns - that's all the difference when looking at the animals from a long distance. And they do not let get close to them. Though trophy clubs accept trophies of both sexes, Artyom was going to get the male. It's good that an experienced guide, as Philip was, it took him little time to determine correctly: these were females with offspring. After admiring the peacefully grazing animals through the binoculars, we moved on. After three hours of ascent, we overcame the pass and descended into a huge mountain circus. Philip whispered, apparently imbued with the grandeur of the surrounding nature, solemnly saying: "Welcome to paradise!" It was a real pleasure to walk along the plateau after a difficult vertical assault. After about half an hour our guide made a warning sign. We stopped. As it turned out, he noticed a chamois about three hundred meters ahead, raised his binoculars to his eyes and began to scrutinize the animal. After a short pause, Philip nodded: we could shoot. Artyom pulled the shutter, and the three of us and the guide were able to shorten the distance by a few dozen meters. Having taken a comfortable shooting position, my husband was forced to wait as the animal had time to hide in the bushes. Having hidden behind a big stone, about half an hour we were waiting for the horned animal to appear in the open place. At last it happened, and with the first shot Artyom got a fine trophy of Chartreuse chamois. A strong wind came up, and Philippe suggested we eat and rest in his chalet, which was quite close by. Satisfied with the start of the hunt, but already quite tired, we gladly agreed. The first question we had was how in the absence of roads did they deliver all the necessary materials and things for building and equipping a minimum living here? Philippe proudly told us that everything, including several cases of the excellent Chateau Laffite, was delivered by helicopter. Well, what can you do, if the French can't imagine minimal comfort without good wine. We had a light snack and melted into the warmth of the stove. Probably many of us know how hard it is to pull ourselves out of the warm comfort and coziness back into the snow and cold. But there is such a word - must! The sky was blanketed with leaden clouds and heavy flakes of snow fell on Chartreuse, making the surrounding landscape all the more fabulous. I was sure that the chamois would probably sleep peacefully under the trees during such natural elements, and we probably wouldn't see them again. At least not today. Especially since the winter day is short, and there was not much daylight time available... But! But there is such a word - must! A couple of hours of ineffectual searching knee-deep in snow at 1750 meters above sea level sadly confirmed my doubts about the successful outcome of the first day's hunting. The visibility was getting worse and worse, my hopes were dwindling not with each passing hour, but with each passing minute. Suddenly Philip's assistant saw something. We grabbed our binoculars. Philip confirmed that he also saw a group of chamois and that there was a male among the animals that we could shoot. The distance is about 400 meters. I understood, venerable "rangefinders" consider such a distance, if not "childish", then quite comfortable. But for me, even a shot at three hundred meters is still a big question. Especially at an angle and in unpredictable mountain winds. Of course, we decided to get closer. We managed to get over another 100 meters. We couldn't go any further. Chamois are very cautious and fearful animals. It's very rare that we get the opportunity to shoot from a short distance. Besides it was still snowing! I frantically tried to see the target through the binoculars, and then through the rifle scope, cleaning the optics from sticking snow. But all I could see were blurry silhouettes of animals. Artyom looked inquiringly: "Will you shoot? 280 meters." Immediately my heart raced. I had no experience shooting in such conditions. Philip, who knew the ballistics of the cartridge well, helped me calculate the corrections for the distance and angle. I made a few clicks with the correction mechanism on the optic. All that remained was to take good aim. It was not easy to do this because of the fog and snowfall. In addition, my hands were freezing from the wet snow, but I tried not to pay attention to this. It's now or never! There would be no other chance, because the darkness was rapidly approaching. The shot ... I managed to notice through the optics, which was quickly covered with snow the scattering animals . I could not see whether the shot had been a success or not. If the animal was wounded, I could not get it today, and it would not be taken by me, and I could not consider it my trophy for sure. An unpleasant aftertaste would be assured for me at every sight of a medallion with horns or a stuffed animal. I gathered my strength and will into a fist and began to climb another hundred meters upward, trying to steady my breath after the shot. Having reached the place first, Philip suddenly began to wave his hand for me to hurry up. Leaning already completely exhausted on a stone, through binoculars I saw a horned male standing motionless with a wound to the left and below the shoulder blade. So the hit had been to the abdomen. Another shot summed up his ordeal, and Philip's firm handshake brought me back to reality. My first mountain hunt happened!Our small group slowly began to move toward the blessing warmth of the hospitable chalet in the heart of the plateau. Thanks to this modest dwelling, we had the opportunity to hunt until the very end of the short winter day and not have to think about having to go down in complete darkness. Ahead of us awaited dinner, sirloin steaks, wine, laughter, jokes, and, as usual, hunting stories. In the morning, almost at dawn, I barely managed to open the front door. It had snowed a lot during the night. I began to prepare mentally for the difficult descent down. In the meantime, standing on the porch of the little shelter lost among the mountains, I admired the greatness of the mountains and the melting stars in the lightening sky. Suddenly, about thirty meters away, I saw a chamois. The little goat stood motionless, gazing intently at the man on the porch. I laughed to myself, remembering yesterday's hours-long search. Hunting must be hard work! An easily taken trophy you forget at once and hardly realize its value. The next day we had to move to another mountain range, where we had to search with a Hanoverian hound until dark to find the Vercors chamois, which Artyom finally got after all. And a couple of days later on the way to the airport I was looking at pictures, reliving again and again the excitement of the past days and my first mountain hunt. Artyom, seeing my delight, suggested: "How about you write a little report and join the MCH?" Why not, as they say. Having in my "luggage" a mouflon got in the Czech Republic several years ago, I even found myself not in the last place in the club's rating. Besides I got an incentive to come back to France to hospitable Philippe for my trophy of Vercors chamois. So to be continued. I know that for sure.

A thousand times, cursing everything in the world during the next crossing in the Sayan Mountains with my arms and legs torn to blood by acacia, or being in the saddle of a horse for a week on mountain passes; spending nights in a tent in the snow in wet clothes, suffocating from hypoxia in the Pamirs, I threw myself in my hearts: "Everything, this is your last tour. Stay at home and don't whine!". And then there are these... foreign hunters dangling from behind with ballast. Then I once again reproached myself for such a short-term weakness and again walked through snow, rock, mountain ranges! Now I am 63 years old. I still walk in the woods and in the mountains, in the heat and in the cold, I sleep wherever I have to. And at the same time, I do not regret or complain at all about my fate as an outfitter, but rather, on the contrary, I am proud that I was among the first in the USSR, I can still overcome such trials and continue to accompany hunters, passing them survival skills and the culture of honest trophy hunting. The material is based on more than 30 years of experience as an outfitter in the Russian sense of the meaning of this word. I'll make a reservation in advance! I will not mention any personalities or places of hunting, so that ... you understand the sensitivity of the question. The term outfitter is not even in modern explanatory dictionaries in the sense in which this word has already been fixed for those people who organize and conduct activities related to being outside (OUT-...) premises, buildings. Basically, this definition is applied to the organizers of the hunt, although initially the word OUTFITTER came to us from the English language and referred to the supplier of equipment, uniforms. But among hunters, this term has acquired a much more serious and very definite meaning than simply providing people with equipment. This term acquired a more capacious meaning in the USSR, and later in Russia. I would separate the concepts of hunting ORGANIZER, GUIDE and OUTFITTER. The latter does all the work before, during and after the hunt, while the first two are engaged only in the hunt itself. There is also such a reality as an ESCORT. But about it separately and later. A little bit from the history of the issue. Now few people think about who and when in our country was the initiator and inspirer of trophy hunts. Many modern hunters often do not even think about how the culture of trophy and commercial hunting came to Russia. Up until the 90s of the last century, no one in the USSR and subsequently in Russia even thought that there was a whole layer of trophy hunting culture and high-quality taxidermy tightly connected with trophy hunting. The forces of the UPDK (the Department of the diplomatic corps) conducted individual hunts for foreign diplomats. And that's all. While working at VAO Intourist in the 80s, and then in other state and commercial structures in the field of tourism, I began to be interested in the possibility of organizing and conducting trophy hunts for foreign hunters on the territory of our country. The information base was very scarce, if not to say that it could even be allocated separately in the field of hunting tourism. But, being a zealous hunter, having a higher education behind him, he graduated from inyaz VSPI named after P.I. Lebedev-Polyansky in his native Vladimir and a great desire to explore the possibility of organizing and conducting trophy hunts in the country, I began to look for ways and opportunities to put this idea into practice. Once everything starts to grow together, if you know what you want to achieve and where to go. The paths led me at that time to the Rosokhotrybolovsoyuz, which then turned out to be a skirmisher in the organization of commercial and trophy hunts. Under him, the Department of Foreign Economic Relations was organized, which was then headed by E.N. Stroganov. At that time, this public organization was the leading one in the field of hunting and united the bulk of the lands of societies of hunters and fishermen throughout the country. Thanks to this centralized system, it was possible to carry out a unified policy on the use of hunting resources. And it was thanks to this structure that it was possible to enter the foreign market and organize commercial hunts. Despite the efforts of the parent organization, many societies did not believe in the effectiveness of commercial hunting. For many, at the subconscious level, the stereotype of a quiet life inside themselves and hunting only for members of society, well, and some guests continued to operate. It was the same in our Vladimir OOOIR. By some miracle, I managed to shake the bone thinking of our "masters" from hunting and explain to them the advantages of a new form of farming. Probably the most weighty economic argument worked. Your meat and money for the trophy will be yours! Myths and reality. That's just with the responsibilities of working for a trophy animal, it turned out very badly at first. For a long time, I had to explain that, overcoming thousands of kilometers, the hunter hopes to take with him the trophy he has won, and not just memories of the difficulties of hunting. How many copies have been broken around this issue in order to explain those simple truths that already today seem to be indisputable postulates of trophy hunting. "This is hunting!" the organizers often told me when, due to problems with the organization and the attitude of the huntsmen, the hunter left without a trophy. Then, from behind the hill, various claims were poured into my address, in which I was not directly to blame. But – this is the outfitter's share, to be responsible for the sins of third parties before the company or the client. "Am I a train to go on schedule?!" is one of the typical responses of a conductor or a huntsman of those times that I had to deal with when organizing hunts. And you promised the hunter that we would set off not at 3 p.m. when the huntsman arrived, but at 1 p.m., as he promised, the day before. There was no culture of arranging hunting camps, bases, huts. Sometimes you get to a taiga hut or a hunting base at midnight, and there, sorry, it's such a mess that it's hard to even imagine. And so I had to pick up brooms, rags, clean up, wash dishes. Although the organizer of the hunt could have done all this earlier, before the arrival of the guests. And if we add the most difficult economic situation in the country to the overall picture, then we can imagine how "bread" was given to us in those days. Big problems with gasoline, food shortages, misunderstanding and unwillingness of the Ministry of Internal Affairs to issue permits for the import / export of weapons by foreign hunters, based on the imperfection of legislation in this area. Have there been cases when the plane was already landing at Sheremetyevo, and I haven't signed the RVU form yet?! It took many years to accustom both the hunting staff and the heads of hunting farms to the elementary things of general culture both in hunting and in life. But, despite this, we outfitters still face mistakes, shortcomings, and sometimes just the negligent attitude of the organizers during trophy hunts. I will try to show how it looks and explain why an outfitter is needed during hunting and during the hunting process itself. Separately, it should be noted the inability and unwillingness of our guides at that time to determine the trophy qualities of the beast. For the most part, they didn't care what size the antlers of a deer or an elk were. I had to teach them that, too. To teach to lure the beast during the rut, and not to run after him in vain through the forest. To do this, it was necessary for me to learn how to determine the trophy value of the beast, its habits and features of behavior "in the rut". That's how I learned to attract a moose, and both a female and a male. He even lured a spotted deer, while no guide could do this. A look from the inside. We often hear from local hunters the opinion that we, outfitters, only interfere with hunting. To be honest, I had to hear such a discouraging phrase once during the organization of hunting, already being on the spot, in one of the farms where the spring hunting for grouse and grouse was carried out. That is, they, the locals, know everyone and everything better than anyone in the world. And do not approach them and do not advise. But at the same time, when they clearly fail the hunt, there are a lot of VERY objective reasons why they are not to blame at all. But the responsibility, both moral and material, ultimately always fell on our outfitter shoulders. There were cases when the guides of the organizer of the hunt were just in the trash drunk and could not lead customers to hunt. Then again I had to take the client myself and lead him either to the current or to a sit-down. To attract the beast itself, or to place the hunter on the woodcock pull, or to seat him in shelters on black grouse. The list goes on. But the organizers always demanded to pay the money in full, at the same time. Outfitters and maintainers!!! For some time I had to send someone from my company with a group of foreign hunters. Usually, it was translators. That is, by and large, it is an escort, but not an outfitter. Some companies, I know, and now practice accompanying a group or one hunter with their representative. But he can't be called an outfitter. Such escorts are often not very well versed in the nuances of our profession and work in the field, which can often create conflicts and contradictory situations with the staff of hunting farms. Often, the situation with solving problems created by hunters was largely spoiled by translators, who sometimes voiced to clients what could not be reported to a foreigner a priori. There are many such examples. The maintainer. Hunting in the mountains with my clients, we climbed a very difficult route. In parallel with us, foreign hunters from another company hunted in the same mountains. All the conductors kept in touch with each other by radio. Suddenly our guides say that one of the hunters in the other group died on the ascent into the mountains. The representative of the company accompanying those foreign hunters panicked and began to demand that everyone stop hunting. The guides looked at me and thought what to do. I found out with them all the circumstances of what happened and came to the conclusion that my hunters do not deserve to be abandoned in the middle of a 6-hour night climb on steep slopes and frozen rocks, which took a lot of effort and a lot of time. I insisted on continuing the hunt. There were guides with those clients, who called both the Ministry of Emergency Situations and the police. That is, they were not abandoned. But this nervousness of the one accompanying us all and me in the first place was very outraged. Then, at the base camp, we explained to this young and inexperienced attendant his mistakes and an attempt to present himself as the king of the situation. The role of an outfitter on hunts. Probably, to this day, basically only an outfitter can fully understand the situation on the hunt and provide assistance to hunting clients during the time. There was a case when my presence simply helped a German hunter to reach a trophy bear and get it. Along the way, his physical condition caused me concerns. Pure water groggy condition. Shaking hands, glassy eyes, cold sweat. The conditions were really harsh. The heat is under 30 degrees. Steep climb. Complete lack of water and food. Having a backpack with photo and video equipment on me, I had to take his heavy 9-caliber carbine from him as well. Step by step, I still brought him to the shot, while our guide galloped forward without looking back. That huntsman wouldn't have been able to get that hunter out for a shot, and they would have come back with nothing. And, as the hunter himself told me later, after we went down: "Dmitry, what I did today, I did it for the first time in my life! And I won't do it again." One day, after a 9-hour night climb into the mountains, we did not see any trophy animals, and we had to go down. But the guides suddenly had the idea to go hunt another animal. They offered it to the hunter. The idea was not the best, and could have serious consequences for the hunter. The first day, a difficult climb. The hunter did not react to my warnings and went on. The result! Worn-out legs, great fatigue and two days without hunting. For one year, the hunter could not approach the trophy spotted deer in any way. Something was constantly in the way. And then I suggested that he try to lure the beast. I already had the experience. We heard a roaring male in the forest thicket, but could not see a deer. I began to beckon. And then he appeared, slowly approaching us. After 10 minutes, the hunter got his beast. Sometimes I had to use all my knowledge not only of a foreign language, but also of psychology. Thanks to the excellent Soviet pedagogical education. So, there was one case when we unsuccessfully sat for a few days in the spring on a privade. They were waiting for the bear. He walked around the privada in a circle every evening, but did not approach her. The temperamental Italian hunter, as they say, freaked out, and was already ready to leave, but through long negotiations I managed to persuade him to stay at this place and continue hunting. The same evening the bear came out and was hunted. Without me, the guides would have taken the hunter away, and it is not known whether he would have got the trophy or not. Another case of moose hunting. The hunter shoots at the moose, seriously injures it, but the Siberian giant barely gets up and slowly leaves. I saw the moose go and was sure that it could be reached, but it was already evening and they decided to get it the next day. A team of five people set off early in the morning for Dobor. It was very difficult to make out and find traces of our moose among the many tracks. After several hours of chasing and unraveling the trail lace, the guides were ready to give up and return to base. But my experience of hunting hares and the ability to unravel tracks helped me keep track of our moose and lead both the hunter and the whole team to the trophy, which was obtained to the indescribable joy of the hunter himself. The race of the maral. We agree with the guide about the action plan and the meeting place. He and the client went one way, I went the other, to another mountain range. There were walkie-talkies. At the agreed place at the agreed time, I can't contact and understand where they are and what is happening. A deer is roaring on my slope. It takes a hunter to get it. But there is no guide?! I go out higher on the ridge and find out on the radio that they changed the place and tried to lure out another deer. I had to order them to come up to me quickly. While they were walking, I "passed" my deer, determined its place after the transition, the distance to it and waited for the guide and the hunter, who was then successfully brought out for a shot and got a beautiful trophy. Hunting capricorn. The client takes a shot. The beast runs away. The conductor goes to look at the wound in one direction, I in the other. I was sure that it was necessary to look for a wound there. In the end, I was right. The beast was taken. Wouldn't I be with a hunter client to be? And the hunter walked in the mountains, to put it mildly, badly and it is not known if he could make a 6-hour transition down and up again. There are many such cases, and there is no need to list them all. The main thing I hope is that I was able to show my profession from the inside and tell about the importance of those people who are constantly with you, but always "behind the scenes"! You can learn more about all the subtleties of the outfitter profession in a unique publication of its kind – the book "Outfitter's Notes", the material for which I have been collecting for more than 14 years. All the photos of animals and nature were taken by me personally, all the events are real. In conclusion, summing up, I would like to draw the attention of those hunters for whom we organize hunts so that they do not forget and appreciate the work and contribution of Russian outfitters to the origin and development of trophy hunting in Russia and abroad. Instead of an epilogue! Back at school, while playing volleyball, all of us in the team read the book "Follow Me" by Hirobumi Daimatsu. This book is about how a man who is completely far from volleyball led a team of Japanese girls of a textile enterprise to become world champions for only one purpose – advertising the products of their enterprise. This means that even starting any business from scratch, you can reach the top! Since then, the postulates of this book still help me in life and in my profession. With great respect to all hunters, sincerely yours Dmitry Vstovsky.

My interest in mountain hunting didn't arise immediately like all the inhabitants of the plain. In general, I had to "enter" into hunting twice in my life. I was born and spent my childhood in a village in Western Siberia. My mother's brother was a hunter–trapper. He spent in the taiga for 2-3 months a season, getting furs. My favorite activity in early childhood was watching him disassemble and clean a gun. It's interesting but he never used a rifled weapon, he had a TOZ-34 EP, an Izhevsk rifle and a single-barreled 28-caliber shotgun. Over time, by the age of 13, I began to disassemble and clean his weapons, and I always did it with pleasure. When I was 14, my uncle took me on a duck hunt for the first time, which seemed so interesting that I still remember it in detail. Then hunting trips became regular, and over time he took me to the taiga, where I had a chance to spend the night in a hunting cabin and walked around the winter track. It was just a fairy tale for a fifteen-year-old kid! In the 90s, when I turned 16, I had to leave my father's house – I went to study to be a riverboat driver and a ship mechanic. A couple of years later I was already working on a ship that went to the lower reaches of the Yenisei. Sometimes we hunted for hares or partridges there, but not for the sake of hunting, but for food. The navy remained the main thing in my life until the age of 34. Ten years ago, my life changed dramatically – my family and I moved to the Belgorod region, where I became, as it is called by the navy, "coastal fuel oil". Once I was invited to hunt, and all those emotions, experiences that I lived with as a child, "embraced me ... to my soul.” I readily got involved in the process although hunting there was completely different than in Siberia. It all started with birds hunting, then there were wild boar hunts – on fields and corrals. I went to the Vologda region, where I got a bear on the field, which was also new for me. In the Kostroma region, I took a moose to roar. That hunt made an indelible impression! Further – more. One day I saw a movie filmed by one of the gurus of the Mountain Hunters Club and since then I could not help but think about the mountains and about hunting for a tur. It required serious physical training, as well as special weapons and equipment judging by the film. I started training with physical activity, began to walk a lot. In a few months, I began to pass from 16 to 18 kilometers in one time. In 2017, for the first time I went on vacation to Kislovodsk and there I realized that my hiking achievements is about nothing for the mountains. There were completely different conditions there, other muscle groups were working, there was a lack of oxygen. But the training in Kislovodsk made it possible to prepare for hunting at altitude. It wasn't at extreme training, but I could ascend fifteen hundred meters, and one thousand eight hundred if desired… I went to Kislovodsk for three years in a row and wound circles. When I was able to walk 21, 5 km without much effort, I made sure that I was physically ready. Morally, too. I managed to advance in the study of hunting equipment and weapons during those three years. I realized that the carbines of calibers 30-06 and 243 from my arsenal were not suitable for shooting at serious distances. I purchased a Remington 700 caliber .300 Win Mag, because I didn't understand why spend a lot of money to buy the same "three hundredth " gun, but for high-precision shooting. It was at this time that Russia was legally allowed to engage reloading. I began to study at the school of precision shooting "Shooting Mile" in order to master the new craft for me. Its head Dmitry helped me to master the subtleties of the reloading and the settings of the shooting complex, he opened my eyes to many things. In particular, it became obvious that my Remington was a poker useless for the mountains. The barrel warmed up after the first shot, and the trajectory of the bullet became unpredictable with subsequent firing. I suffered, waiting after each shot for the barrel to cool down, and sold the carbine. Then I bought the Sako S20, and a rifle with a lower recoil – for a 6.5 mm Creedmoor cartridge for training. During the season, I managed to master shooting per kilometer, I began to understand well how to use a ballistic calculator, how ballistic tables worked, how wind, pressure, and so on affected the shot. I became confident that I was ready to hunt in the mountains in terms of shooting. I dealt with the issue of equipment in parallel. I need a rigid fixation of the left foot in order to move in the mountains, due to the physiological characteristics of the body. The optimal shoes were Aka Grizzly with a high beret, which made walking comfortable. I chose a set from Sitka as my clothes, because it really worked. It is cold in the mountains at 3-4 am, then by 9 am the sun comes out and noticeably warms up, at lunch the heat is simply impossible, and you sweat, and at 3-4 pm in the evening there is a sharp cold snap again, and it is fraught with troubles in terms of health with wet clothes. I tested the kit in the Caucasus and added something.Thus, I was ready for tur hunting both physically, and in terms of shooting, and in terms of equipment. It remained for a small matter – to choose the outfitter of the hunt…But it wasn’t an easy matter. The cost of hunting turns out to be very expensive because a limited number of licenses are issued for the tur. Anyway, I wasn't ready to pay that much. I was lucky to meet one person living in Dagestan during my trips to Kislovodsk. His name was Ruslan Halimbekovich, and it turned out, he could organize my dream hunt at a very reasonable price. And I, in my turn, promised to teach him long-range shooting, which was his dream. We were training from May to September, and we managed to go hunting groundhog several times to shoot for long distances during that time. The result was quite satisfactory. I offered my son to accompany me on a trip to Dagestan, and he was a young guy – 28 years old, athletic, he did not need much to train. He gladly agreed, especially since he had long wanted to visit the mountains. Then it remained to pack things in the car and leave Belgorod for Makhachkala. Ruslan Halimbekovich met us in the capital of the republic, helped us get a license, agreed on horse-drawn transport and solved a variety of issues during the expedition. We went to the Rutulsky district, where the hunt was supposed to take place. A mountainous country of extraordinary charm opened up to us behind the car windows, we saw stormy rivers in the depths of gorges, openwork suspension bridges over boiling water, rocks soaring into the sky, houses perched on the very edge of the abyss or terraces descending from the mountains, and generous hospitality of people.We stopped to shoot a carbine in a deserted place on the road. Actually, I tested it at home, but it was necessary to check whether everything was in order after transportation. It turned out that everything was fine.We got to place in the afternoon, and met with a local guide, who said that the turs had risen high because of the warm weather. We would have to make a difficult ascent to a height of up to 3000 meters. And probably even higher. I had never been to such heights before, and that message caused some excitement. However, we didn't go back! We left the car in the extreme village in order to move further on horseback or on foot. That night we spent at the shepherd's cabin. We spent the evening talking, and went to bed early because it was decided to go out before light in order to have time to climb higher.In the morning I went outside and saw… More precisely, I saw almost nothing, except an unusually dense fog. I stretched out my hand, and it became wet in a second.The guide was encouraging, he said that such fog was common at that altitude – 2200 meters, and soon there would be no trace of it. But "soon" did not come soon. The wind had just begun to rise by eight o'clock, and the fog lifted up at all by ten am. We loaded the things on the horses, and began the ascent on foot as soon as it became possible. We had to go up to 2800 and look around. A person has a special state of mind in the mountains, wherever he looks, it takes his breath away. As soon as the lighting changes, the landscape also changes. There are some mountains at sunset, others in the morning, and others in the afternoon. Different views continuously open up when moving, one is more beautiful than the other. It fascinates so much that it is impossible not to fall in love with it. I have already been to Dombay and other ski resorts, but in winter. Autumn mountains are different beyond recognition. I filmed everything I saw, but the camera was only able to give a general idea and was not able to convey the three-dimensionality of sensations experienced by the camera operator.The weather began to deteriorate when we reached the height of 2600. The guide said that we needed to make an intermediate camp. According to him, the wind was "not good", it would not be difficult for it to envelop the mountains with that morning fog. The guide went to look around – if there were any turs nearby while we were looking for a suitable place for a camp. It didn't take very long, when suddenly the walkie–talkie started working - turs were detected! But the guide without binoculars could not determine their gender.I went to him immediately with a rifle and binoculars, and warned the others not to put up tents, just waiting for our return. The march with a slight rise was relatively easy, and soon I was already observing animals in optics. There were only young animals under the age of 6 years and females with babies. Well, I had the opportunity to take pictures of animals on camera that time, but it wasn't bad either.Meanwhile, the wind intensified, and the fog began to rapidly tighten the space. The guide was obviously excited by that circumstance, and we had to go down almost running.Tents were set up in the fog that had already begun to envelop us with an intense wind. The humidity was so strong that everything got wet before our eyes. We put our things in one of the tents, and accommodated into the other two by ourselves – two by two. The gusty wind was raging and becoming stronger with every minute, the tents were almost torn from their places. Fortunately, they were small, with low sail and managed somehow to withstand the pressure of the element.But then, the temperature began to drop sharply along with the increasing wind and thick fog. The thermometer was kept at +12 degrees Celsius during our ascent, then in just a couple of hours it dropped to zero, and then began to go into minus. It suddenly began to rain at 6 pm. It was so intense that streams ran under the floor of the tent. Ice jets of rain beat furiously on the fabric roof until about 11 pm. Then suddenly everything went quiet, and there was a glimmer of hope in our souls that the adventures were over for that day. It lasted for fifteen minutes. But in vain. The tent suddenly began to be desperately hammered by hail, turning into snow, then into rain. We could hardly have dinner.The elements calmed down only by 3 am. We slept in fits and starts, as you might guess.At dawn, at four in the morning, the sun began to rise, and we got out of the tents onto the sparkling patches of snow everywhere.The clothes hidden in the duffel tent were dry thanks to the waterproof packaging, and it could not but please.The sun was rising as fast as if it had been fired from a cannon. The daylight warmed up quickly the air, the ground, there was not even a trace of snow and hail by 7 am. The tents dried up quickly in the wind. If someone had come to us from the village at that time, he would hardly believe that it was winter there at night - the wind was raging, hail was beating, snow was swirling. It looked as if none of this had ever happened!Our task for that day was to climb the pass with a mark of 3000, then we had to descend to 2800 and set up our camp there. We gathered, had breakfast and hit the road. It took us a couple of hours to come to the place where the camp was to be set up. We set up tents, lit a fire, and cooked a normal meal. Everything that got wet and did not have time to dry in the intermediate camp was laid out to dry. And we all settled down to rest, we were clearly needed after a hard night and the climb. But not for all. The guide went to inspect the surroundings. He walked about 500 meters away, and I saw him waving invitingly. I took off from the spot with weapons and optics. When I was next to him, I saw a herd of twenty heads through binoculars. But it was the same thing – there was not a single adult tur, only eight-years old males. The guide was concerned that the animals were not at all where he expected to see them. He expected to find the animals at an altitude of 3,100 m, where there was a circus, in which they usually rested. We had to go back to the camp with empty hands.The next morning, after breakfast, we went up and reached eventually a point at an altitude of 3100, from where the circus was clearly visible. We approached from the downwind side as expected. But all it was done in vain, because the turs had left the snow-covered circus as it was possible to determine from the tracks. So, we had to return to the camp again, analyze the situation and make a decision.A local hunter came to us from the village while the discussion was going on and said that he had seen turs. They went down to the next valley, but it's too late to go there today, it's better to postpone it until the morning. So, we decided.The third day of hunting began again with an early wake up. Our yesterday’s guest volunteered to be a guide. As it turned out later, he was well-versed in the terrain, knew all the trails, all the pathways. We had to go around the mountain and climb up the slope to the ridge. At the same time, the guide led us to the place so that the sun was behind us. It allowed us to inspect calmly the opposite, well-lit slope. Whereas the turs couldn't see us against the bright light. There was a herd of forty-two individuals and seven of them were of trophy quality! The local hunters chose the best one while the animals were quietly grazing. And it took them long time. At the end the tur with the largest horns was determined. I began to prepare for the shot from a very comfortable position. But the turs moved aside while I was doing it so that it became inconvenient to shoot. I changed the place, but it turned out to be unsuitable No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find at least a satisfactory shooting position. I had to compose on the go, as they say. I asked the guide to go down a little lower to watch the herd. Then I press against the stones, rested the right leg against the stone with the outstretched right foot. The carbine was mounted on top of another stone. In general, it turned out acceptable. The rangefinder showed 750 meters. But animals were moving at a slight angle as they approached us. If I waited, the distance could be reduced noticeably, but there was little time to think – the wind was starting to blow. I had done the calculations, and got ready. The turs continued to move in our direction, reducing the distance to 705 meters. I waited for the right moment, when the male I was interested in turned sideways, and fired. I lost sight of the target for a while, but the guide said that there was a hit. Finally, I caught animals in the optics. They were moving quickly, while one of them began to slow down, then got up and fell after a short time.Naturally, the jubilation went over the edge! It was a state of happiness! But then I saw the sad eyes of our new guide. He asked what we were so happy about. He said that we wouldn't be able to get to the rock where the tur lay because we were separated by a chasm. Then a new epic called "Get the trophy" began. It took us a lot of time – the shot was fired around 9 am, but we got to the tur by 2.30 pm only. So, I became a mountain hunter!By the way, we walked 47 kilometers in 4 days, but I almost didn't notice it. Fatigue did not come to me immediately in the mountains, but left without much delay.

Excellent hunting in the Uzbek Tien Shan. There was no good weather on principle, she just mocked us, for 4 days there were rains, and "milk", and snowcalypse, and with the sun came frosts along with fierce winds in the gorges and deep snowdrifts on the slopes, but despite this, I and my wife Tatyana each got a trophy. Tatyana won her hunt at the KGO auction, and although her trophy is not too big, one can be proud of this trophy. Shooting distances were 505 m and 340 m, caliber .300 wm. Trophy: Mid-Asian Ibex (Capra sibirica alaiana), taken in UzbekistanHunting date: 17.11.2022Country: UzbekistanHunting region: Tashkent regionPlace of extraction: PskovOrganizing Company: B-Shikor

Hunting for any mountain ungulates and for hollow-horned ones is a special type of hunting that requires physical endurance and fortitude from a person. Not every hunter meets such requirements and therefore some people doubt: is it worth to take up such a case at all? For those who are not confident in themselves, but want to try, I can advise to start with the simplest hunting for a European mouflon. The fact is that this animal can be found not only in the mountains but in the forests and even steppe regions of Europe, like in Germany, where I have been living in the north of Baden-Württemberg for 26 years. Mouflons are not endemic to continental Europe; they were brought there from the islands of the Mediterranean. It happened so long ago that it is difficult to consider these sheep "non-native". The first documented mention of mouflon on the European mainland was found in... the construction documentation of the buildings of the Palace of Emperor Maximilian II in Vienna. These are papers from 1566! Later, in 1729, Prince Eugene of Savoy transported several sheep from Sardinia to a hunting reserve near the Belvedere in Vienna. In 1736, the mouflons were taken to the Schoenbrunn Palace in Vienna and about 100 years later to the imperial hunting grounds in Leinz. The next step was the relocation of these sheep to other lands of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In 1858 they were relocated to Bohemia (today's Czech Republic), in 1882 mouflons began to inhabit the areas of Nitra, Gomor and Upper Tatras, as well as Hungary. The first time, two dozen mouflons were brought in Germany in 1905 to the Harz and in 1912 to the Schaffgott district. These animals were settled in Poland, Bulgaria, Ukraine and other European countries, mainly in the first half of the twentieth century. Today mouflons can be found in the form of fragmented populations throughout Europe with a total population exceeding 100,000 individuals. It is easier to list the countries in which they do not exist, than vice versa. If we talk about the taxonomy of mouflons, then there are only "maybe" and "not excluded". If we take into account that experts also include Asian urials to mouflons, then it is necessary to combine the most anatomically diverse rams into a group of mouflon-like ones. In any case, these are the smallest and least massive Ovis representatives in the world. I will name European mouflons Ovis aries musimon Pallas, 1811 following the decision of the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature in 2003, in order not to get confused in contradictory nomenclature and systematics. Although, they are probably hybrids with domestic sheep unlike the endemics of Corsica and Sardinia. Three characteristic features of Ovis representatives – body size, coat color, as well as the size and shape of horns in introduced European mouflons vary significantly depending on the habitat of the population. The length of the trunk of males (without a tail) can range from 82 to 128 cm; height at the withers – from 78 to 92 cm; weight range – from 33 to 58 kg. Females are smaller and lighter in all these parameters by 20-30 percent. The coat of adult males is impressively bright both in summer and winter. The short and smooth coat in summer is mainly light to reddish-brown in color darker on top. The saddle-shaped spot of milky white color is somewhat blurred. The beard is inconspicuous and rather dark. The thick winter wool of long and soft wool is much darker, up to almost black and forms a heavy beard in the front of the neck. The white saddle-shaped spot looks brightly contrasting. Males are also notable for their expressive mask: white wool around the muzzle and gray-white glasses around the eyes. Females have to put up with a much less flashy appearance. Moufflon-like sheep are the only ones whose horns do not form a complete spiral. Moreover, supracervical horns generally grow back along the neck in some populations and subspecies. The horns of the European mouflon are elegant and they do not reach slightly a full turn in old males. The European mouflon has a high degree of adaptation to various habitats and survives well in various climatic conditions unlike most sheep. You can found it both on the plain, in regions with intensive agriculture (except avoids wetlands and areas with high snow cover for a long time), and on high mountain ranges. Mouflons can cause significant damage to forestry and agricultural crops, so the number of populations should be strictly controlled. And it's just in good agreement with the interests of hunters. Eight-year-old males are considered as minimally acceptable for trophy hunting. The maximum parameters of the trophy are a very conditional category. The fact is that in response to demand, some farms are engaged in the "production of valuable trophies". They carry out hybridization with domestic sheep for this purpose. As shown by some experts, the super-chord horns of mouflons from European hunting grounds do not have the typical homonymous structure of the horns of Corsican endemics. It's known that the hybridization of mouflons for the sake of improving the quality of the trophy in Europe began at the very beginning of the twentieth century. It is documented that in Hernstein (Austria), mouflons were crossed with breeds of Wallachian sheep (Ovis strepsiceros) with a heteronymous spiral of horns. In Germany, the grey domestic sheep (an ancient breed of domestic sheep) was used for such hybridization. There are significant differences in the morphometry of the horns of all populations of European mouflons due to these circumstances. But the homonymous form inherited from endemic Corsican and Sardinian populations is considered classical. These are tapering or parallel horns with a relatively narrow distance between the tips compared to the largest distance between them. The second form is heteronymous – with diverging horns, the distance between the outward-pointing tips is equal to the widest distance. And the third configuration that indicates active hybridization: the horns are rounded, thin, usually dark brown with a lighter base, and at the same time the annual rings on the horns are clearly visible. As a rule, the length of the horns in adult males is 71-81 cm with a base circumference from 18 to 24 cm; and horns from 90 to 100 cm or more in length, with a base from 27 to 29 cm or more, are found only in favorable habitats. It is worth to note that there are separate populations where a large proportion of females also have horns. It is hardly advisable to talk about the peculiarities of the biology of the European mouflon, which could be of interest to a hunter – it is very similar not only sheep but to ibex too. But it makes sense to mention that this animal is active both during the day and at night, and about two more points – about vigilance and rut time. The first one is important, because mouflon has sharp eyesight, the animal is able to notice the movement of the hunter from a distance of up to 1000 meters. The mouflon makes a whistling sound that alarms other animals, or taps its front hooves if it senses danger. As for the rutting season, it begins in mid-October, and it's easier to detect a trophy single male at that time, since they join to the herd with females and young. The number of mouflons in Germany is steadily growing. Mouflon is found in the wild for the most part, although there are many of them in semi-voluntary conditions of detention. The animal is distributed more or less evenly throughout the country, with the exception of the eastern part, where its concentration is high. The hunters got 6888 individuals n the 2008/2009 season, then this figure has increased to 8,157 heads by 2020/2021. It is recommended to hunt mouflons with a carbine of caliber 7 and higher, but no more than 9.3. It can take weeks of searching to get a record trophy. This is how one of the obsessed trophy colleagues describes it: "It was in mid-December, when I walked and saw a ram with huge horns, he was standing on the edge of a clearing. And I really regretted that I was just walking, without a weapon. But I decided not only to visit that clearing regularly, but also to arrange a trap there. I spent every morning and evening in that clearing for ten days and saw a herd of mouflons several times. Were there trophy size males, you can ask me. Yes, they were. But not the one I was waiting. It came out with the herd on the eleventh day only. So I became the owner of the coveted trophy, the size of which amazed the local hunters.” The cost of hunting trophy European mouflon in Germany for "residents" varies between 1500-2000 euros and is held from August to March. A one-time license may be optimal for most foreign hunters, which is valid for 14 consecutive days. However, hunting there can hardly be attractive for foreigners, since there is strict legislation, including requiring confirmation of annual training shooting at moving targets, or even passing an exam within the framework of the Federal Law on Hunting. There are exceptions for hunters from some EU countries at the same time. Less than a dozen countries can be considered suitable for hunting these animals if we do not mention the tiny populations of mouflons in tens or hundreds of individuals in Denmark, Belgium and other countries, as well as Italy, Poland or Portugal, where no more than 1,000 individuals are harvested per year. Austria is on the top! I travel there with great pleasure. The people there are really good-natured, sociable, always ready to help. Perhaps the harsh climate of the Alps makes them so. It's known, the country's budget is replenished largely by foreign tourists, and hunting trips are just from this circle. There are mouflons living in a natural environment, and aviaries. There is no exact information about the number of the population (and it's typical for most European countries), although the expert population is estimated at 7.5-8 thousand individuals. The annual getting is about 1,700 mouflons. The largest herds of mouflon live in Lower Austria. In the Czech Republic, initially mouflons were bred only in aviaries, but now they are widespread in lowlands with deciduous forests and agricultural land. The hunters get approximately 6,500 individuals every year. The first release of mouflons into the wild occurred in France in 1949, some animals were from Corsica and Sardinia but many populations were of mixed origin, as cases of crossing with domestic sheep became known. There are only three groups (one of them aviary) that descended from the purebred Corsican Mouflon. The approximate total number of 11,000 mouflons in France is distributed over almost 70 populations. The most numerous of them is found in the extraordinarily beautiful mountains of the Central Massif and amounts to more than 2500 individuals. In 1967, a hunting quota was introduced. The average annual hunting is approximately 2000 individuals. The attractive thing is that you can also hunt chamois and red deer there. Mouflons began to be introduced into Hungary more than 100 years ago, mainly in mountainous regions. The estimated population of mouflons in 2005 was 8288 individuals, and 2781 heads were hunted in the same year, of which 448 trophies went to the collections of foreign hunters. Approximately 25% of the total number of mouflons live in aviaries. Hungarian rams are distinguished by the most outstanding trophies: males with a horn length of 85-90 cm are found regularly, but hunters have got specimens with horns longer than 95 cm. Mouflons came to Slovakia from various European countries. Most of the populations are dwelled in the west of the country, and the total number exceeds 8000 individuals and is considered excessive, that's why zoologists recommend a significant reduction. Therefore, the annual hunting harvesting reaches 2000 individuals. Hunting is held here from October 1 to January 31. As an option, you can think about hunting in Croatia. There are not very many mouflons, but environmentalists recommend to reduce the livestock seriously, since the sheep causes great damage to agriculture. The best time for hunting is from the end of September to the beginning of December, but in Croatia you need to be ready to move through quite difficult mountainous terrain. Well, as an option for a Russian hunter – hunting in Ukraine (on the Black Sea island of Jarylgach, near Skadovsk) or in Finland, on islands in the Gulf of Finland and the Gulf of Bothnia. The population there is small, but you can count on a quota of about 20 heads.

To the attention of GSCO members: The following document contains detailed information about the changes that have been introduced regarding the accounting of trophies previously called "Corsican mouflons".Effective April 5, 2022GSCO and a group of visionary French outfitters, known as the French Outfitters Association (FOA), have signed a memorandum of understanding to jointly develop and launch a new and large-scale mouflon conservation program in the south of mainland France. This program is known as the Corsican Mouflon Conservation Program on the French mainland. Below are the details and recent changes in the procedures for accounting mouflon in GSCO as a result of the implementation of this new program. GSCO is grateful to the hunting companies that have already participated in this program, and understands that by the time this message is passed on to our members, even more will join it. This new conservation program is the result of two indisputable facts:1. Hunting is the No. 1 conservation tool, and2. GSCO operates a very successful prize and reward platform that significantly and uniquely impacts both hunting and conservation.HISTORYAs many of you know, a few years ago GSCO indefinitely suspended the registration of Corsican Mouflon trophies. The reasons for this moratorium were diverse, but included, among other things, the following issues and problems:1. The name "Corsican mouflon" was misleading and problematic, since these sheep live on the island of Corsica, where hunting for them is prohibited. A more accurate name for rams that were previously registered by GSCO would be "Corsican-influenced moufflon found on the French mainland" or "Corsican moufflon from mainland France".2. There is a high level of disagreement and commercial competition among outfitters and hunting agents as to which relatively small and isolated areas of the southern part of mainland France contain purebred descendants originally imported from Corsica sheep, or those that may be strongly influenced by these originally imported descendants, but found in neighboring areas.3. Some purebred Corsican mouflons, originally imported from Corsica to the mainland, were bred and harvested in one or more aviaries, and GSCO registers only trophies obtained in free territories.4. In some free lands in the south of mainland France, which were originally the place (places) of resettlement from Corsica, there was no stable hunting stock at the time of the moratorium. The hunting quotas set by the Government for these hunting farms were often zero or only a few units per year due to the low population size. The reasons for the low population level were mainly explained by predation of wolves and poor living conditions in free territories. People close to the situation also expressed the general opinion that there is ignorance about the plight of these sheep, as well as an insufficient assessment of their trophy status. Thus, they were transferred to the category of "bait for wolves".A PROMISING AND PROACTIVE SOLUTIONWorking with a group of French outfitters known as the Corsican Moufflon Outfitters Association on the French mainland, or FOA for short, GSCO and this group decided to create a joint moufflon hunting and conservation program in the south of mainland France, as described below.1. From now on, the Corsican mouillon, which lives in the south of mainland France, will be called the FRENCH CORSICAN MOUILLON (Ovis gmelini Corsicana-continentis). GSCO will transfer previously registered Corsican Mouflon trophies to this new category. The previous category of Corsican mouflon will no longer exist.2. Future Corsican Mouflon trophies must be mined in the region indicated on the attached map using the services of an outfitter member of the FOA. GSCO has adopted this position in connection with the significant environmental measures on the ground (see discussion below) that FOA is implementing in this region. In addition, FOA has agreed to work with other outfitters and include them in the FOA if they also agree to make the same contribution to the preservation of mouflon. FOA will be mainly headed by the French and will be managed and regulated according to the laws of France. Membership in FOA will be actively monitored for compliance with membership and participation requirements (by FOA), and FOA will notify GSCO in the event of a new member joining, losing membership or being expelled.3. The current members of the FOA are listed below, and the total number of members participating in the FOA is expected to grow. The main contact address of FOA is also indicated. The hunter should ask whether his outfitter is a full member of the FOA or not. The FOA contact person will inform GSCO and other organizations about the number of active members.Main FOA contact address: info@frenchoutfitters.orgCurrent FOA members:A. Jean-Pierre Bernon (Club Faune) [President and designated FOA Contact Representative at GSCO], jpbernon@club-faune.com .B. Jerome Latrive (GP Voyages), jlatrive@gpvoyages.comC. Alexandre Houlette (France Hunting Adventure), alex_houlette@yahoo.frD. Constant Boulard (Constant Boulard International Adventures), constant.boulard@gmail.comE. Thierry Fecomme (JF Hunting), jfhunting@outlook.com.Honorary Member is a membership category designed for qualified and reputable booking agents who will use the services of a full FOA member. Pioneers in the creation of FOA and current honorary members are:A. Bo Morgan (Go with Bo) gowithbo@msn.com .Other honorary members may be added or excluded based on the recommendations of the FOA and with the support of one or more full members of the FOA.4. In order to register a Corsican mouflon caught on the French mainland, a GSCO hunter must not only provide a field photo of the trophy and a hunting report, as usual, but also a photo of the prey tag with the tag number. The tag number identifies the mining region. FOA agreed to review these tag numbers and notify GSCO whether this tag corresponds to an acceptable mining location for registration in the Corsican Mouflon category on the French mainland by GSCO. This review will only include free-range animals, as well as whether the hunter has submitted a $4,000 contribution to the FOA to become a member and sponsor of the FOA program for the conservation of the French mainland Mouflon. In addition to the contributions that FOA will charge its full members, these contributions will be used to fund the Conservation Program.5. Mouflons obtained by outfitters who are not full members of the FOA, anywhere in France will have the right to be registered by GSCO as European mouflons. However, GSCO members cannot simultaneously register Corsican Moufflon from mainland France and European Moufflon from the affected region (regardless of the status of FOA outfitter).6. Previous applications submitted to GSCO during the moratorium period (until April 5, 2022) may be submitted to GSCO again. These applications will be considered under the category "Corsican Mouflon from the French mainland" in each case by the GSCO Trophy Registration Committee. FOA has agreed to act as an expert on all applications for participation of the French mainland Corsican mouflon submitted to GSCO.FRENCH MAINLAND CORSICAN MOUFLONCONSERVATION PROGRAMIn addition to their own constituent, administrative and annual membership fees for membership in FOA, full members of FOA will contribute to the implementation of broader conservation practices of mouflon, which will be made possible through their collective efforts, as well as contributions from GSCO members (i.e. supporting members of FOA). FOA will create a corporate structure that will deal with the activities of FOA. FOA and its activities on the ground will be carried out and managed mainly by the French. GSCO will have no legal status or administrative responsibilities under FOA, but FOA will provide GSCO with reports on the status of the Corsican Mouflon conservation program on the French mainland, as well as the current status of membership and finances.The region shown on the map of Corsican mouflons of the French mainland is significantly larger than the small territories of the initial resettlement, and therefore has the potential to positively improve the health and viability of mouflons in a much larger number (perhaps 100 or more stable locations) than previously assumed. This is done in recognition of the history of translocation in these regions, and at the same time there is a real opportunity to positively influence the attitude towards the French mouflon. A high cost means a great effort to preserve the population and a potential change in culture. At its annual convention, GSCO will also auction Corsican mouflon hunting opportunities on the French mainland to help promote this new model of hunting and conservation, so be careful.FOA will be:1. To create and promote a culture of hunting and nature conservation that is favorable for mouflon.2. Engage in rotary mulching of pastures and forage lands favorable and visited by mouflon.3. Create saltworks and therapeutic mineral supplements.4. Protect mouflon from wolf predation in partnership with the Ministry of Agriculture and the Ministry of the Environment of France.5. Conduct regular population counts and surveys to monitor the progress of the program.6. Reintroduce the Corsican Mouflon from the areas of Cadarache with high fences to the free areas of the affected region to improve the gene pool of the Corsican mouflon.RESULTGSCO is not an organization with high operational overhead and is not inclined to take credit for itself or the results of the efforts of others. Thus, we want to pay tribute to the sincerity of our colleagues from the FOA involved in nature conservation and their willingness to be visionary pioneers who came to a unanimous agreement from the very beginning, and who so clearly sought to put CONSERVATION FIRST.For its part, GSCO is a leading trophy accounting organization with a global reach and highly effective impact on conservation initiatives and practices, because hunting is the No. 1 tool in nature conservation. Look forward to new reports and interesting news about the Corsican Mouflon conservation program on the French mainland in future issues of Slam Quest, as well as about the unique potential of GSCO in promoting other similar positive initiatives, cooperation and results.

I have long realized that hunting is a disease.  But I had to fully experience of that disease during my trip to Yakutia. I organize trophy hunts in various regions of the country and beyond and often have to visit various hunting lands and where I help to organize hunting for maral, Siberian roe deer, bear and other trophy animals there.  The organization and conduct of such tours  is very strenuous and hard work, but it still gives me great pleasure. My soul becomes a little uncomfortable when I don't go anywhere for a long time (2-3 months of the off-season.)       I really like these trips because they are interesting and I can see the beautiful corners of our country and neighboring countries; nature in various forms of its manifestation. You can touch those secrets of nature that only a few people have seen before you. Believe me, there are still such corners! There you quench your thirst with crystal clear water from a mountain stream; can eat fragrant berries and brew tea from a variety of roots, adding leaves of useful plants, shrubs or berries there. I don't want to drink tea in urban conditions after such natural delicacies, no matter how high-quality it is.       There is an opportunity to observe various interesting natural phenomena when you are so far from civilization. The last time in Yakutia, we admired the enchanting flashes of the northern lights every night, which was simply impossible to forget. I always watch with interest the behavior of the local population apart from the beauties of Mother Nature. I am interested in the psychology of the peoples that live in this or that territory where we come to hunt.      The aboriginal name of the Sakha people gave the name to the autonomous entity on the territory of Russia - the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). They are excellent hunters and fishermen, like none of the nationalities I have met before. They feel nature, the animal world and everything connected with it. These are the real "children of nature", her creation. I have rarely met such a careful attitude to nature as the modern descendants of the Sakha peoples.       The people I work with during hunting (our guides) will never raise a carbine unnecessarily and won't shoot at hunting animals if it is not necessary at that time. It's a rare thing when you meet such a careful attitude towards nature among the local population. I am far from illusions that all Sakha people are like that, and I cannot make such generalizations. I tell you about what I've seen.      Sakha hunters have great respect for their pagan patron - the God of hunting Bayanai. He is always remembered. As soon as we landed by helicopter and set up camp, bread, tobacco and something alcoholic were immediately "given to the fire". The flash of flame that swallowed those gifts "symbolized" that the gift was accepted by Bayanai. I looked to my guides and adopted the same habit to "give something to fire" by honoring Bayanai and asked him for good luck, food, a good night's lodging if we were somewhere in the taiga or tundra and couldn't reach the hut.       The Sakha people calmly accepted the twists of fate if they failed to implement the plan they had thought out in advance. "Bayanai did not let us over the pass!” So all that was for the best. If he did not allow you the road there by rain, fog or snow, then you need to wait for success elsewhere. As a rule, this is exactly what happens. Their good-natured positive calm attitude always gives them the opportunity to try their luck.      After the noise of the engine of the helicopter that flew away had died down, my three clients (hunters from Hungary); our guides, the cook and I were left alone far from civilization in the Arctic Circle. We had set up camp quickly and had a snack with a hot dinner cooked by Natasha (the wife of one of the guides, Rodion), then we "gave gifts to the fire" and went to the tent, trying to sleep after sleepless nights associated with long–distance flights. It always succeeds with great difficulty due to the large hour difference (8-10 hours). It happened that time. I slept not well with frequent interruptions, despite being very tired. We discussed the physical capabilities of hunters in walking on the tundra, the peculiarities of shooting and some details of hunting moose" on the roar" in Yakutia. It turned out that one of the hunters, Janos (who was the initiator of that trip for the others), was operated on the Achilles tendon of his left leg. He needed rest and almost bed rest instead of being among the swampy hummocks and tallow bushes in Yakutia. But he dreamed of that real hunt for 5 years and could not miss that opportunity to hunt at the last moment. Their hunting friends in Hungary assured them that none of them would leave Yakutia without a trophy moose. And the service would be the most primitive.      It was 6.20 am of the first day of hunting when Rodion came running to our tent and said in a loud whisper that there was a moose right next to the camp behind the stream. We quickly decided that it was a good chance for Janos. And we gave him the opportunity to use that chance. The moose really stood 200 meters away. It was partially hidden by a human-sized willow and the predawn twilight. We decided to approach Janos to the moose. It was a good size trophy bull.  Rodion walked in front, I helped Janos to get into a good shooting position. Those who remained in the camp at that time watched the process from a small hill.       We waited until the moose entered the gap between the bushes, and gave the command to shoot. A shot rang out. The moose walked another 20-30 meters and stood up, directing its gaze in our direction. It was necessary to make another shot so that the beast would not leave, but Janush could not cope with the carbine being in the excitement and insert the next cartridge into the chamber. I tried to help him. The moose disappeared from sight while we tried to solve that problem. Fortunately for us and to the indescribable delight of Janos and his partners, the moose fell in the same place where it stood. So, the first trophy was got in 200 meters from the camp at 6-30 am, the first day of hunting. We celebrated our success immediately and didn't forget about the offering to Bayani. Two more hunting days followed. Each of them brought good luck to one of the two hunters. It was necessary to see how tired the Europeans were after a day of walking on the Yakut tundra. They were exhausted by the local vegetation, the talc bushes, the soil that slurped from the water and hold our foot like a sucker and didn't not want to let go. We had to bypassed or jumped over fallen trees. But the second Janos, and then Shandor, were rewarded with beautiful trophies. There was no limit to their admiration. Hungarian hunters were not spoiled by trophies, they still could not imagine that they got three beautiful trophy moose with beautiful, typical for this area, horns in the real conditions of the Yakut tundra just in just three days! They were even more amazed by the fact that they could see moose right from your camp almost every day.  The guides equipped a primitive observation tower on the trunk of two larch trees on the hillock. It was from there, we watched with our binoculars what was happening around the camp. Visibility was up to 2 kilometers. We even gave names to some of our regular "guests" whom we saw them for several days in a row, and that was necessary to distinguish the "indigenous" population of moose among the passing ones.      It was my turn to go hunting. I also had the right to shoot a trophy moose that year due to agreements with my partner in Zyryanka, Alexander Maheed.  Hungarians, who tired of walking on the Yakut tundra, wished me good luck. But they wanted me to follow my trophy properly, and not shoot it right at the camp. It's a holiday for me, any exit to the hunting lands, and when I also hunt myself, it's a double holiday! I lived with that premonition for the last months before the trip. (I'm a trophy hunter in spirit, and envied my lucky customers, who were already rewarded by Bayani with gorgeous trophies.)      The only thing that didn't allow me to relax in that situation was a sense of responsibility for my work and for the success of customers. But when the tension subsided a little after the effective shooting, and I could switch to my hunting. How often, unfortunately, it happens: "We assume, but God disposes!" I felt symptoms of some kind of malaise on the eve of the hunt. I just felt completely overwhelmed by the fourth day of my stay in the camp. The reason was the fact that one of our guides came to the camp with some kind of viral infection. That infection had successfully passed through each of us in turn. Almost all of us have suffered from that cold disease in one form or another. So, I was faced with a dilemma - either refuse to go hunting and be treated in a camp near a warm stove or to overcome the disease, still go hunting. The decision had to be made, taking into account the weather conditions of the area where we arrived to hunt. The weather there could change in just half an hour and for a long time. A sunny day, which Bayanai has so far gave us, a hurricane could come and cover us with rain or even worse, with snow. It was absolutely impossible for me to relax for that reason, and I decided to go out in the morning. I have learned from many years of practice that the most important thing in that state was not to eat a lot, and drink a lot (preferably hot tea with lemon). We had breakfast and moved to the hunting area.  My guide Fedor took some food in order to have a snack during the day. Two more guides, Ivan and Rodion, went with us. They wanted to pack the meat of previously shot moose for shipment by helicopter and made a landing pad for the helicopter at the shooting site. There were four of us! The noise is enough to scare away all living things for kilometers when such a "crowd" goes hunting. Surprisingly, we were lucky right away, as soon as we approached the place where the first moose was shot.  At first, we saw a female with a calf, then a young male moose 600 meters away. A huge male appeared in the bushes, 400 meters away from us. It scratched its horns on bushes and trees, but wasn't in a hurry to go out into an open clearing where a female and a calf were grazing. Fedor and I made an attempt to approach. We used the terrain, and moved like one four-legged creature, smoothly flowing over bumps and fallen trees All our movements were smooth and well-adjusted. That method of movement allowed to get as close as possible to almost many wild animals. The moose has poor eyesight, and it can look in your direction for a long time without running away It always relies more on its sense of smell and hearing. Thus, we were able to reduce the distance to the female with the calf to 350, and then 300 meters.        At that time, a huge moose male was standing in the bushes and continued to scratch its powerful horns. We hoped the female would continue its journey with the calf, and the bull would follow it and appear in a clearing where it would be possible to make a confident shot.  I had a 300win.Mag SAKO 75 HUNTER carbine with me on that hunt. It was the first time I took cartridges with a CDP bullet weighing 10.7 g from RWS, made by order of BLASER and, subsequently, I was very pleased with the choice of that particular bullet. It was possible to try to shoot through the bushes having such a weapon. Some hunters would have done so. But the hunting ethics did not allow me to do that.       There was still a certain internal struggle for some time. I threw up the rangefinder, admired the horns again, looked at the bull through the sight and decided that everything was in the hands of Bayanai. If he brought the moose to the clearing, I'd shoot; if not, the moose was not mine (although it would be a pity to miss such a trophy). Everything was resolved faster than we thought. Fedor and I just waited, merging with the surrounding vegetation. At that time, the female and the calf turned to the bull, slowly entered the tall bush. All three of them slowly dissolved into the willows. I think that real trophy hunters will understand what I've experienced at that moment. But I couldn't step over my moral foundations, and I didn't see the point. We should work with axes to clear the landing pad for the helicopter at the site of the shooting of the third moose. However, I felt very bad when I arrived at the place. Weakness and chills called into question my further hunting.  It is best to drink strong tea and to relax in such cases. Fortunately, there was a small pile of hay that was prepared, as if specially for me. I apologized to the guys for the forced idleness and explained the reason, then settled down on a hay feather bed. I was right to do just that. I got up like a reborn after 10 minutes of light sleep and was even able to help the guys in clearing the site by working with an axe. Soon we divided into two groups and started on their way back. Then we turned to the place where saw a female with a calf and a huge bull.  To our chagrin, neither those moose nor any others were found. The day was already running out, and we had to move towards the camp. Finally, we came closer to the valley of the Hosky Creek, on which our camp was located. There was an opportunity to view more places where the moose might appear. I didn't know why, but over the past two years, when I went with Fedor and drove clients, it often turned out that I was the first to see the moose.  It happened that time. A good bull was moving in our direction in short dashes from the bottom of the stream. It was constantly looking around, which seemed rather strange to me. Fedor didn't hear well (and, as it turned out later, he already saw poorly due to his not young age), but he ran almost like a moose, and I had to catch up with him to show something, or just stop him I nodded in the direction of the moose and asked about his opinion about the quality of the trophy. He didn't tell me anything definite. Then I realized that I would have to rely only on myself and my own experience of Yakut hunting. I carefully examined the moose and its horns through the eyepiece of a rangefinder and a 10-fold LEUPOLD sight.  The rangefinder did not show the distance Because of the twilight and fog. There was about 400 meters away to the moose according to my calculations. The horns were no more than 18kg in weight and about 1m20cm wide. I strictly aware that it might be the last trophy that I would ever see, I decided to let this moose go. I really wanted to get a typical Yakut subspecies of moose with good trophy qualities. We went on our way. Fedor, as it seemed to me, lost all interest in looking for a trophy moose and completely relaxed. My feet started to freeze from walking in rubber boots all day in cold water, and weakness was piling up again. There were about 3 kilometers to the camp according to my GPS. Soon I saw a dark spot on the edge of the sparse woodland and floodplain of the stream, it could only be a moose, judging by the size.  The spot remained in one place with amazing tenacity and did not move. I touched with my walking pole with a slingshot at the end to Fedor and pointed him at the moose. “It's a cow!” (The female of moose) - he said indifferently and we continued our way. It was almost impossible to see a moose that stood in willows, from a distance of 1 kilometer in the descending twilight. We were still moving along the slope, constantly monitoring the moose.  The moose didn't move. I began already to doubt - maybe I dreamed it?!  When the dark spot was already 500 meters away, I put the carbine on the pole once again to determine the presence of horns in that moose.  I looked through the eyepiece of the sight, gave the maximum magnification and at that moment the moose turned its head. I could clearly make out the horns on its head. There was no doubt - there was a trophy animal in front of us. But what was that trophy like? I will explain all the behavior of the moose before and after that a little later. Then we decided to try to approach the moose at a distance of a shot just for the sake of at least to see the horns. It was getting darker by every minute. We had about 10-15 minutes left to get closer, assess the situation and the quality of the trophy and make a shot, if circumstances allowed. Meanwhile, the air temperature had already dropped below "0" and it felt great. We were dressed quite lightly. We went down to the stream and crossed it, trying to tread as quietly as possible. The moose was about three hundred meters away. It remained where it was with enviable stubbornness. The experience of determining the distance by eye plus the excitement of folding, slight excitement made the rangefinder device unnecessary at the moment. It was clear from the behavior of the moose that it was controlling our movement no matter how hard we tried to make as little noise as possible. It remained a mystery to us at that moment, why did it stay in place all that time?  Fedor constantly insisted on further progress. But when there were about two hundred meters left, I stopped him. I explained my position to him. If the trophy was good enough, then I could shoot it from that distance. The last question left. "What was the quality of the trophy?” I already realized earlier that Fedor practically didn't see the horns, and then he admitted to me that he could not help me in the visual evaluation of the trophy.       I could only rely on myself. I asked Fedor to stay where he was and not move anymore. Then I put the carbine back on the staff's slingshot and stood intently (as much as it was possible at dusk) consider the moose and its horns. Almost the entire body of the moose was covered with a willow. I could clearly see the head with horns thanks to the excellent optics of LEUPOLD. The difference between a high-class sight is that at a critical moment it is its "slightly" better aperture that allows you to consider exactly what you need. But I could not say with certainty that the trophy was worthy, since it did not show up in its entirety.        We were standing in an open place among swampy hummocks. Our feet were up to ankles in water.  Chills from the evening frost, fatigue, a cold infection and cold water covered my entire body. I realized that the longer I stood, the harder it would be for me to aim under such circumstances.      And then, His Majesty chance decided in his own way. I didn't understand why but Fyodor suddenly went to the left. The squelching of his footsteps had to have reached the moose. To my surprise, the moose moved exactly in the direction of Fedor's movement. It gave me the opportunity to finally fully see the trophy. All that happened in some moments.  I could clearly see the shovels of the horns and the long ends of the appendages. I calculated in my mind all the consequences of that day hike, my physical condition and the changeability of the Yakut weather, as well as a relatively good trophy, I decided that I would shoot as soon as possible. I suddenly felt that my whole body was already shivering from the cold when clung to the eyepiece of the sight.  The moment of truth was coming for me as a trophy hunter. I chose a clearing among the willow where I could take a shot at the moose. I looked through the scope, and didn't close the other eye, I controlled the movement of the bull.  I pulled myself together to set me up for a shot. The palm gently squeezed the ergonomic handle, characteristic of SAKO. For a moment, the trembling went away. Moose showed into the field of view of the eyepiece I aimed at it a little. The crosshair was on the body, just behind the shoulder blade.  I touched smoothly the trigger... shot!  And I heard the slap of a bullet on the body of a giant!       The roar of the shot, which broke the peaceful silence of the Yakut tundra, brought everything back to its place. The trembling returned to me immediately. I reloaded the carbine quickly and prepared to take another shot, which Fedor desperately insisted on. But I was absolutely sure that I had hit, as well as that the cartridge and the bullet would do their job. Meanwhile, our moose took two more steps, stopped and ... fell on its side with an anguished groan. I realized that I wouldn't need another shot.  But still kept the carbine ready.  We were at the moose in less than a couple of minutes. It was pass away when we came.       I always feel sorry for the animal I have got, even though it may seem strange to someone. First you shoot – then you regret it?! But the feeling of pity has a different nature. A real hunter is not a butcher. The main thing for him is the hunting process. And confidence is given to you by the realization that you are doing everything in accordance with the Law, the norms of shooting and in accordance with your ethics of a cultural hunter. I took out of my backpack, where all my photo and video equipment lay, a flask of cognac specially reserved for such an occasion, opened it, splashed some on the ground in gratitude to Bayanai and handed it to Fedor. He did not drink, but the situation demanded and he took a sip from the flask. We paid the last respects to my beast; I took a couple of sips. It immediately pleasantly burned the throat and dispersed the blood. It allowed us to take several pictures, almost in the dark, and gut the moose so that the meat would not be lost. A lot of fallen trees, dense tallow undergrowth, soft loamy soil with an abundance of water, which holds your foot like a sucker, made our moving even during the day not easy. It seemed that you pass two, or even three km instead of a kilometer . Walking in complete darkness in every possible way complicated the ability to navigate and posed a danger of bumping into a sharp knot sticking out towards us.       The camp was already not far away, only 1.3 km, judging by the GPS readings.  Thanks to this device, it was possible to choose the shortest path and successfully reach the destination without physical damage.        We were met in different ways at the camp.  The Yakut guides had some doubts about our success. The reason was that everyone heard the only shot, but not everyone believed that it was an accurate one. My Hungarian hunters were absolutely sure that I had got a moose.  We had discussed a lot of hunting topics with them throughout those days, including the ethics of shooting. I explained to them my position on this issue. That's why when a single shot was heard in the camp, they assured the guides that Fedor and I had won a trophy.       Now I will explain what remained for Fedor and me and for you readers behind the scenes. The reason why that moose stubbornly stayed in one place was the presence in the immediate vicinity of the female, which we saw every day from the camp, and which was guarded by that male. In addition, the guides who left Fedor and me earlier that day, saw that male was fighting with another contender for a female just in the very clearing from which I fired the shot. They watched that performance for several minutes and were amazed by the force of the blows of powerful horns and the grace of the movements of the Yakut giants.  The reason why the second moose, we saw, was running and looking back was that it had lost the fight and was afraid of being chased by the moose we approached later.       Then there was a little fuss in the camp, Natasha (our cook) quickly set the table. It was only at that moment that I began to fully realize that I was already the proud owner of the trophy of a typical Yakut moose (Kolyma subspecies). It was impossible not to say a toast of gratitude to our guides for their competent work. Then we paid tribute to Bayanai for his kindness to us and a generous gift in the form of a good trophy. I drank a little cognac, ate a little snack and I apologized to my colleagues and went to bed, as I felt completely exhausted. Illness and fatigue could not but affect.      The next day, after a little rest, we were going to walk to the moose. It was necessary to remove the skin and butcher the meat, prepare it for transportation, take the head with horns to the camp for boiling. And I wanted to take good photos with my honestly obtained trophy. The Hungarians began to congratulate me once again and helped me take good pictures after they saw the giant and its horns. I cut off the beard of the moose without violating local traditions and hung it on a bush of tallow at a height slightly below human height.  We butchered of the carcass quickly and prepared the landing site for the helicopter, which should sit down and pick up the meat.      There were still a few days left before the departure from the camp and we devoted all that time mainly to household chores and cooking trophies. But I would like to highlight one event in particular.        One of us noticed a moose not far from the camp on the opposite slope of the stream. The moose was small by Yakut standards. It was moving towards the camp. I immediately had an idea - to try to photograph it. But it was necessary to get as close as possible. The wind was from the direction of the moose for my luck. The moose relies mainly on the sense of smell and is able to smell smoke at a distance of up to 3km not distinguished by good eyesight It was necessary to take into account the peculiarities of the behavior of males during the rut. They can attack people at this time. Therefore, I chose a place next to a tree so that I could climb it in case of an attack by the moose.       I could not overcome only a fairly high willows, which could be in the frame and make shooting problematic in terms of focusing. I froze among those willow bushes, and watched carefully the huge silhouette of the moose moving in my direction. That male was quite young, no more than 4-5 years old. 50, 40.30 meters. Bushes interfere with shooting. I was feeling the same excitement at that time as I was on the hunt. Then the moose appeared 25 meters away from me and I manage to take some pictures. The shutter clicked treacherously for an animal photographer. The moose stopped and turned its head in my direction. I froze holding the camera near thee face. I knew perfectly well from practice that it was at that time that I should freeze and not a single muscle of mine should move. It took me for a certain part of the environment, and took a few more steps slowly and was already 15 meters away from me. I did another series of camera "shots" and I froze again. The moose took two more steps. 12 meters! It looked straight at me. I was sure that there were one or two good shots, I decided to shoot when that giant was looking right at me. It was interesting to me, at the same time, to study its behavior in that situation. I took all the pictures at that time without moving. The moose heard the noise of the shutter only. But no one had invited it to the photo studio until now, that's why it did not know the nature of the shutter sound. At the same time, I remained motionless, the wind was from the moose to me, which meant that it did not see any danger. So, it stood in thought for 1-2 minutes between me and our camp. I experienced an indescribable feeling of unity with nature at that time, when a huge wild moose stood 12 meters away from me without being scared, and therefore my presence was not alien to the surrounding nature. I could hear it was breathing. I even saw its huge eyelashes and the confident look of its deep dark eyes. I could hardly to describe my feeling of what was happening around me at that moment!    We were all struck by the growth under the lower jaw of that moose, which we simply called a beard. Even local hunters hadn't yet seen a beard of that shape in local moose. A relatively small outgrowth in the front of the beard turned into a wide and long outgrowth closer to the body.      I was able to press the camera shutter button a few more times. The moose froze, looked around and ... slowly disappeared among the bushes and fallen trunks in search of the partner for the continuation of the Kolyma moose. I sincerely wished it good luck and thanked Bayanai for such a close acquaintance with a representative of his kingdom and another generous gift from him.Dmitry Vstovsky

My previous experience of hunting in the Caucasus mountains was filled with incredible adventures, full of happy and annoying moments. That hunting for the Kuban Turin in early October in the Karachay-Cherkess Republic was rich with amazing events that it would be quite possible to make a multi-part adventure film based on them. Let me tell you everything in more details. In recent years, at the beginning of the hunting season in August, I send my SUV to the North Caucasus. The car is full prepared for hunting with the latest technology and loaded with the necessary mountain equipment and ammunition. I like that feeling. I get double pleasure: not only from the hunting process itself, but from driving a high-speed SUV and steering on mountain roads. Part 1 My way to there. I arrived at the Mineralnye Vody airport, without luggage. I received a weapon without delay, then loaded quickly into a hunting SUV, which was already waiting for me in the parking lot, and moved in the direction of Karachay-Cherkessia. Three hours on the way flew by unnoticed. I was driving along picturesque roads, where endless valleys with grazing herds of sheep and semi-wild herds of Karachai handsome horses were replaced by mountain landscapes with snow-capped peaks of the Caucasian ridge. Suddenly I felt that it took my breath away from that road, from the incredible views of the Caucasian nature. I realized that hunting for me began at that moment, when I started my journey surrounded by the views of the Caucasus mountains. Later I met with Kemal Batchaev, an outfitter and hunting organizer, with whom we had already become friends. I don't know for what merits, the Almighty sends me so many wonderful people on my life, and especially on the hunting path, and Kemal Batchaev is a vivid example of that. He is a professional in his business, and he is a wonderful person in ordinary life. It was getting close to evening. Kemal informed me that it had been raining in the mountains for two weeks, the roads were washed out, and there was a thick fog on the passes and in the gorges. We had a little snack and drank tea, then changed into warm mountain gear, and moved into the mountains in two cars. It is risky to go to the mountains by one car in difficult weather conditions, it is safer to go by two, the one can help pull the other one if it's necessary. The distance we had to drive to the base camp was 30 km, but it was not an easy way. The road (if you can call it that) was ironed by rain in several places and was cut by a deep track from logging trucks in other places. I had big doubts when saw the condition of the road on which we had to go to the base camp. At first it went along the beds of mountain rivers with a strong current, then it got dark very abruptly and a thick fog began. I was driving focusing on the taillights of the UAZ in front. We crossed several mountain rivers, then the road began to rise higher and passed through the forest zone. It climbed up to alpine meadows in a serpentine, and descended through the passes again. It seemed to me each time when the UAZ, which drove in front of me, driven by Kemal's assistant, a young highlander, a hunter Ashab, got stuck in a mud trap that we would spend the night there, or we would overwinter. But each time it broke out of that ambush in some unimaginable way, and we continued on our way. Could you imagine my surprise and joy when we overcame the next pass, and the fog disappeared abruptly as if someone had turned it off. A magnificent starry sky with a huge brightly shining moon opened overhead, the night became lighter, and lights loomed down by the river - these were the lights of our base camp house. It was our first "impossible was possible" on that hunt. Part 2 Hunting Day #1 The base camp consisted of a small stone house with a simple way of life, in which shepherds live. They call such a dwelling "gosh". A hot dinner of delicious tur meat was waiting for us in Gosh. We went for bed after dinner. I once again looked out into the street before wrapping up in my sleeping bag to look at the magical beauty of the starry sky, and in anticipation of good weather and high chances to finally get the long-awaited trophy of the Kuban tur. The morning greeted us with a gloomy sky, drizzling fine rain and fog coming from the peaks of the mountains. We had a leisurely breakfast hoping that the weather in the mountains was unpredictable and could change several times a day, then we began to prepare to go. We went hunting on horseback. Since Kemal was hunting in those mountains for the first time, the guide Maskhad was with us. He grew up there and knew that hunting area very well. We just moved away from the camp for about 20 minutes, when Maskhad detected a wolf running away at a distance of 350 meters, and I heard the command to shoot. I dismounted as quickly as I could and prepared for the shot, but it was too late - the wolf of gray color and impressive size disappeared behind the nearest ridge. We were upset that it was not possible to get the gray robber, which causes significant damage to the local farmers. The journey to the hunting place on horseback took us about three hours, and it was drizzling rain for all three hours. The sky was finally covered with heavy clouds when we climbed higher on the ridges, wet snow began to fall, and snowfall had already begun with strong gusts of wind, a real blizzard with zero visibility when we got to the place where the huntsmen had seen the big male of the Kuban tur two days earlier. We had nothing to do but to dismount, then we tied our horses to the rocks, and hid ourselves in the nearest rock, hoping to wait out the bad weather. So, we waited there without moving for some time and got pretty cold and wet. It became clear that there was no improvement in the weather and we had to start the way back while it was light. The return journey could be very difficult in the dark in such weather conditions. The local shepherds, hunters who know that area perfectly, lose often their bearings in the mountains due to fog and bad weather and get into very difficult situations. As soon as the blizzard subsided, we hurried back to the camp in order to have time to pass the difficult trails while it was still light, and there were plenty of them on our way. It was dead night when we got to the camp soaked and frozen, then we had dinner and went to bed. Part 3 Hunting Day #2 The morning of the second day was illuminated by a clear cloudless sky, and I was finally able to enjoy the beauties that surrounded our home. A person inside becomes as beautiful and clean as the world surrounding him from the outside, everything changes inside a person from the sight of such an amazing nature, bad thoughts and worries go away, it becomes somehow childishly easy and carefree. We had a quick breakfast, got ready, saddled the horses and moved out to hunt in the same group. We followed the same route as yesterday, but the sensations were different, as if they were different roads in different worlds. Yesterday we were in a limited space, enclosed by a veil of fog, and the day we went it was an endless blue sky overhead with a warm autumn sun, majestic snow-capped mountains, emerald meadows, where I saw herds of legendary Karachai horses. The panorama changed after each pass, and became even more beautiful, I caught myself thinking again: "That's why I still love hunting!". It took us three hours to get to the hunting place, and they flew by unnoticed, we dismounted, tied our horses and went to binoculars. My guides chose an viewpoint that we could see four gorges from top to bottom, as if in the palm of my hand. We looked around carefully but found nothing, changed the location, crossed the pass to another plateau, then made another crossing, but we did not find anything except one small herd with females and young, but they did not interest us in any way. I suggested that yesterday's bad weather had a more global effect, and the animals we were interested in, left that hunting area. The second guide Maskhad agreed with my conclusions. I want to admit honestly that the absence of the animals did not upset me. I got pleasure from the process itself, from contemplating the beauty of the local nature, , how the hunters say in such cases: "Hunting is not a shot," "... there will be a reason to come back again.” In the morning when we had breakfast, I told my outfitter and friend Kemal that I need to return to Pyatigorsk today in order to fly from Mineralnye Vody to Moscow the next day regardless of the result of the hunt, since already on Monday I definitely need to be present at an important meeting in the office. So, I reminded carefully my guides that we should complete the search as soon as possible and return to the camp. But it was not there, Kemal Batchaev would not be Kemal Batchaev if he just took and surrendered to circumstances. He smiled at my suggestion, said that he needed to move away, and left in an unknown direction. He returned thirty minutes later. I saw even from afar, his burning eyes and gait and felt that something was about to begin…At last he approached us and reported that he detected a group of males on the back side of the ridge, lower down the gorge, on the border of the forest zone and rocks. I got up from the spot without hesitation and hurried after Kemal to the viewpoint from where the turs were visible. We came to the place, Kemal pointed me the direction and I saw at a distance of 1550 meters a group of 4-5 males. They were lying motionless on a ledge above the forest part of the mountains. My brain refused to answer the question of how Kemal could have discovered them. Dear reader, that was the second "impossible was possible"! Part 4. Approaching the trophy. Kemal and I decided that to approach the beast for a shot immediately, but everything turned out to be more complicated than we expected. Maskhad, who knew every path in those mountains perfectly well, was perplexed by our self-confident decision. He even tried to to cool our ardor, and informed us that the animals were in one of the most inaccessible places in that area and that even if we managed to approach them unnoticed at a distance of a shot, and even if I shot, then the beast would fly off the cliff after hitting and fall in such a place that it would be impossible to find and get a trophy. Kemal listened attentively to Maskhad's arguments, which he spoke in his native Karachai language, then examined the terrain once again and the route we were supposed to follow, turned to me and commanded "Slava, follow me," and Slava was just waiting for that command. Kemal and I started to approach the male, and Maskhad headed in the opposite direction, where the horses were tied. Dear reader, I could say with confidence that approach to the shot was the most difficult in my hunting career. As a result, Kemal led me to a shot distance of 325 meters. The shooting position was extremely uncomfortable and unstable. I made all the necessary corrections on the optics, but I could not aim confidently in any way, the moment before the trigger was pulled, the earth and stones went out from under my feet, and I slid down several meters and so several times. Then Kemal put something under my feet, I felt a confident emphasis, combined the aiming point under the shoulder blade of the lying mighty male and pressed the trigger smoothly. I heard the characteristic slap of a bullet hit, the tur jumped up, fell off the cliff and flew down, doing incredible somersaults in the air as in slow motion, and disappeared behind a mountain range. I think there is no need to describe my feelings, every hunter knows what it is like to get a long-awaited labor mountain trophy. Part 5 Kemal and I congratulated each other, took a little break, and when the adrenaline level in my blood returned to normal, we began the path to the possible place where the trophy fell. The distance of the shot on the rangefinder was 325 meters in a straight line, but in reality, we walked more than 1.5 km, we forced three ridges, overcame incredible obstacles, walked along impassable animal trails. At last, we found a more or less level place, where I wanted to sit down and rest for a while, but suddenly a hissing viper jumped out from under my feet. At first, it took a defensive position, and then went on the attack in my direction. My brain assessed the reality of the threat instantly my lower limbs, without waiting for a command from the brain, catapulted me from that place and when I landed at a safe distance. I turned around and saw that Kemal was standing in the place where the viper was, the snake's tail was writhing over his boot, and the head of the venomous reptile was somewhere under the sole of Kemal's boot and was no longer hissing, soon the snake's tail stopped beating. When Kemal lifted his leg, I saw an impressive-sized viper with a flattened head on a stone. I always tapped and trampled any place before I sat down and rest somewhere after that incident. I didn't remember how long we were walking to the place of the possible fall of the trophy, but when the guide said that we had reached and we had to look on the mountainside within a radius of 100 meters, twilight was beginning. We split up, Kemal went to look up the mountain, I went down. What a joy I had in my soul when I found the trophy of the Kuban Tur, it was "the third impossible was possible". The male was hanging on the mountainside with its horns hooked on a tree, it was a large horned male aged about 10-11 years. I took a few pictures with the trophy, then we started cutting up the beast without wasting time. We decided not to take meat since we still did not understand how we would get out of that remote place. We only take off the cape of the trophy to make a stuffed animal and hidden it from predators on a high tree, and the trophy itself was covered with stones, after removing the insides from it. It was already dark when we finished working with the trophy, and we started to walk in an unknown direction. Kemal turned on some kind of naturally built-in navigator in his head, and I followed him silently, making notches on trees at his command. We ascendeda about 300 meters up the mountain, came out of the forest zone, and I could not believe my eyes when I saw a Maskhad with horses 150 meters away from us, there was no limit to my joy and happiness, it was "the fourth impossible was possible.” Maskhad knew that there was the only the exit from that canyon in that place, but how Kemal understood it and took us in the right direction remained a mystery to me. We saddled the horses without wasting time and arrived at the camp in the dead of night. But a difficult way home was still waiting for me. Part 7  The way back. Everyone at the camp urged me to spend the night and leave in the morning, but I was adamant that I needed to leave it the same day if I want to be in Moscow on Monday. I collected all my things hastily, loaded them into the car, had a snack on the go, then thanked warmly the organizers and all my companions, I set off on my way back (around 11 pm). Ashab, Kemal's assistant, went with me as the second passenger, assistant and guide. We dropped the tire pressure to 0.9 atmospheres for better cross-country ability, but it became obvious from the very first meters that there was almost no coupling with the road of my special mud wheels. The condition of the road became even worse for two days of my stay on the hunt. The complexity of the situation was that we had to climb steeply uphill for about 1.5 km, then the road went for 30 km along the ridges – that was the most passable part of the way. We drove only 500 meters from the camp, when the SUV in low gear, with all-wheel drive and 4X4 locks, stopped moving. All four wheels were spinning at the same time, but the car stood rooted to the spot and only sticky mud fell off the wheels in large chunks and flew down from top to bottom like mud hail. Fortunately, there were large boulders on the edges of the road, and my guide and I used a winch to hook the cable to the stones and tried to "crawl" up slowly. Every time the winch pulled the car up to the tied stone, we, knee-deep in mud and armed with headlamps, looked for other boulders higher up the road, clung to them and continued to crawl centimeter by centimeter. Together, we overcame about 200 meters more, approximately to the middle of the mountain. Then Ashab told me that there were no more stones to cling to, it was impossible to move on. I couldn't say how I was upset and depressed. It was the dead night and I stay almost alone far away in the Caucasus mountains, covered in mud, with a stuck and immobilized car, I was completely exhausted. There was no danger to our lives, but I began to realize that could do nothing more and that nothing and no one could pull me out of there at the moment. I raised my head somewhere up, looked at the black sky without any gaps, and I turned to the God with a prayer for help. Then I stopped looking at the murky, impenetrable sky and the thought came to me that we could only be pulled out of such a situation by a UFO that flew straight from another galaxy I had just voiced that thought in my head, when SUDDENLY, a faint flickering light appeared from that distant point of the black sky on which I focused my gaze. At first I thought it was an imagination, but the flickering light was clearly moving in our direction, sometimes it disappeared, but then it reappeared and became brighter and brighter, and then it completely split and we realized that some kind of transport was moving towards us. Dear reader, that was the fifth "impossible was possible"! After a while we heard the sounds of a heavy truck engine, but it was still very far away from us. I could hardly believe in the miracle that happened to us. There were still crazy cranks in the world besides me who might have some business in the dead of night in the impassable mountains About an hour later, a three-bridge URAL all-terrain vehicle (logging truck) drove up to us. Could you imagine my surprise and delight when I saw my colleague from the Club of Mountain Hunters, Ivan Khromov from the city of Ivanov among the passengers of the all-terrain vehicle. Ivan and I sincerely joked and laughed at each other…… The driver of the all-terrain vehicle took us on a trailer without persuasion and easily lifted us to the top of the ridge. In the morning, my guide Askhab and I reached the village where Askhab lived. I left him at home, and went to Pyatigorsk, where flew to Moscow in the evening of the same day. On Monday morning, I was in the office, as it was planned but an important meeting did not take place, my counterpart could not come - he fell ill with covid)). Take care of yourself)!

I seat at my desk in class, close my eyes and find myself in a forest thicket. It's very quiet all around, the pine smell hits my head, and I go, not knowing where to go. There are no thoughts in my head. Sometimes a woodpecker knocks. There is no mosquito. Probably, it's the beginning of April, I could hardly meet the remnants of winter in the forest, all that remains of it is a feeling of coolness and white patches of snow in some places. Time has stopped. I can hear a blackbird singing its tunes. Everything below my feet is purple, or white, and I walk carefully so as not to touch the primroses of the forest. It'd be nice to breathe deeply for the future, to use at any moment of your life, especially when you are tired reflection overcomes, you can catch the taste of spring. The tops of the trees rustled, the old forest creaked, the spring coolness pulled. The mighty old-timers began to speak, the young ones whispered, somewhere in the thickets of bushes a soft but sonorous song of a robin was heard. I stopped to listen, and became an accidental witness of the forest drama.  There was muttering from the side of the swampy woodlands, where it is difficult to pass because of last year's grass and young aspen. Is it really a black grouse? I moved cautiously, and came to the edge of the forest. That's right, a few males were jumping up and muttering in a clearing in the middle of moss swamps, and a few more were sitting right there on the tops of blackened pines. Later, they flew down and also began to strut with an important gait, spreading their wings in different directions, fluffing their tail and frowning their fiery eyebrows. It was the first time when I saw a black grouse place. It was amazing natural action! The coughing females responded to the battle cry and flew from all sides, nimbly breaking into the thick of events, warming up the already militant males. The muttering of the birds increased, and they began to chase each other, getting into fights, pecking at each other's heads so that only the feathers flew. I could barely contain myself, trying to cope with the excitement. I should stand and not twitch, but I was throwing in a sweat. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a gun. I felt a penetrating feeling of some kind of joy, rare, amazing luck, which can be compared with the first independently caught fish, with the first trophy taken, a real enthusiasm. I wanted to run and catch at least one grouse with my hands! On impulse, I began to make my way closer. Then I heard the flapping of wings and chuffing very close. I accelerated my step along the hummocky lowland, bended the head and anxiously pushed the sharp branches of the shrub away from my face in different directions, when suddenly there was a crash from a stand that had fallen to the floor and heard the noise of my classmates' voices. The sun was already shining quite in spring outside the window and lowered its rays directly on my desk, which made it warm and sleepy. My smile and silent misunderstanding of what had happened arouse the interest of the guys, but I hadn't yet fully understood myself where I was, and what actually happened. Nikita was writhing next to me from barely restrained laughter. “Black grouse!” - I said aloud, scratched my head and stretched shyly. Natalia Anatolyevna looked at me and asked if I remembered everything today. Of course, I did. Anyone who saw with his own eyes a black grouse, would never forget it.

Bozeman, Montana. January 27, 2022. The Wild Sheep Foundation established a new award in 2022 named the "Argali Conservation Achievement Award". It was developed to recognize an individual or organization who has contributed substantially to Argali conservation. It requires the recipient(s) be a citizen of one the Argali range states and to have significantly contributed to conservation of this species. The first recipient of this award, announced at this past Sheep Week® convention in Reno, Nevada is His Excellency Rustami Emomali, mayor of Dushanbe, Tajikistan. His Excellency Rustami Emomali is also the founder of the Association of Hunters of Tajikistan. Because of his dedication to conservation, Tajikistan now holds at least 25,000 Argali, 4000 markhor and 4,000 Bukharan Urial. Oxus Holding of Tajikistan sent a letter of nomination for an award listing actions and accomplishments he has been directly involved with in Tajikistan Argali conservation. The impetus for creating this award was based on this outstanding nomination. Contributions from His Excellency Rustami Emomali include: • As a deputy head of the Tajikistan Youth Union, he was the key player in promoting outdoor education, conservation, and nature friendly hunting.• Founded the Association of Hunters of Tajikistan, playing a historic role in the conservation of game species in Tajikistan, greatly reducing poaching.• Played an essential role in legalizing international conservation and sustainable hunting in Tajikistan.• Promoted a new 2011 law that promotes wildlife conservation and sustainable management of game species that led to establishment in Tajikistan of several dozen conservancies and concessions, thereby establishing an effective conservation network.• Led Tajikistan in becoming a member of CITES, enabling and regulating sustainable trade of wild sheep and goats with the European Union, USA and Canada.• In the last 5 years, His Excellency Rustami Emomali established the Khutalon, one of the largest conservation zones in Tajikistan, which now holds the largest Bukharan urial population. His Excellency Rustami Emomali was presented this award, in absentia, during the Wild Sheep Foundation Sheep Week® Conservation Night, held January 13, 2022. The Wild Sheep Foundation Board of Directors, Conservation Committee and Conservation Staff congratulate His Excellency Rustami Emomali for being the first recipient of this award and for his outstanding contributions to Argali conservation in Tajikistan. His Excellency Rustami Emomali is a true hunter conservationist and Tajikistan patriot.The Wild Sheep Foundation (WSF), based in Bozeman, Mont., was founded in 1977 by wild sheep conservationists and enthusiasts. With a membership of more than 8,500 worldwide, WSF is the premier advocate for wild sheep and other mountain wildlife and their habitats. WSF has raised and expended more than $135 million on wild sheep habitat and population enhancements, education, and conservation advocacy programs in North America, Europe, and Asia to “Put and Keep Wild Sheep On the Mountain”®. These and other efforts have increased bighorn sheep populations in North America from historic lows in the 1950-60s of 25,000 to more than 85,000 today. www.wildsheepfoundation.org

This interview with the unique person, a hunter, a local historian and a writer, was taken from Valery Yuryevich Yankovsky in Vladimir on the eve of 2010."VAN" means a PRINCE!The year of the tiger according to the Eastern calendar is coming. Why was the tiger so honored that one year out of a 12-year cycle was dedicated to it? Despite the fact that a powerful and formidable bear was not awarded such an honor! Why do people love a tiger? Are they afraid of it more than they respect it?We will try to find answers to these and other questions together with a very interesting person, a hereditary hunter and writer Valery Yurievich Yankovsky. People who are interested in hunting and traveling have probably read the novels and stories of Valery about the Russian Far East, Korea, Manchuria. A fascinating description of the beauty of the Primorsky Territory and hunting for wild animals cannot leave indifferent real adventurers, hunters and nature lovers. You can learn a lot of interesting things about endemic plants, birds, butterflies of Primorye in his stories about the animal world of Primorye. But stories about life in the kingdom of the Ussuri tiger arise particular interest. We decided to turn to Valery Yurievich as a person who saw that interesting animal in its natural habitat at a very close distance, heard its breathing and a menacing growl.D.V. Valery Yurievich, you have seen a tiger more than once from a distance of several steps. How does it look like?V.Y. The tiger is a large representative of the feline. The size of an adult tiger can be 2.5 - 3.5 meters from the nose to the tip of the tail. The average weight of a tiger is from 100 to 200 kg. Once I have managed to get a tiger weighing about 300-350kg and about 3.5 meters long. It was the largest specimen I'd ever seen. This beast is very beautiful and graceful. Its bright orange color with black and white stripes strikes everyone. This fur color is patronizing and harmonizes well with the colors of the autumn forest of Primorye. All the beauty of this graceful animal can be seen only in its native home - in the forest. I have a very negative attitude towards keeping wild animals in circuses, zoos, and especially in mobile zoo cages, where the animals are kept in cramped cages like a prison cell. A tiger is not a beast to admire through iron bars.D.V. Why do you think the tiger is so revered in the East?V.Y. It's not easy to understand the oriental psychology even for me though I've spent many years there and have a rich experience of living in Korea, China and communicating with representatives of local nationalities. The Chinese claim that the Chinese character "WANG" is depicted on the tiger's forehead with black lines - one line vertically and three across - which translates into Russian as "PRINCE, MASTER". So, it turns out that our Mother Nature gifted this beautiful beast with such a sign (a special sign). The tiger inspired fear and respect to the local population and was a symbol of beauty and strength! None could even touch the game got by the tiger. This could lead to the dissatisfaction of the master of the taiga, and it could begin to take revenge on people.D.V. Does the tiger justify having such a mark on his forehead?V.Y. You should take a closer look at how this beast moves and everything will immediately become clear to you. It has truly princely or royal tread: unhurried, proud. I think that the tiger is fully aware that it has practically no enemies in its habitat. It is the highest step of the food chain. The tigers walked calmly around Vladivostok at the time of the beginning of the development of Primorye. They kept in fear the population of Korean and Chinese villages up to the Second World War and during it. They came to the villages and took what they wanted: livestock and dogs, as a true prince took his tribute.D.V. You have been hunting for tigers with your father and brothers for many years. It is clear that any real hunting of an animal in its natural habitat is difficult. It is necessary to know a lot about the beast itself, its habits when chasing. What features of tiger's character make it stand out compared to other wild animals?V.Y. The tiger is very cautious and secretive despite its impressive size. It is very difficult to find it in the forest. The tiger always appeared out of the darkness of the night silently even when we were waiting for him in a crouch and disappeared silently when it noticed danger.A tiger is a very smart animal. It obviously planned its every attack on animals in Korean villages perfectly. We judged by its tracks and the beds that found in the morning near the cattle pen or on the edge of the village. The tiger practically never took risks. It clearly calculated all its actions and movements in advance.The tiger is a very fast animal. When my grandfather started to develop the peninsula, which was now called the Yankovsky Peninsula (in his honor), he bred a breed of horses capable to work in the conditions of the Primorye climate and a large number of blood-sucking insects. Breeding material was imported from mainland Russia and America. It took him many years. And when the first breeding specimens of small but hardy horses were bred, tigers got into the habit to come to the pen and kill and drag mares. Thus, they caused great harm to the results of breeding work. Tiger is the curse of horse breeding. My grandfather Mikhail Ivanovich Yankovsky thought so. The tigers dragged away about 50 heads of horses, not counting cattle from the Yankovsky Sidemi farm in Primorye.The hunters began to guarded the pen at night. But the tiger's movements were so swift and thoughtful that the hunters did not even have time to make a shot sometimes. The beast jumped over the fence of the paddock, killed the horse and disappeared with it in the dark.D.V. If we compare the behavior of a tiger in nature with the bear, is it possible to find any differences?V.Y. It seems to me that it is possible to note the intelligence, resourcefulness and accuracy of the tiger in combination with a huge natural force. I want to cite one case that happened on our hunt. We hunted a wild boar. It was too far to carry it to the camp. We covered it with branches in order to pick up the meat later. When we came for the trophy later, everything was in the same place, except one thing, there was no boar under the branches. The tiger pulled out carefully a pig weighing about 100kg, dragged it 200 meters up and ate it there. There was no sign of a drag on the ground, nor any other traces of the carcass being dragged. We found just few drops of blood on the branches of meadowsweet.A bear in that situation would behave differently. It would just scatter everything to the sides. Then it dragged the pig to the side and would have finished eating it there. The bear would bury the rest, which the tiger never did.D.V. I know that some indigenous peoples of Primorye call the tiger "Amba" (AMBA is the end of something. Explanatory dictionary of S.I. Ozhegova). Why do they call it so?V.Y. Amba is the respectful name of the tiger by the local Udege people or the Taza peoples. There was a time when the tiger was completely superior to man. It was almost impossible to fight a tiger with a primitive throwing weapon – a bow and arrow. The muzzle-loading rifles that appeared later left a very little chance for the hunter to shoot the beast, but also to survive himself, if the hunter could injure the tiger even fatally. My grandfather also had difficulties when hunting a tiger, although he had a more powerful five-shot WINCHESTER carbine. Perhaps that is why such a stable phrase has been born: tiger - amba - the end. There was no chance for a person to survive during a meeting with a tiger, and the end of life was coming for him.D.V. What else would you be able to note in a tiger behavior based on your practical hunting experience?V.Y. Its persistence deserves special attention! There were cases, not often but they were when a tiger broke into a fanza (Korean hut) and carried off the owner. People had to leave one of such houses because of the tiger, which did not give rest, stealing cattle, dogs and attacking people. The tiger made it clear that it was its domain and it was the master there. That tiger pursued a specific goal and sought to be the master of that territory.D.V. And how did the local people feel about the capture of the tiger by your team?V.Y. The locals were genuinely delighted when we shot the tiger that terrorized their village. We used to take out the tigers we got on a cart pulled by a bull. But the tiger's head had to be covered with some kind of cloth when we were passing through the village. People tried to pull out the tiger mustache. There was an assumption that the mustache was twisted and then a man could give it to the enemy to eat. The mustache straightened up under the influence of a person's body temperature in the stomach, and could kill an enemy. There were special imperial teams to protect the local population from tigers that annoyed Korean citizens. They existed in Imperial Korea until its occupation by Japan in 1910. The density of tiger's population was very high.D.V. How did the tiger behave when you followed in his footsteps?V.Y. I should say that the tiger was well aware that we were on its trail. Its intelligence was quite enough to evade pursuit, and become not a victim, but a hunter. Usually it made a big circle, reached its trail and lay down not far behind a stone and waited for the one who was following its trail. Then it attacked the pursuer. So, we lost one of our best dogs named Tori. The tiger could lie in such an ambush for a long time, which indicated its endurance.D.V. Were there any cases in your hunting practice when a tiger threatened your life?V.Y. One day, my father and brother were chasing two tigers. The father saw the tigers at a distance of about 300 meters. He immediately shot and wounded one of them fatally. Then they wounded the second one, but it began to go into the mountains. When they began to approach the hidden tiger, the brother became entangled in the thickets of lemongrass. The father came forward, and the wounded beast rushed at him at that time. He managed to shoot and hit the tiger in the jaw. It saved him from more serious damage because the tiger could not bite my father much. But, despite that shot, the tiger managed to strike with its paw, knock out the rifle, which spun in the air like a helicopter propeller and knock down my father. It turned out to be an old eight-pound tigress. And only two shots of my brother saved my father's life and stopped the beast. The tigress walked a long distance being seriously injured, which indicated its endurance, hid and rushed at the hunters, which indicated its determination. It continued to attack despite several injuries (four in total), which indicated its survivability.D.V. Has the tiger found its reflection in the visual arts of Korea and China?V.Y. I would like to emphasize once again that Oriental people have always had respect for the tiger. The engravings with an attacking tiger were very common in China, as in Korea. The tiger is extremely beautiful in appearance. The artists depicted the tiger because of its beautiful coloring.It remains for us to thank Valery Yuryevich for the fact, he shared with us his most interesting observations of the tiger's behavior. Perhaps this year of the tiger is the year of Valery Yuryevich Yankovsky like no other.Everyone should decide for himself how to meet, what to expect, and how to spend this year. Think about the qualities possessed by this beautiful, powerful and intelligent animal, draw your conclusions and ... luck accompany you!!We wish you all to be a little tiger next year. We wish you to be affectionate like all cats towards their loved ones; smart, patient, calculating and tenacious like a tiger, in their business or at work; determined and hardy as a tiger on the way to his goal. We also wish you to walk proudly just like a tiger through life with your head held high. Be good-natured and fair!P.S. When this material was ready, the author of these lines found out in the news about an unprecedented case of human callousness, callousness and cruelty towards tigers. Eight tigers and one lioness were transported from Khabarovsk to Yakutsk. The drunken caretakers didn't pay due attention to the animals in the cages and simply froze or contributed to the suffocation of the animals from the exhaust gases.Valery Yurievich and I agreed that zoos and, especially, mobile zookeepers should cease to exist. It all looks too mocking in relation to animals. But we decided not to print it. After that incident, we felt that it was simply necessary to talk about it!It's one thing when a person competes with a tiger in its natural habitat, and gives it enough chances to survive. It all looks completely different when such a proud animal as a tiger is doomed to prison existence and death due to the negligence of alcoholics.

Hunting in Dagestan became my debut in mountain hunting! I started to dream about hunting for Dagestan tur for several years ! I have been slowly and confidently moving towards my goal, since then! I bought all necessary equipment, adopted invaluable experience from experienced comrades! It all started back in the autumn, when I first arrived at the Lutkun hunting farm to my friends. The weather in the mountains of Dagestan did not allow us to realize our plans for five days. Previously experienced people warned me that I'd either fall in love with those mountains or became indifferent to them. I will tell you that the severity of hunting, failures and disappointments is brightened up by a pleasant company of professionals, their subtle approach in the most difficult situations, measured and cold-blooded decision-making, as well as delicious mountain tea made on glacial water with interesting stories from the experience of previous hunts! The mountains and the warm welcome of my friends left incredible impressions and I decided to come again, but in late autumn! At the end of November I arrived in Dagestan! After a delicious dinner, it was decided to undergo acclimatization in the morning and conduct exploration in parallel! But in our case, the reconnaissance turned out to be hunting! We climbed one of the peaks, and spent just one hour on it, when detected a good group of turs, and began to observe! A couple of hours later, at a distance of about 300 meters, a nice trophy appeared, there was a command to shoot! Voila! A coveted and long-awaited trophy, the Dagestan tur at the age of 7 became my first mountain trophy! That's it. Just 3 hours of hunting and I got the result! There are several more mountain trophies of Russia in my plans, but this is already next year! Go to your goals no matter what!

“Real hunting is a real science. Everything has to be taken into account, how it’ll influence or to be used in future. Each new day gives new knowledge, the new episode increases your experience and skills”.  Y.M.: Yankovsky.                        My way to the first bear (2009)   Spring. Kamchatka.     That time we were accompanied by the very experienced guides Yuri and Alexander. Yuri was about sixty years old. He was slightly above average height, slightly burred and constantly made caustic, but not offensive jokes to someone's address. He had been hunting in this area for many years and knew all the peculiarities of the bears' behavior when leaving the den. Sasha was my age and had already spent several serious hunts with me. He was short, had blue eyes, had a higher education and lived his profession and loved nature. You can go everywhere with such guys.  The last member of our tight-knit team was Tatiane- our cook. I also worked with her before. That short, blue-eyed, middle-aged woman seemed to exude kindness and courtesy. She wasn't the professional cook but cooked well and very tasty. She managed to cook us not only various culinary delights, but also bake pancakes, cakes and even a cake in the field conditions of the hunting camp. I called her “the rocket” because she did everything very fast.   It seemed that she did not walk, but flew from the kitchen to the living room, where we ate and spent our free time. Tatiana always tried to create a good atmosphere of home comfort in our hunting den. And she was successful in it.      After arrival to the airport of Kamchatka we immediately drove to the hunting area. The way laid along the only road that connected the south and north of Kamchatka between the Eastern and Middle Ridges. The hunting lodge was located near the foot of the Middle Ridge.      None of us had noticed how 3 hours of the road quickly flew by because we were talking. Then we had transferred to snowmobiles in the small village of Ganaly and continued the 12km long journey through the valleys and foothills of the Nemtik River basin.  The wind and the sun thickened the snow so much on the open spaces that sometimes it seemed that we were driving on asphalt bumps up to half a meter high. Every time the sled attached to the back of the snowmobile fell from another hillock into the pit before the next hillock, our internal organs rushed down with the same speed, and we had to wonder how they could stand it all. But that test of the body did not last long. At last, the snowmobile-ridden road smoothly flowed into a typical Kamchatka forest, which consisted of sparsely growing birch, alder, spruce in places and a mass of various shrub forms, we felt a little more comfortable and were able to admire the beauties of the Kamchatka landscapes. The Eastern Ridge with its snow-capped peaks against the blue sky appeared before us in all its glory.  The bright spring sun beat out a dazzling fountain of reflected rays, which shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, from the ice crystals on the peaks of the mountains         Soon we crossed a small slope and the enchanting beauty of the mountains was replaced by more mundane colors of cedar elfin and the open water surface of Nemtik. We had to force a couple of streams and one small suspension bridge while driving, which was expertly done by our guides Yuri and Sasha on snowmobiles with sleds attached.      Finally, our caravan arrived to a small hunting camp, consisted of a main building with a kitchen, a living room and several bedrooms, and an unfinished bathhouse. We were greeted by the joyful barking of dogs. Those were Sasha's faithful friends, nicknamed Baikal and Kai. Baikal was already at an advanced age, by dog standards, about 12 years old.  But Sasha continued to take it with him to the forest to hunt. I had the dog of the same age at home and understood perfectly what it meant for a hunting dog to be where it had been hunting all its life. Being in the hunting grounds prolongs the dog's life. We often take them with us, at the first opportunity, even if the dog can’t help us in the hunting process.      We began to unpack their luggage immediately upon arrival. We quickly dragged things into one of the rooms. It was cool in the house. The hearth is a heart of any home that gives heat and makes the atmosphere. Sasha took it upon himself to revive the hearth in the kitchen. Yuri helped Tatiana carry kitchen utensils and groceries. I began to make a fire in the stove.      Soon it became warm. Tatiana prepared a small snack. My guides Yuri, Sasha and I discussed the possibility of going out for exploration. It's time to talk about what was waiting for me on the way to my first trophy of the Kamchatka bear. I started to prepare my equipment, photo and video equipment for the upcoming hunt. The guys studied the area near the base.   Suddenly I heard the sound of an approaching snowmobile. he door swung open and Sasha, like a true gambling hunter, addressed me: “ \We detected the bear! Are you ready?” The interrogative intonation was absolutely inappropriate in that case. Of course, I was ready.    I imagine that situation thousands of times and now it was real. I have a chance to realize my dream. I could hardly convey what a professional hunter felt at the moment when the dream of the hunt was close to being realized.     All the equipment and weapons were almost ready. I dressed myself for hunting with lightning speed, but with thoroughness. We should drive part of the way about 10 km on a snowmobile and then it was necessary to go about 5-6 km to the bear on skis according to Sasha's words. Sasha strapped the skis to the sled while I was getting dressed, then threw on a backpack with equipment, necessary things, took a carbine and flew out of the house. I thought that Tatiana could call me the “rocket” at that moment. But she only managed to shout, according to custom, "Not a feather!", and Sasha and I almost disappeared on the way to our goal, according to the same tradition, sending Tatiana "to hell.”      The path ran through a swampy valley of a small stream. The snow in the daytime was already limp and sometimes we had to pull our iron assistant, a snowmobile, out of captivity of the snow porridge. There were not serious problems as we thought at that moment. We both were in a high spirit. I was driving towards my dream.      The most unexpected and unpleasant things happen unexpectedly always. Nobody could expect that a huge block of ice would break off at the place by the stream, where snowmobiles and sledges had already passed more than once.  The guides should be more attentive and look back more often in such dangerous places, but their hunting passion sometimes prevailed over common sense. Everything happened in a split second, but it all happens in slow motion in my mind. A snowmobile drives along the edge of an ice hummock frozen over the winter. The sleigh runs into the very edge of this ice pack. A huge block of ice breaks off under the right ski of the sledge. The sleigh turns over, and I fly with them into the crystal clear, icy water. I love cold water and enjoy dipping into the ice hole in winter or diving into the snow, but only after I have warmed up in the bath and without clothes. But in that situation, I happened to be in the water not after the warm bath, in all my clothes and with the rifle! Anyone who has been through it can imagine my feeling of invigorating coolness in my shoes and all over my body. I only managed to push my carbine onto the high icy shore standing almost knee-deep in the water. My backpack with all the equipment and things was strapped to the back of the seat on the sled and was completely in the water. I came out of a light stupor faster than my guide because was in the very epicenter of what had happened. My guide couldn't believe what had happened and after he made sure that it did happen, he couldn't move to help me. It seemed that Sasha was already confused that he didn’t know what to do. Sasha looked at me, at the sleigh, and seemed unable to understand what had happened. My scream brought him out of his stupor: “Sasha, sleigh!”. Photo and video equipment together with batteries absolutely doesn’t accept water procedures, as well as weapons, the first thing I thought about when I was in the water and secured my carbine from bathing was about a camera, lenses and a video camera. When Sasha woke up from his stupor and rushed to help me turn over and pull our sled out of the water, it was already flowing from my backpack, where all my belongings were. Neither wet clothes, nor instantly cold feet in boots full of water shocked me, when I realized that all the equipment was still in the water, and I would be left without the opportunity to film my hunt or at least take a picture with my trophy in case of luck.         The first thing I did was to disassemble my backpack when got out on the hard ice. To my horror, I began to take out all the cases in turn and poured out the water, they all were full. The only thing I could only hope was that the water had not penetrated into the very heart of the equipment – electronics. But those hopes were rather illusory. I disconnected all the batteries and opened all the doors that could be opened to check for water ingress inside. It was very disappointing because I had already shot an interesting video and took some good pictures during the hunt. And it could all disappear.       After having dealt with the equipment (later I dried it for two days in a warm room) I started sorting out my clothes. Everything was wet, from boots to jacket. But the hat was absolutely dry! I didn't worry about the camouflage suit that I was wearing on top, because I knew that it would dry out quickly. All other things had to be squeezed out. It's an interesting thing, but not at a temperature of - 10 degrees. Sasha contemplated the whole process silently, He didn’t know what to say or advise, I guessed that he was aware of his responsibility for what happened. I looked at his face, gray with tension, more like a mask, squeezed out a semblance of a smile and said: “Don't worry! We will break through!". Then I seat on the snowmobile and I began to squeeze out my things one by one. Wool socks, winter hunting shoes absorbed so much moisture that I had to squeeze them out several times. It all looked pretty funny from the outside. But I was faced with a dilemma – to continue hunting further or to return to the camp? To continue hunting in such equipment meant a lot of inconvenience and danger to health. No one knew where and in what conditions we could be and how long I’ d have to stay in wet clothes. But to return to the base and to leave another attempt to get my first bear, meant for me to show cowardice and weakness as a professional hunter.   It was possible to return, dry out and go hunting again in a day, but as Vladimir Vysotsky sang in his song "You can turn off, go around the cliff, but we choose a difficult path dangerous as a military path!” That’s why I chose the most difficult path, but the path that led to my long-term goal. I had no longer the moral right to retreat, first of all, before myself. I reasoned that I would not freeze even in wet clothes if I move constantly. Telling the truth, I hoped that the time that I would have to wait out when approaching the beast, was not be very long. It was already afternoon, and the sun was setting very quickly in Kamchatka. We'd return back to the base in case of failure, to warmth and comfort, where we could discuss further plans.      Yuri drove up, worried about our long absence. He was waiting for Sasha and me at the agreed place. The silent scene was repeated a second time. As the guys told me later, there was no such thing in their practice before. I was finishing to wring out my clothes when Yuri turned off his snowmobile and a "deafening" silence suddenly hung in the air, interrupted only by the murmur of water in the stream. It seemed that we could hear the squeak of a mouse under the snow in a nearby glade. Sasha 's question broke the silence: “What will we do next?” That phrase hung in front of all of us like the world-famous "To be, or not to be?  The guys thought that we would all go back to the camp because they didn’t hope to continue the hunt. I tried to keep calm in my voice and in a slightly shaking body from a slight chill, turned my eyes to Yuri, who was still in a state of mild prostration, and asked him: “Where’s the bear?” You should have seen his face. The hitherto gloomy expression on the face of a big and good-natured man was instantly replaced by a gambling and professional hunting passion. He replied without hesitation: “There. On the place. It lays on the slope”. We should ski about 5-6km to the bear. But first of all it was necessary to get on snowmobiles to the place from where we could go skiing. Riding a snowmobile in wet clothes didn’t cause me any delight.  I had to part with my very wet, and very heavy jacket. I hung it by the stream on an alder branch to pick up on the way back. Mittens and a soft case for the carbine were also left to hang there.  Yuri gave me his work jacket. It was black. But the color didn’t play any role, since I put on a mask on top.  A "light" frosty breeze blew over me on the way to our destination. Fortunately, that point was not so far away, and we drove only about 15-20 minutes. My hunting trousers with a membrane helped me out a lot in this difficult situation. The membrane didn’t allow to blow through my legs, and the soft lining still remained warm thanks to the warmth of my body even when wet.      Another surprise was waiting for me at the final destination of the snowmobile. It turned out that my skis from two pairs that were tied to the sled, were broken, or rather one of the skis, in the most crucial place where the end of the ski bends. But I had no choice but to go on such skis. It was impossible to eliminate that breakdown in field conditions. I had to think constantly not break the ski even more, especially on the slopes down.      So, we began to ski. Birch forest. Small streams. Descents, ascents.  Our path ran along another stream at the very bottom of the valley, between two mountain slopes. And then, at the most inopportune moment, my long-suffering skis burst the canvas strap that hold the foot in the ski mount. It was the disaster for me. “I overcame so much obstacles and went them through, - I thought. Shall I stop now because of some kind of canvas strap”. But Sasha, with his usual calmness, said that it was all fixable. He took an "emergency kit" out of his backpack and sewed the strap in just 5 minutes. I was immensely grateful to him. We continued on our way to our bear again.    My ski training from school time and the constant practice of hunting in winter when I used ski when hunting for hares allowed me to move quickly after my guides. The only thing I dreamed about at that time was to get warm as soon as possible. It took about half an hour of constant skiing. it was unpleasant to be in wet clothes, but at least I wasn't cold. Yuri went a little ahead to monitor the situation on the opposite right slope. Sasha and I were moving forward on the right slope and watching the left slope. The bear was lying on that slope, and we should have to approach the distance of the shot. There were about 3-4km to our aim when we could distinguish only a small dark point but Yuri, thanks to his vast hunting experience, was able to recognize a bear from a distance of 5-6km. The bear could be seen only when it got up to change his position. It was lying on a small mountain shelf right on the mountainside. We could see pnly one-fifth of its entire torso. I was surprised by the ability of local guides to notice the beast from a great distance, but at the same time deserved the greatest respect.     We weren’t far from it. Our team had to constantly monitor the bear so as not to betray our presence. The sight, hearing and sense of smell of an animal was always several times sharper than that of a human and we should to be very careful despite the fact that we were all in disguises and moved very carefully. The bear could detect us much faster than we could imagine even without having good eyesight. We approached about a kilometer to our bear, when saw another one a little closer to us. It was difficult to notice it, because the bear was half in the den, and only the movement of its front paws or head gave it away. But that bear was definitely smaller and of no interest to us.  The problem was that it could notice us and notify, in some way, another bear. Then everything would be in vain and we would have to turn around and go to the base.  We gathered together, lined up behind each other in a tight line and tried to move as carefully and silently as possible. We should have to cross the part of open area where we couldn’t hide anywhere and to approach our bear. Finally, we reached the bushes 400 meters from the bear. There was a stream behind the bushes, and that was to our advantage. The stream created a natural background noise that hid the inevitable rustling of our skis on the snow.   A steep ascent began immediately after the stream, and 300 meters above our bear laid.      It was difficult for me to choose a place to shoot. I was less noticeable in the bushes, but it was problematic to shoot at a maximum distance of 300 meters, which separated us from the trophy. It wasn’t the best solution to stay and to wait on the open area, because there was a risk to be noticed at any moment. And yet I chose the second option. I relied on my experience of the ability to be in a sitting position in an open place. That position gave a better view in conditions of limited visibility.     I chose a place behind a small sparse bush of tallow. There was nothing except snow around us. The prospect to seat there wet wasn’t pleasant from all sides. I put my hunting gloves on the snow, I had to leave my wet mittens near the stream, and sat down on them. Then I set a carbine next to my staff, which we use when skiing. I did not take a rangefinder or binoculars that time because relied only on an optical sight. I do it often when I hunt myself in conditions where the distance can be determined by eye, and I can see the trophy through the optics of the sight. In my opinion, the distance to the bear was about 300 meters, maybe a little less. I used my trusty and proven SAKO 75 HUNTER 300 WIN caliber on that hunt. Mag.  Cartridges RWS for BLASER with the bullet CDP weight 10,7 gr. I can confidently hit and stop any large animal in Russia with such weapons and ammunition, which I had to experience on serious hunts in Kamchatka, Yakutia and Altai. It was a small matter - to wait for the bear to get up and make an accurate shot. But there is nothing predictable in hunting. Sasha was from the right side of me. Yuri muttered something about the time and disappeared to my left. As it turned out later, he wanted to insure in case the bear would go down to the stream. But the wind was blowing just from that direction and there was a possibility that the bear might smell it, and then we would fail, and I would be left without a shot and without a trophy.    Time passed too slowly... I clearly saw in the sight a part of the bear's head, which it was constantly moving, either licking itself, or just swinging. But it was impossible to shoot in such a situation. There was a high probability that at the moment of the shot the bear would move its head and there would be either a miss or a fight. Both of these results were highly undesirable.   Minutes passed. It was necessary to bear in mind the fact that the day before our faces and lips were badly burned in the sun. Ice and flame converged at once in one body. My feet were already freezing. I tried to keep my hands under my armpits. It had been about 20 minutes since our stop. My body was already starting to freeze. I was especially worried that my hands would get very cold, and it would be difficult for me to feel the movement of my index finger on the trigger. I had to recall army training when shooting in 30-degree frosts in Transbaikalia, where officers taught us to "love" weapons and shoot without mittens.      Only extreme concentration at the right moment could help in situations like the one I found myself in. I remembered a TV show about the British special forces. If you tell the Special Forces that he can't do it, and he will do it. The special forces soldier shot better against the background of fatigue and hypothermia of the body than in a calm environment, thanks to the same concentration of will. Every minute I was freezing more and more and I had nothing left but to prepare for that highest degree of concentration at the right moment. My long-awaited trophy was at stake.    Suddenly the bear abruptly stood up, pointed his muzzle in the direction where Yuri had gone. Obviously, the wind had done its job. We were discovered. The bear examined the entire part of the gorge accessible to its gaze. I clung to the eyepiece of the sight, and realized immediately that the shot was unlikely to succeed. The bear was a cunning and a very intelligent animal. It stood almost completely covered on one side with thick branches of bushes, on the other with a birch trunk. I clearly saw its huge head and paws in the sight. But I didn’t see its body. It was fraught with the danger of spoiling the last chance at that time if I shoot at such a distance at such a small target, and even being behind a bush. Endurance, prudence and lack of fuss in actions are qualities inherent in real hunters. I learned this all my hunting life. I can say that I’ve succeeded a little in this. So that time those qualities played a positive role. The bear moved half a slope to the right and disappeared behind a snow dune. I’ d sworn Yuri for sheer sloppiness or deliberate disregard for precautions and hoped that I would be able to see the bear when it appeared.    I was right. A brown hump appeared from behind the dune, then the whole bear. It was necessary to hurry with the shot, because the bear could disappear again behind the same dune. The wet clothes, the cold that has already reached the bones, and the shivering all over the body were immediately forgotten. There was only concentration on the goal and verified movements. There were about 300 m to the bear. I had caught its shoulder blade in the crosshairs. The bullet at that distance would drop by 20cm and should hit the heart area. The index finger did its job with the trigger with a precise movement. The sound of the shot echoed through the valley of the gorge. The bear disappeared behind the snow dune again. I quickly reloaded the carbine, but I was absolutely sure that I had hit. The bear reappeared from behind a snow dune and was already moving in an open place. It didn't run and moved hard. It was obvious that the bullet had done its job. But it was still moving. The second shot slowed the beast down even more. It continued to move but it was already only going downhill. It always indicates a serious injury. The bear somersaulted, but got back on all fours. I shot again and reloaded. The bear fell down. I saw in the sight large spots of scarlet blood around the beast. We heard a wild roar of a huge predator, from which a slight shiver ran through the body. The bear spun on the spot, fell and got up again, trying to hold on, turned backwards down the slope. It was obvious that its strength was running out. I send the last bullet to the bear under the ribs on the left side. It went through the entire torso and stopped the agony of that monster. The bear went limp and rolled down towards the stream. The carcass of a bear blew into dust a huge rotten tree in girth thick, which was on its way.  Fortunately for us, only four birch trees that stood together, which grew on a bare slope, slowed down the lifeless bear. Otherwise, we would have to pull the bear out of the stream.     There was silence for a moment. It seemed that even the stream had quieted down. The stress of moral and physical stress had gone away. All earthly sensations returned. And the cold took its place first. I did not notice in the heat of the "attack” that my clothes were covered with a light crust of ice outside. Although it was not noticeable through the camouflage, but I was convinced when I started moving. It seemed to me that all my joints creaked when I started to get up. Sasha, who was nearby, congratulated me on good shots and a trophy and immediately moved towards the slope on which the bear was lying. But it was necessary to cross our stream, the depth of which was about 40-50 cm. Guides always wore waders, and Sasha had no difficulty forcing that water barrier. Yuri was already rushing down the slope from the other side. It wasn't so easy for me to cross over to the other side. All my movements due to hypothermia were constrained and uncertain. My brain wasn't working at full capacity either. I dragged myself with all my belongings in an armful: skis, a carbine and a staff on slippery stones instead of just throwing my skis to the other side, and crossing the stream myself quickly over the rocks. The result was predictable. The water element took me into its tender embrace once again. I fell backwards into one of the pits. It was good that it wasn’t a stone. But there was no matter for me. The most important thing was that I got my bear, and the fact that I got wet, so it could be survived. When I came up wet to the guys once again who were already near the bear, they looked at me, and we all laughed together.  Fate?! I examined the trophy. The bear gave the impression of a huge monster created to kill. Huge fangs and claws seemed capable of tearing any flesh. I wouldn’t envy those who found themselves in the clutches of such a predator.    There was no time to relax. It was necessary to take off the skin and return to the base. It was getting dark. I still wanted to take a picture with my trophy. But all my video equipment remained spread out and covered to dry on the snowmobile sled. Sasha's small camera helped out. All together we barely pulled the huge bear out into the open, raked and put snow on one side so that the bear would not roll off the slope into the stream and took some pictures. It snowed a little and a cold wind blew when we were doing this photo shoot. I hadn’t warmed up really after the "war" with the bear and began to freeze further. That's why I had to wring out all my clothes again. But I was no longer used to it. At this time, Yuri and Sasha spread out a tablecloth, where the main dish for me was a 50-degree branded tincture made by Yuri for such cases and homemade lard. It warmed me up and gave me the strength to start skinning the bear together with the guys.    We did everything very fast. The skin was left on the snow with the underside up to pick it up the next day. Together we set off on the return and it wasn't such an easy way anymore.    At that moment I felt what did it meant the complete absence of serious motivation, the body relaxed, my legs became wadded up and it took me a lot of effort to warm up again. Everything ended sometime. My trials were coming to an end. What else would I remember besides the shot, if not for swimming in the Kamchatka creek?    We got to the snowmobiles. We collected all the things, skis, equipment and set off on the way back already in the thick twilight. The sled's seat was also wet and Yuri gave me a sheep's skin, which I was immensely glad and grateful to Yuri for a gorgeous gift in such a difficult situation. It was not very pleasant to meet cold wind and snow while sitting in wet clothes in a snowmobile sleigh, but I was warmed from the inside by the thought of the warmth in which we would inevitably find ourselves after a while.   We took a jacket, mittens and a soft case for a carbine when drove past a familiar stream and continued our way to the base. It wouldn’t be a very big revelation that I was exhausted both mentally and physically for the whole day. To swim in cold water twice, to walk in wet clothes for a total of more than 10 kilometers on skis, one of which was damaged, to sit in the snow for about half an hour and constantly thinking about not letting the bear go away, and to remember the need to move through difficult terrain with the accuracy of a wild cat – it all could not but tire anyone, even the strongest and most prepared person. The only question was how each of us endures all these trials. I still can't help but feel a sense of pride that I not only got such an honorable trophy of the Kamchatka bear, but also has gone through such trials on the way to it.     A snowmobile and a sleigh jumped over numerous mounds of frozen snow, and the words from the song of Andrei Makarevich sounded in my head: "...It's good that there is this happiness way home in the world!”

My passion for mountain hunting began from Tajikistan. It wasn't my first mountain hunting , but in the fact that I read an article about two Spaniards who went to the Mountain Badakhshan for Marco Polo sheep. That article made an indelible impression – what kind of hardships and difficulties the hunters did not have to go through! I respected involuntarily those cool Spanish machos for their perseverance and perseverance. And I got the impression that the most difficult hunting was hunting in the Pamirs. I thought so because of the long, tedious road to the hunting area, because of the small number of animals with high trophy features because of the peculiar relief: large flat spaces, where sheep preferred to stay, and that implied a long shot. A shot at 600-900 meters is not uncommon in the conditions of the Pamirs. Changeable, gusty wind does not give confidence to the shooter. The cost of Marco Polo hunting can be called the highest one but it certainly rises from year to year, as for all mountain hunts. But the above doesn't go to any comparison with the main treachery of the Pamirs called mountain sickness. The first time I experienced those indescribable sensations was in 2012, when I was hunting for ibex on the Tien Shan. I felt an awful headache to the point of unconsciousness, constant nosebleeds, vomiting, and all those symptoms were against the background of panic fear. Thanks to Alexey Podtyazhki, outfitter and founder of Ibex, who accompanied me on that hunt, everything turned out well for my health. I decided that that would not happen again after the Kyrgyz experiment, when I suffered so much and experienced. I just won't allow such a situation! The offer to hunt in the Pamirs came unexpectedly… I couldn't say that it was by the way – I was in not very good condition at that time both physically (a cold affected me) and morally. However, I remembered a joke about two types of gifts. The first one was not needed by anyone, and the second one was never received. I decided that my case was the second one. I was offered to ride to the Pamirs for the company almost a free and get a trophy of Marco Polo along the way. Well, I could get the trophy of an ibex at the same time - to "not get up twice" (!!!). I seemed to feel that I had hit the jackpot, because I had only allowed to dream occasionally of such a hunt until now! In general, I had trophies of Marco Polo sheep and ibexes from the Tien Shan, but I could not boast of Pamir trophies yet. It turned out at the same time that the tickets had already been purchased and we had to fly in a week. I don't even know how much I would have endured if I had been asked to agree to the count of "three", but no one was going to count down to three, and I agreed to the count of "one". The friend of mine who invited me to hunt planned to get Marco Polo sheep, an ibex and markhor. I had to get nervous before departure. We barely managed to catch the plane though we had left for Sheremetyevo airport with a large margin of time. But that did not dampen our mood at all. The anticipation of new adventures in hitherto unknown places conjured up successful shots at animals with record trophies. We couldn’t wait when it’d start. We took three rifles: two Blaser R8 in 7mm calibers and .300 Win Mag, as well as HS Precision Pro.338 LM on that trip. After arrival we refreshed ourselves with a hearty pilaf and green tea, while waiting for weapons in the VIP lounge of Dushanbe airport, then loaded our simple belongings into cars and set off. The road to the hunting place was about 600 kilometers. The trip would seem hellish if not for the good cars, then after the rocky, sometimes very broken tracks. The slogan "Toyota - drive the dream" turned out to be not just a form of speech, but a real reality. The road went along the Panj, along the border of Tajikistan and Afghanistan. We stopped a couple of times to warm up and take photos against the background of settlements. I saw Afghans on the other side of the river, they were grazing cattle, washing carpets, children were having fun and playing. But in past, those places along the border were full of danger. Tajik border patrols, which met in large numbers along our route, prompted similar thoughts. The plan was to spend the night in a hotel in the Khorog town. However, my friend suggested to move on not to waste time, and to start hunting as soon as possible. I still offered to spend the night in a hotel for acclimatization mindful of my Kyrgyz experience, but my friend who slept most of the way in the back seat of an SUV objected that we had been drinking diacarb for a week, and nothing serious would happen. He paid for the trip and I could accept his terms. We reloaded our luggage and weapons into another car, they rushed on. My friend, who settled in the back seat, fell asleep safely, and I began to ask the driver about the customs and customs of the Pamirs. I knew a lot of interesting things. We overcame the pass and managed to notice a pack of six wolves at the entrance to the base camp in pitch darkness. We chased them in the hope to get a better look at the predators and, if we were lucky, to send a couple of grey killers to the realm of eternal hunting. The wolves were huge. As one of the drivers told me later, they are called such predators "Russian wolves" there. According to him, the local wolves were mostly small, and those larger ones came from Afghanistan. But why did they call them Russians? We carried away by the chase, and didn't notice the hole under the snow and fell straight into that trap. It took us two hours of ordeal, to freed from that trap with the help of local rangers, who came to the headlights. They watched the daring chase of wolves from the base camp. Finally, we found ourselves pretty frozen in one of the buildings of the base camp. We were immediately offered hot tea, and a rich meat soup a little later. At dinner, as usual in all hunting companies we joked laughed, told funny stories, all kinds of stories sounded. We sat at the table and went to bed late after midnight, although the rise was scheduled for 6 in the morning. I got up at the appointed time, took the water procedures, and decided to do some push-ups. This is a common thing for me. I did push-ups five dozen times, decided not to stop there and did push-ups for the same amount. I felt very good, it looked like the diacarb was working 100%! Then there was a hearty breakfast and a trip to the shooting range. Everything looked good. Then we were driving about two hours by the UAZ, looking for suitable size sheep and ibex. The number of the ibexes was quite large there, but there were few worthy individuals in the herds. Several times we watched small groups very good by the standards of Kyrgyzstan. But we were on the Roof of the World! Naturally, we were impressed by the glossy photos of hunters with their monstrous Marco Polo sheep, we did not want to compromise and continued to search fanatically for the best ones. Moreover, my fears about the harsh hunting conditions were not justified. Telling the truth, it was hard to breathe, but the minimal movements, which consisted in leaving the UAZ and moving within five meters to the scope, made me believe naively that that was the lightest hunt I had ever participated in. In the evening of the first day, the guides found two large groups of ibexes, in one of which three good males stood out. One of the huntsmen asked who of us would shoot at the black ibex, which was much superior to the others. with its carcass and color. I refused resolutely to shoot the first, but to the credit of my friend, who invited me to that hunt and knew my reverent attitude to that trip, he rejected my refusal and offered to cast lots, adding that there were no generals on the hunt and in the bathhouse. It wasn't the first time I'd heard that expression from him, and it was always very funny to hear it from him. I won't say why it's funny to always hear this expression from this respected person, but those who are in the topic will understand. We began to look for coins. I tried to find iron rubles in my pockets, while the guys were looking for the local currency. The Pamir people won. Somoni was thrown, which lay down so that Fortune smiled at me. I had to prepare. The shooting distance was 850 meters. We began to approach trying to move measured. We made a small semicircle, and reduced the distance to 482 meters under the cover of stones. I took up a firing position and tried to calm the excitement. It was very difficult to breathe. It took a long time there in comparison with the Caucasus mountains where breathing calmed down many times faster. I looked at the ibex through an optical sight for a long time, and every minute I was growing confident that I was holding the best male from that herd in the crosshair of the optical sight. I turned to the guides. Everyone was focused and waiting for the shot. I looked around and felt like I was on another planet. No vegetation, just cold stones! And... hypoxia began to make itself felt. It was like a dream… Meanwhile, my target at a distance of 482 meters began to worry suddenly as if it sensed something amiss with some animal instinct. The senior huntsman said that the ibex was alarmed, it was impossible to delay the shot. I took a deep breath-exhaled, inhaled-exhaled and pulled the trigger smoothly. The usual push of the butt into the shoulder announced that the Berger bullet had left the barrel of the Blazer. After a couple of seconds, I restored the picture in the sight, having previously pulled the shutter to add, if necessary. It was obvious that the bullet had done its job. And I realized that I became the happy owner of the Pamir ibex! The next day everything repeated. We got up in the morning, push-ups, breakfast, binoculars, and by 11 o'clock we found very good sheep. The coin decided that time that I would be a mute spectator of my friend's hunt. A local guide said when we were ready to leave the camp, that it would be hard and suggested not to take the backpack and weapons himself, but to hand them over to the escorts. I flatly refused, and joked that I did not come there from the hospital. But I received an equally witty answer: the main thing was not to get to the hospital from there. It was said with a smile in a friendly manner. There were 2 km to the sheep. We moved slowly, choosing the best position for approaching animals. Suddenly after I had walked 300 meters at an altitude of 4700 m, I felt uneasy. I decided that the reason was the tight straps of the backpack. But soon thoughts began to appear to give the backpack and gun to the escorts. I turned very pale after another 200-300 meters, which the guides began to talk about with alarm. I had a feeling that my chest was crushed by a hefty log, and I couldn't throw it off. Soon all my things were taken away from me, and I lay down on my back as my friend advised. The pain became unbearable. It felt like a sharp dagger pierced the chest from the left side to the right shoulder. I rolled over on my right side, it became a little easier to breathe. I tried to breathe in more air, but began to freeze quickly at a temperature of - 18 ° C and a strong wind. Neuralgia appeared. At that moment, I didn't want anything anymore – just to get back to where I could breathe as soon as possible. The guides insisted that I return to the car. I refused to help in order not to spoil the hunt for a friend. It was a separate story how I walked those five or six hundred meters to the car. I crawled on all fours for the last fifty meters, turning on all-wheel drive, until the driver noticed me and helped me. They helped me undress at the base camp. I just didn't have the strength to untie my shoelaces. For the first time in my life, I understood what infirmity was in the somatic sense of the word, being a physically strong and trained man. An hour later, a guy appeared, he said that he was a shepherd- doctor. He gave me an injection and gave me two validol tablets. It didn't get any easier, I felt a headache, the wildest weakness, and breathing became less frequent and more difficult. The doctor demanded hospitalization urgently. They put me in a car and took me to Khorog, to the Aga Khan IV Hospital, which was more than two hundred kilometers from the base camp. They found pulmonary edema there, but the prompt and professional measures of the doctors saved my life. So, my hunt in the Pamirs ended. It confirmed the axiom once again: Pamir does not forgive mistakes! And other mountains too. I didn't get my Pamir Marco Polo. So... there's a reason to come back! The next time I'll prepare for the conquest of the Pamirs more responsibly and thoroughly, won't neglect acclimatization and bring my physical form to the right condition in advance. But I am sincerely glad for my friend – he's realized his dream!

What makes a modern resident of a megalopolis go hunting? And mountain hunting in particular? What are the reasons why, the people sacrifice a joint vacation with the family somewhere under a palm tree, and go / fly to other regions / countries to meet the mountains? Why do they step up with each step feeling the accumulated fatigue and sweating profusely? They walk and count to themselves: "Twenty-five, twenty-six...", try to agree with themselves: "I'll take a hundred steps and take a break.” The legs tremble treacherously, the shoes slip on the icy grass under the snow. The only sounds are the tremors of blood in the ears and the creaking of snow in time with the steps: "crunch, crunch, crunch". The backpack pulls down more and more with each vertical meter, the carbine digs into the shoulder with its belt. Why does he get up before dawn and go out into the icy dark outside, which is slightly tinted with the rays of the rising sun? What drives him when he returns far after sunset to a cold tent and eat Snickers during the day? Why do we torture physically over the body, which already does not feel very well in the conditions of the highlands? It is difficult for a person who is far from mountain hunting to understand the reasons and motivational component of these actions, and there is no need to explain it for real mountain hunter. The forth time I went to Dagestan for the fourth time. I really like this Caucasian republic, the open and dignified people who inhabit it, the delicious national cuisine and its the magnificent nature! The purpose of all my trips was the same - the trophy of the Dagestan tur. I couldn't say that the previous trips were unsuccessful. Everything was great: I had nice company, real mountain hunting, and the pleasure of traveling. But I was unlucky with a good trophy – I couldn't get what I wanted. Every trip I closed the license on the last day with a young male just "for meat". My companions got good trophies, and every time I looked for Mine- a big old male. So, each time I was looking for the ten-year-old male of the Dagestan tur for a long time, I searched and chose. I dreamed about the big one. That year it was decided to go to Elson Makhmudov - the well–known outfitter in the Akhtyn district of Dagestan. I wanted to go with my life companion Asya, we both successfully visited the Altai Mountains in October. But two weeks before the flight, she injured her back while doing sports. The trip was out of the question: she could barely move across the plain. So, I invited my good friend Dmitry to hunt. He turned out to be very easy- going and agreed to a joint trip a week before the departure date. Dmitry offered to go by car, due to the deteriorating epidemiological situation with COVID-19, which excluded contacts with society at airports. At first, that idea seemed strange to me - 3000 km in one side. But the more I thought about the prospect of a car trip, the more I liked it. At the definite time, the two of us moved towards the North Caucasus from St. Petersburg. We almost flew to Makhachkala in one breath. The average speed was 95 km/h. We drove mainly on paid sections. In general, the road is good, but in Kalmykia, in the area of Elista, when we were crossing the steppe, there are lots of dangerous turns. Why have they design such a crooked road in the steppe, where there is no need to go around mountains, rivers and lakes?! Cameras in Kalmykia are unmarked. After arrival to Dagestan, we went to a local restaurant of national cuisine, looked at the Caspian Sea, spent the night in Makhachkala, and then in the morning we met with Elson and drove two cars to Khnov village. In the evening, upon arrival, the weapons were checked – I hit exactly the top ten at 200 meters (a carbine was shot at that distance). The altitude in the village is 1700 meters above sea level. In the morning, we moved to the mountains on horseback. There were Elson and two guides in the company plus Dmitry and me: Zaur and Ramadan. We drove five kilometers along a picturesque mountain road, and then 7 kilometers up the mountains. It was noon, when we got to the base camp, which was a frame insulated house. The altitude was 2800 meters above sea level. We ate something. Elson offered to stay in the camp at that day and enjoy nature, while he and Ramadan would go exploring. I decided to go with them, because I had no desire to sit in the camp. I really wanted to see the area and the object of hunting if it was possible. My attempt #2 We started climbing the ridges, watching carefully the slopes. In an hour we saw the first herd of 40-head turs that was three hundred meters away. There was one male larger than the others. Elson offered to shoot. - Elson, I will immediately outline the goal and task. I need a big trophy. I won't shoot small and medium size males; I'd rather leave without a trophy. Sorry to be direct. We went up. Soon after a short climb we saw a herd of a hundred heads on the opposite side of the circus that opened. The distance was 2.5 kilometers, but even at that distance, with tenfold binoculars, it was clear that two males differed favorably in the size of the horns. – Will we have time to get to them before dark today? - Anton, let's do this: you will look at these turs carefully through an optical sight, and if the size of the trophy satisfies you, we will try to make it today. If not, we’ll try to approach them tomorrow, - Elson replied. I set the carbine, set the maximum multiplicity on the optics and lay down on the frozen ground to observe. I clearly outlined the criteria for the minimum trophy before the trip: the horns should make almost a full circle and both horns twist up with the ends. The two visible turs in that herd had just such horns. - Let’s go! - We have to make it in two hours," Elson nodded. We went quickly, because the day had long passed the middle, and it got dark at 5 pm. The timing was critical. The path was always up. The snow crunched under the soles of the shoes, then the autumn withered grass crumpled, then the "stone scree" rustled, and slide down sneakily. I felt that I was really tired on the next rather steep ascent along the stone scree. I sat down to rest and remembered that there were "Sneakers" in my pocket. We ate one bar each, and the strength returned again! Fast carbs are a great source of energy in the mountains! We moved on half-bent legs running the last few hundred meters, because it was impossible to pass part of the way secretly (out of sight of animals). I looked at the altimeter - 3700. We climbed 2000 vertical meters. Then we approached from above the unsuspecting herd, which was lying on the slope. The only place where it was possible to sneak closer was a piece of rock near the ridge. I started to approach it slowly and then I saw that two very good old turs came out on the ridge where we were standing. They probably saw us, but despite that, they grazed quietly on the ridge. There was a great flat area next to me. I put the carbine on the bipod, lay down and looked at them better. They both had nice horns. The distance was 608 meters, the angle was almost zero. It was the working distance for my level of shooting training. It was possible to shoot like on a shooting range. But a man always looked for the best, and I decided to look at those two that were in the herd. I looked from behind the ridge. The rangefinder showed 386 m. But the angle! I don't like shooting down at a big angle. And I had already missed several times offensively. – What do you think: what animals are bigger – those on the ridge, or at the bottom? - I asked guides. - They all are nice. You need to decide and shoot, it will be dark in 15 minutes–" Elson replied. I don't remember what thoughts flashed through my head at that moment. I began to arrange a carbine to shoot at the lower ones. Bipods didn't help even in almost horizontal position. I had nothing to do but put the carbine just on the rock. And I knew that it would negatively affect the shooting – a completely different "jump" and so on! I saw perfectly well that the carbine was "piled up" on the side, but there was no other way to put it. I took aim at the grand tur – it was much darker than the others and seemed completely black at dusk. I made sure once again that its horns met my criteria – the ends were brought together and bent up, and pulled the trigger. The result of such careless shooting was not long in coming – all animals ran down the slope. Ramadan said that the bullet went higher. I didn't see what happened next after the shot – it was a very uncomfortable position when shooting, and the "picture left" at the moment of the shot. I was upset. More than upset. It was a ridiculous distance for me, and such an offensive blunder. It's my own fault – I got such a result because I prepared (put up a rifle) so. Why? The reason maybe in fatigue, or in a certain haste... Now I understand that it was necessary to shoot at those two who were standing on the ridge. It was much easier to shoot them despite the distance. Eh! What I was thinking about?! Ramadan and Elson saw my condition, and began to cheer me up: - Don't worry, we'll find others tomorrow. It’s just the first day! Thank you very much to them for that support. I was uncomfortable in front of them: so much effort was spent on that rapid ascent, and I let them down at the last moment. We went down to the camp. We walked almost all the way back in the dark. We had a wonderful dinner waiting for us in the camp - Zaur cooked a great soup! Attempt #2 In the morning we got up early and moved up together along the already familiar route. After climbing the ridge, we began to notice small groups of turs on opposite slopes. The guides offered to try to approach them, but I refused – there were no decent ones. Then we reached the herd with males, which I refused to shoot yesterday. Dmitry looked at it through binoculars and expressed a desire to get it. Zaur found a good, level place to shoot. The animals were downhill at a distance of 250 meters. The three of us crawled to the edge of the ridge. I set the carbine, adjusted the bipod so that there was no blockage, rebuilt the parallax, put the rifle conveniently. Dmitry lay down, took aim and pulled the trigger. The tur jerked and ran. I shouted to shoot more. The second shot didn’t reach the aim. After 30 meters of running, the tur stopped and fell on its side. We congratulated Dmitry on his first mountain trophy! Ramazan and Dmitry stayed to do a photo session and butcher the trophy, and Zaur, Elson and I continued on our way. We climbed to the crest of the circus, where I shot yesterday. There was a fairly large herd of 150 heads of turs almost in the same place as last night. There were two old males among them. We started climbing up the route already familiar from the previous day. It was a little less than a kilometer left, when it became clear that it would be difficult to approach the herd unnoticed, as yesterday. There were many of them, and the herd occupied almost the entire slope - from top to bottom. 150 pairs of eyes monitored the surroundings. Part of the way, where there was no opportunity to hide behind the terrain, we overcame by running on our haunches. No matter how funny and strange it may sound. At last, we got to the ridge from which I shot yesterday. There were two huge old turs, they stood on the opposite side of the ridge, to the bottom left, almost in the valley. They stayed separate, grazed, then lay down in the snow. - Can we approach them? - I asked. - No chances. It’s the northern slope. It's not even worth trying without crampons. If you try, you'll slide along snow, and stop in down near the river. We can pick you up from there in the spring. I examined carefully the slope at the bottom of which those two beautiful males were standing: the snow covered it all, the wind filled a thick layer of crust, the angle of inclination throughout was very steep. But these two handsome males beckoned me! So, we sat in the snow and thought: how to approach the herd? It was impossible to go out on the right side of the slope – they would notice us immediately; it was impossible to go along the ridge for the same reason. The left side was steep, covered with a meter layer of bright white snow. Elson and Zaur told me that there were a lot of stones under the snow, which were in ice, and it was dangerous to walk on them. How I regretted that I hadn't brought crampons with me! There was the only possible option - and I insisted on it - to go along the northern left slope. The guides were against it - they feared for my safety. The guys had sticks with hooks on the end with which they clung to the slope deftly when moving, and the guys did not believe in my carbon poles. I managed to convince them that I could do it. We started a cautious approach down the slope. Zaur was walking below me all the time - to insured me in case I was carried down. We could walk only 100 meters with a straight back, then we had to sit down in the snow and move on our ass. Elson crawled first, then I, Zaur brought up the rear. We were pushing a huge snowdrift in front of us, the guys got their clothes wet immediately . So, we had to move in such way for about 200 meters. When we looked out carefully from behind the ridge, it was 250 meters to the nearest turs. Elson suggested to shoot a good male in the nearest group. I refused – because there was another one, which lay higher and was bigger than the offered one. - What can I do with you? - said Elson and signed. We continued to move in the snowdrifts. We over crossed another 50 meters floundering in the snow, it became clear that it was not possible to crawl closer unnoticed – the turs would detect us. I began to study the herd carefully through binoculars. The folds of the terrain hided the biggest male, which lay on the slope. The shooting position wasn't comfortable. Then I spotted a good trophy, which was downstairs, in one of the groups. Apparently, it was the second big one that we saw initially. I decided to fire it. The distance is 356 meters, the angle is minus 20-25 degrees (I don't remember exactly). The bipods had to be pushed out completely - so that they reached the icy ground under the snow because we were lying in deep snow. I checked all the calculations on the calculator several times, got into position as far as the terrain allowed, and looked at the trophy through the optics. The animals were feeding and moving all the time. The Grand Tur was hide behind the bodies of its companions. I was lying, waiting for the opportunity to shoot, and various doubts crept into my head: "It flew higher yesterday. Why? Maybe the pressure is lower because of the altitude, and the calculator is wrong? Maybe I should take the aiming point below to level this error? OK. I’ll take it lower”. Suddenly, the male moved slightly away from the group, and its left shoulder blade opened. I aimed the crosshairs just above the knee and pulled the trigger. The sound of a gunshot rang out, and the turs ran. There were so many of them there! Where was "mine" among that stream of brown backs?! I was trying to identify the one the shot was fired at. When the frightened herd ran 500 meters away, I saw it. Elson and Zaur said that it limped on its right front leg. The turs ran 700-800 meters and stood in the valley. I found "my trophy" and began to watch it. Indeed, the tur was limping on the right leg, but I was shooting at the left! A few minutes late, the male began to... feed. It meant that I missed. AGAIN! On the one hand, it was good that I didn't wound it, but on the other... I felt how apathy came over me. The guys got wet during our horizontal approach and froze. They offered to drink tea and return to the camp. I didn't care. I was depressed. How could it be? What's happened? What was the reason of such offensive blunders? The third one, and it was the final. I put the carbine on the bipod and went to boil water for tea. We drank tea in the silence. I took the AlpenPod and went for the carbine. When there were about 10 meters to the weapon left, I raised my head and saw the head of a tur with huge, powerful horns, which was peeking out on the ridge adjacent to the left. I fell on my back immediately and crawled up to the weapon. The shooting distance was 424 meters. That was one of those two old males that grazed at the bottom of the northern slope, they came to the ridge to us. Why did it decide to get up 15 minutes after the shot was fired? What made it to do it? I didn’t know. Providence? - Shoot from here, - whispered Elson. I didn't like the position at all: there was a lot of snow on the slope going down in the place where the carbine was set on. I looked around and saw a great platform further along the ridge: it was flat, without snow. I grabbed a carbine and crawled half-bent from the ridge to the right side so as to remain invisible to the eyes of the tur. I was well aware that the animal saw us and could take a step back, hiding behind the rocks at any moment. But I decided to risk. So, I ran about 20 meters behind the ridge, and crawled out to the intended position. It stood on the rock. Only its huge horns and chest were visible. There was no doubt about its trophy features! The distance was 391 meters, the angle was almost zero. I wound up the drums, aimed at the base of the neck and fired. I saw a hit clearly in place, and a somersault back, which the beast did after. How could I convey the emotions that had flared up inside me? Everything came back to me: many trips, kilometers of travel, liters of sweat, failures and burst out of my chest with a victory cry. The mountains were silent, and I was ready to jump with happiness and awareness of the completed goal. The guys came up with smiles on their faces, began to congratulate and hug emotionally. It was real emotions! I am very grateful to them for the opportunity to take this trophy! One thing bothered us at that moment – how far had the male roll down? We went to look, hoping that it caught on the shelf on which it stood before. The miracle did not happen – the body rolled down a steep shallow slope. We reached the defeated beast, did photos and butchered the trophy. It was not an easy matter due to the fact that the powerful carcass was always trying to roll down. The next day we were removing meat and descending to the village. Everything passed without incidents. We spent the night at Elson's house, got into the car and rushed to St. Petersburg. The trip went in normal mode on the already familiar road, if we do not take into account the fact that we got into a real winter with frost, heavy snow and ice on the way back. I can safely say that an excellent hunting outfitter has appeared in Dagestan! Everything was at the highest level: food, horses, guides, attitude to the client, the presence of an animal in the grounds, understanding of the principles of trophy hunting. There is nothing to find fault with! Elson, thank you very much for hunting! My personal thanks to Zaur and Ramazan! The guys worked well. I hope that the hunting fate will bring us more than once on the way! About the trophy: the length of the left horn is 103 cm, the right one is 101 cm, the base is 36 cm, 13 years old. Weapon - Blaser R93, caliber.300WinMag, Hornady ELD-M bullet 225 gr.

Plans to hunt in Kabardino-Balkaria have been ripe for a long time. From people of the older generation, who have found the times of the Soviet Union in full growth, I have heard more than once about such a tourist route: first, vacationers went to Sochi sanatoriums, then their route lay through Kabardino-Balkaria, which was famous for its mountain beauty, then vacationers moved to Georgia, closer to the beaches of Gagra and Gudauta, where the logical conclusion of the rest took place. I received offers to hunt in Kabardino-Balkaria more than once, but every time something stopped me - either a sports injury, or doubts about the legality of the organized hunting, or the cost of the offered service. In the end, he decided that the case should be taken seriously, and began to monitor, collect information through various channels. I studied, watched, read, communicated, but I decided the whole case - one of my friends, who is fond of trophy hunting, spoke about the High Hunt Pro campaign, which is largely focused on organizing mountain hunting, and advised me to contact them. In the process of communicating on the phone, the representative of the company made the impression of a person who was professionally versed in the issue, honestly spoke about the possibilities and prospects of hunting in the KBR. I thought a little and decided not to look for good from good. Together with Dmitry, accompanying from High Hunt Pro, we flew to Mineralnye Vody and, having ordered a taxi to Nalchik, passed the time on the road with a colorful driver named Magomed Gadzhi. He turned out to be a very interesting conversationalist and generally a pleasant person to talk to. What topics we just didn’t discuss, it was especially interesting to listen to him about the peoples living in the Caucasus, customs, morals, culture, traditions ... So the road would have flown cloudlessly, if not for the incident on the administrative border of Karachay-Cherkessia with Kabardino-Balkaria, where our car was stopped for inspection. The Interior Ministry officers began to check the documents for weapons, and then one of them, having learned that we are hunters and were going to hunt tours, accused us and all trophy hunters in our person of general poaching, including foreigners coming to the North Caucasus. Our attempts to explain that we only hunt legally, as evidenced by the availability of licenses, ran into a blank wall of rejection of hunting. Finally, after a short argument, he decided to reveal to us a terrible secret, after which we will hardly be able not only to hunt, but also to live. We froze in horror. Tours of Kabardino-Balkaria, the stern policeman told us, are in the ... Red Book! Strange, but the desire to live and hunt after that for some reason did not disappear. Writing off this case to the local flavor and the absence of the Red Book on the free sale, we sincerely repented of what we were going to create, just in case, and promised to never again participate in trophy hunts, if we receive such an instruction from this policeman in writing. The event, perceived at first as an annoying nuisance, in the course of the further journey began to be perceived as an excuse to show off our wit, and amid a cheerful discussion of the incident, we got to the hotel without incident. We settled in a cozy room, dined in a restaurant and, when it got dark, went to rest. Unfortunately, there was no sleep. Thoughts about the upcoming hunt worried as if tomorrow was a crucial exam: will you be able to find a big tour? how far will you have to shoot? hit or miss? Every now and then a video of Maxim Vorobyov was scrolled in my head, in which a hunter without legs, on a prosthesis, hunted in Kabardino-Balkaria for a Central Caucasian tur and eventually got it. I admire strong people, and a person who, by the will of fate, remained mutilated, did not break down and continues to live and overcome any difficulties, is doubly deserving of respect. In general, I did not notice how I fell asleep ... In the morning I got up on the ringing of the alarm clock. We had a quick bite to eat, loaded our equipment into a waiting car and set off for the base camp. On the way, the organizer made a small detour and fulfilled my old dream - to see the famous Chegem waterfalls, a real pearl of Kabardino-Balkaria. We got to the camp in the late afternoon, and here we learned that the guides had been monitoring the surrounding mountains for several days in search of a good trophy. Soon one of them appeared, who at first seemed not particularly talkative. Maybe because I literally pounced on him asking if he had seen a major tour. It turned out that yes, I did, but today it is too late to go to the mountains. From that moment on, the conversation at a good table with pleasant interlocutors proceeded as usual. Time flies by unnoticed, and now at 23.00 hours, the command "hang up" sounds, the rise is scheduled at 01.30. In the early morning (or late at night?), We quickly gathered and arrived at the foot of the mountain, where yesterday the guides saw two trophy stag beetles. We started to climb. In my opinion, in an unfamiliar place where you hunt for the first time, moreover at night, without seeing where you are going, and not knowing how long the journey will be, it is psychologically easier to hunt than where you imagine in advance all the hardships that you will have to endure. Conquering the next mountain route, we slowly climbed higher and higher to the black sky enveloping the peaks with incredibly close stars. As soon as it began to dawn, they began to inspect the area. Despite all my efforts to be the first, as always, the local guys noticed the tours faster. First, along the route we saw females, who had noticed us even earlier and now closely followed us. The guide uttered a wise thought: now the rut, and during the rut, the males should be close to the females. Quite a little time passed, and his prophetic words were confirmed. About one and a half kilometers and a little higher, we saw a large group of tours, in which two large stag bears stood out. We quickly discussed the state of affairs and rushed up to the intended goal. The conductor from a calm and very balanced person suddenly turned into a bundle of energy. On the way, he met one difficult and dangerous section, along which he ran as if he were moving along a footpath. And I was once again convinced that the ability to masterfully move on dangerous mountain slopes is in the blood of the highlanders. In rare moments of rest, we watched the tours so as not to lose sight of them, and suddenly the guide said that the animals sensed us and were leaving behind the ridge. It sounded like a sentence! Exhausted by the ascent, it seemed to me that I simply could not go further, I had no strength left ... In despair we looked at the hiding animals, and more and more ... we were charged with optimism! It looks like it was a different group of tours - it did not have those large stag, one of which I was hoping to get. We decided to climb higher and carefully examine the plateau. There was nothing left, but the steepness of the slope and the fact that the approaches to it were guarded by loose stones. We tried not to make noise, of course, as much as possible, but how it happened, it happened. Finally we got to the target point and began to shoot binoculars ... Our tours were in place! From the large group, two stood out - one black, the other lighter. Without hesitation, I wanted to shoot the black one. Dmitry believed that light is better. In the end, the iron argument of the guide - the light round has longer horns - forced them to take their side. But I still had to get closer, since the distance, by eye, was 600-700 meters, which is just a lot for me. Yes, and in my memory there was a clear picture of the animals leaving behind the ridge, which did not at all evoke in the soul those feelings that the hunter dreams of experiencing. Where crawling, where on all fours the distance was reduced to some extent. There was no way to go further. Measurements were made: 488 meters and an angle of 26 degrees. I have to admit: I have never fired so far in the mountains. As a result, I literally began to storm before the shot. Having made adjustments to the sight and pressed against the stones, he began to prepare for shooting. I don't know why, but I have never pulled a shot for so long. A couple of times I almost pulled the trigger, but something stopped my finger. In the end, having overcome the excitement, he balanced his breathing and fired. The roar tore through the centuries-old silence of the gorge and jumped along the slopes, moving away. The frightened herd rushed up. Dmitry pointed to the big tour, which lagged noticeably behind the group and gradually reduced the speed of movement. It took a split second to reload the rifle. Again he clung to the eyepiece of the telescopic sight. But the high magnification (24x) did not allow to quickly catch the tour in the sight. Turning the sight up to 12 times, I finally saw the wounded animal. He moved heavily, slowing down with every step, but still carried his head proudly, crowned with large horns. I caught the scapula of the tour in the crosshair of the sight and squeezed the trigger again. I heard the characteristic sound of a bullet hitting the carcass! Dmitry and the guide simultaneously exclaimed: "There is a hit!" Further, giving vent to emotions and feelings overwhelming me, not observing any limits of decency, I screamed with happiness. After all, at that moment on earth there was no person happier than me. Then everything that should happen in such cases happened: photographing, cutting a trophy, taking out meat. And my soul was filled with a tremendous desire to return and do it all over again in these beautiful places of the Caucasus!

It is always necessary to remember those who created and developed the culture of hunting and universal values in our country. No matter what is the name of this Great country from Kaliningrad to Vladivostok! On the birthday of Valery Yurievich Yankovsky-tiger and leopard hunter, naturalist, writer. He would have celebrated 110 this year. “Whatever we do on the Khasan land, we must remember about the Yankovskys’ experience. Their experience in arranging Sidemi is unique and has no equal in the economic practice of the region. On the Yankovsky Peninsula, a whole industry – antler reindeer husbandry-has developed. Its foundations were laid by two generations of representatives of this glorious family." Deputy Chairman Legislative Assembly of Primorsky Krai D.A. Tekiev. I stood near the coffin where he laid, watched the picture, set at the head and made when he was alive and couldn’t believe that he’d never greet me and said “Welcome!” as he was used to say when I entered his apartment where he lived with his wife Irina Kazimirovna. His heart stopped on April 17th, 2010. He did not live a little more than a month before his 99th birthday. he died from hitting the back of his head on a small block of wood in the fall. It happened when he (99 years old) was pulling up on the horizontal bar. A small ceremony hall couldn’t accommodate everyone who wants to say goodbye. People was constantly coming in and out. I knew several of them. But not all. The priest, who was invited to perform a farewell memorial service, began the rite Later the Governor of the region N.V. Vinogradov arrived to pay tribute to the memory of the GULAG prisoner and express words of condolences to his wife, who passed the same GULAG. Vladimir Maykovsky could say about such people like Valery Yurievich, his Dad and his Grandfather - "This is a HUMAN BEING!" I was watching people who were coming in and out. NO! NO! None of them had the inner core and the indomitable will and optimism as he and the members of his family, risen by his grandfather, had. The motherland tried to break them but they remained loyal to the country that became their motherland. Their ancestors ended up here as a result of exile for the political uprising of 1863 in Poland. Valery Yurievich told a lot about life of his family clan and I saw that the feelings of patriotism and love for their native land was brought up in children unobtrusively, gradually throughout their lives. Children were taught to love nature and animals. The elder generation showed them the beauty of mountains, valleys, rivers and lakes, located around there family house in Sidemi. Yankovsky grew roots in their land. They protected that land from hónghúzi and their feelings of love to the native land became stronger. They always knew what they were fighting for. Freedom-loving carriers of highly cultural values didn’t allow robbers to become the owners on their land, the bandits that were used to take from the nature and give nothing back. Russia grew and became stronger thanks to such families but other times came and those who were nothing and who were called nothing came to power. Could those people, who were not brought up on the in the spirit of patriotism and love for the native land, create something valuable and worthwhile. There were no such miracles in nature and in the history of human society. Till the basic and then... Yankovsky family didn't want to see the ruin of their dreams how other people would mock the results of their work and had to immigrate. But even after the great migration, the Yankovsky clan continued to work on what they had begun in Russia. They built the new Novin estate in Korea. How strong were they to start from the very beginning, on the new place? Yankovsky once again demonstrated their best moral and strong-willed qualities. To survive in those difficult period, they began to organize hunting trips for foreigners, arrived to Korea for a hunting exotic. Once Valery Yurievich told me that none of them liked of the outfitter career. It was hard for their free-loving nature to serve to people who were not ready for a hunting and didn't understand and shared their hunting values. Born free and being a free hunters they were used to accustomed from an early age to endure the inconveniences and privations of hunting wanderings, the scarcity of food and the weather vagaries of nature. Those difficulties built their characters, and brought up the skill to work together, to understand the partner. Hunting was actually a school of life and life itself for all the men of the Yankovsky family. They had to have great health, to be in a good physical form and to have deep knowledge of nature, the habits of wild animals, and feathered game to go hunting. Children from their childhood learned to recognize the tracks of animals. They became good trackers and deerslayer already directly on hunts. Their hunting would not have been possible without knowledge of the basics of topography and the ability to navigate in unfamiliar terrain. All family members, including girls, studied to shoot from the very early childhood. There were always a lot of different firearms in the house, including machine guns. The ability to shoot well was in their blood. They all shot a lot and very well. It was the necessity dictated by not only hunting but the need for self-defense. The honghuzi attack (Chinise bandits) during the development of Primorye were not uncommon. The hunter and the writer. Valery Yurievich repeated many times that he didn't understand hunting from the towers that is practiced in many hunting farms. He was used to hunt for several days spending in the forest from one-two days to several weeks. Thanks to his literally talent, we know what kind of animals and how his ancestors hunted. Hunting for ducks, gooses, boars, deer and pheasants are described in all details in his books. The special place takes hunting for Ussuri tigers and snow leopards of the Far East. We can understand from his books that hunting for a tiger was not an ordinary hunting but the fight with the competitor. Tigers caused significant damage to their farm. The tigers destroyed the most valuable breeding material of horses, with which they worked to breed a horse adapted to help people in the development of Primorye. After migration to the North Korea, their family saved lots of locals. In the first third of the twentieth century the Korea citizens were occupied by Japan and had no right to have their own arms. The predators used the situation and the density of their population was very high at that time. The very intelligent and careful Ussuri tigers were known for their special treachery. They dragged livestock directly from the pens in the yards. The old tigers who couldn’t hunt for the livestock entered the dilapidated homes of Koreans and took people. The local boars were not particularly friendly either. The herd of boars could destroy the a crop of potatoes or corn in one of the fields near a Korean village in one night. Yankovsky described his hunts for tigers, leopards, wild boars, roe deer and deer in great detail. The reader can know in what conditions and what clothes people hunted in 30s and 40s of the last century. Those huntings demanded the hunter to be a great physical form, they should resist the harsh climate, when in winter the temperature dropped below -25 degrees and the wind blew piercing. That situations were ideal to present all those moral and strong-willed qualities that were brought up in them from childhood were manifested. The skills of deerslayers and the knowledge of predator’s habits helped them a lot when hunting tigers and leopards. A sense of courage and self-control saved their lives in the most difficult situations. As an example, I remember the scene described by Valery Yurievich when his younger brother saved his Dad when made the accurate shot to the wounded tiger. Arseniy (the brother) was not twenty years old at that time. I think that I will express the opinion of those who have read such works of Yankovsky as "Nanuni the Four-eyed" "On the trail of the tiger". “Korea for Yankovsky” can be used as the textbook for those who want to to understand the mystery of the life and habits of wild animals in nature, about nature itself in all its manifestations. These books will study the reader to love their native land to respect it and treat to it as a person who hasn't come to this world for a single day. The ability to admire the beauty of the first spring flower and the sunset over the sea can make our younger generation kinder and more sensual, which in the era of modern technocracy is illegally losing its relevance. Yankovsky- the writer and the local historian All his books reflect the real events and talk about real people. His heroes were real people who lived near him or visited his farm and his family or accompanied him during his life. That's why the interest in the work of Yankovsky does not fade among specialists in the field of history, local lore, natural history and hunters. His two earliest printed works, "On the Verge of Survival" and "In Search of Ginseng", were clear evidence against the predatory and thoughtlessly irrational exploitation of natural resources and his reverent attitude to nature conservation. The books about hunting and travels to taiga, in North Korea or Manchuria take a special place. The first test of the pen in the genre of hunting literature was "In search of ginseng". That book is the first one where he described the ways of hunting, animal’s habits and behavior of people who were with him in the hunting expedition. He showed how he relied on them in the very serious moments. Yankovsky's attitude to his historical homeland – Primorsky Krai is most clearly expressed in his essay " The Land of the Fathers. Last bow.” he talks about what his native land has become and what it could be. He was shocked that mink farm has been built in the center of their estate Sideme and the the fetid smell spreds throughout the area where the Yankovsky estate has been previously located. Personal qualities. Decency, punctuality, loyalty to your family, native land and country. Valery Yurievich always considered it necessary to express his opinion. I liked the way he was talking because I’m used to hear this language when I was young. “I'm invited” “I’ve taken the invitation” "Bow to your ladies!” It’s an interesting fact that I discovered when he was alive and that was confirmed with absolute historical accuracy after his death. It turned out that both the Yankovskys and the Briners had been guests of one of my relatives on my father's and grandfather's side more than once. They were the guests in the house of Vstovsky, located in 20 versts from Vladivostok. Both families had similar cultural and universal values, that got me closer with the descendant of the famous Yankovsky family. It is difficult to overestimate the contribution of the Yankovskys to the development of the Russian Primorye. They were actually the founders of antler reindeer husbandry, made a great contribution to the botanical, ornithological and entomological sections of all-Russian science. One of the peninsulas of Primorye is named after Yankovsky. One of the species of bunting, named after Yankovsky, lives in Primorye, as well as some species of butterflies. The breed of horses bred by his grandfather was the only one suitable for the development of this territory. They were the first to create a wild ginseng plantation. The exiled Poles Mikhail Yankovsky and Benedikt Dybovsky, as well as the Swiss Julius Brynner, and the Finn Friedolf Heck, can rightly be called the pride of the Russian Far East. These foreigners contributed to the development of the Far East in general and Primorye in particular. Being foreigners by origin, but having become Russians in essence, they defended this territory from Chinese and other bandits and swindlers. It's a pity that honghuzi but in the other "peaceful" appearance develop our Far East, entering there with their toxic plastic goods, supplying our market with fruits and vegetables grown at home and already in our territories with a high content of toxic substances, poisoning our clean Siberian rivers with poisons, in order to purge all amphibians from these rivers. Probably we need new foreigners to save the natural resources of our great Russia, because the Russians themselves calmly contemplate this quiet expansion, with deforestation and plundering of our natural resources.