Cougar Hunt: March 2018

On the opening day of the over-the-counter Cougar season in southwestern Utah, two clients (one being my Father) and I all tagged out on the elusive Mountain Lion ​for the very first time.  In just one day!  Two days later, another client tagged out on his very first day of hunting.  Another two days later, our client tagged out on his first day!  Five Cougars in four days of hunting!

The state of Utah has ever increasing populations of Cougar, with a current sustained growth of 3% annually.  Yes, even with around 400 Cougar taken each year in the state, the population is still rising.  The state has designed a quota system to limit the total number of Lions taken in specific areas, and those quotas are based on the total estimated number of adult Cougar, factoring in both age and sex.  This system ensures that hunting does not have a detrimental effect to the Cougar populations, yet keeps them in balance with prey species like our ever-so valued Deer and Elk.  Balance is necessary with both predator and prey.  You can’t hunt one without the other also being hunted.

I am very grateful and appreciative to have yielded the third of three Mountain Lion on the very first day of ​our hosted hunt in Utah last week.  Even more special to have used my grandfather’s 1952 lever-action Marlin .30-30.  The Cougar is a very special animal to say the least.  The apex predator of the North American continent, the Mountain Lion is one of those animals that made you awe as a youngster when you saw a photo or video of one.  At least for me, I never would have dreamt to see one alive (outside of a zoo), much less hold one in my own arms.  A mythical creature if you will.  A lot of inconsiderate people (including those that claim themselves as hunters) case that a Cougar hunt with Hounds is not really a hunt, and an unfair pursuit.  Well, that’s where I strongly oppose and I would invite anyone who feels that way to experience the hunt for themselves, if not with a friend.  It’s not until you witness the challenge with your own eyes that you understand the only way to successfully hunt Mountain Lion is with the assistance of Hounds.  Whether it be the Bluetick Coonhound, Redtick Coonhound, Plott Hound or a mix, these breeds specialize in following a smell or scent to hunt.  These breeds were created exactly for that purpose, and every feature about them attributes to their ability to track.  But all of that is on the surface and you can read it in books.  What you discover behind Hounds after actually experiencing the HUNT, is their devotion and determination.

 

​​Our outfitter’s pack of Hounds tracked their tom for just over 21 miles across rough, crusty snow and dramatic rocky canyons before successfully treeing him in a pinyon pine.  I carefully used the words “their tom” as is rightfully so.  Yes, the hike can be strenuous and you do sometimes have to work hard to get to the spot the Hounds treed or bayed the Cougar, but in the end, it was the Hounds that “instinctively” put their work before their lives.  I do not think it’s inaccurate to say that the actual action of shooting the Lion is a bit anticlimactic.  It should feel that way if you really care.  The most climatic part of the entire hunt is when you’ve finally hiked close enough to begin hearing the Hounds barking and howling in the distance.  The anticipation of seeing one of the most elusive predators in the western hemisphere builds and builds as the howling in the distance gets louder and louder.  That’s the crest of the experience.  After it’s all said and done, you (or at least I) wish there was a better way to thank each and every Hound for their work besides scratching their heads.  Then, you quickly realize that nobody feels a stronger level of appreciation for the Hounds than the Houndsmen themselves.  The Hounds are their tools, but they love them all deep-down.  From the shots, stitches, dog food, kennel maintenance, mileage, etc., the Houndsmen deserve nearly as much credit for their unmatched level of hard work and dedication.  In conclusion, the pursuit of Cougar is a HUNT, and an incredible one at that.

 

Trey Sperring

 

 

Whitetail Hunt: November 2014

Any true passionate hunter cherishes not only the rewards that may come from spending time afield, but also the memories made. As hunters and conservationists, the experiences we encounter and the lessons we learn in the field have a lasting impact. We carry these experiences, knowledge and memories with us throughout our everyday lives, and it shapes us into the people we are. The experience of hunting whitetail in the plains of Eastern Colorado alongside my father for the first time is a memory I will forever cherish and share proudly.

Three of the last four years, I’ve been fortunate to have had the opportunity to hunt the elusive whitetail in the Eastern Colorado plains. Being from Houston, TX and having limited exposure to hunting the giant mid-western whitetails, it’s been an incredible change of pace. I am absolutely hooked on the spot and stalk method of pursuit that the plains provide, and the unrivaled quality of deer presents an addicting feeling of the unknown on what could present itself. The guides are not only unmatched, but are experts on hunting in the open country. I’m grateful for the hunts I’ve shared and friendships I’ve made with all of them. In October of 2013, a year prior to this hunt, I was fortunate to have harvested my biggest whitetail to-date with a muzzleloader.

With all the countless hours of sharing my stories of hunting Eastern Colorado with my Dad, he had enough of it and decided that it was time for him to experience the thrill. With that said, my Dad and I booked a 5-day “father & son” 2×1 hunt together during the October rifle season. Although I was dead-set on using a bow, I was able to acquire a rifle tag so that we were able to hunt side-by-side.

After a 14-hour drive from Houston, we arrived at the ranch house the day before the rifle opener to get settled in, sighted in and acclimated. This was my Dad’s first guided Whitetail hunt of any significance, so it was amusing and pleasurable to see him in such a trance. We set out that afternoon to do some scouting with our guide and cameraman. To say the least, we were excited about the coming days as we spotted a lot of deer, including one potential shooter buck. The truck was loaded with confidence as we headed back to the ranch house that evening, ready to start the season.

The first morning we strategically positioned ourselves on a hill-side to overlook miles of creek bottom on a particular ranch that has been known to produce giant Whitetails over the previous years. With a bow in hand, I requested that my Dad have the first crack at a shooter buck we find. Not because of the higher likelihood of successfully harvesting a buck with the rifle, but because it would have meant a lot to me to make him priority and witness such a special moment. We saw numerous bucks the first day, including a few solid bucks. It was about a week out from the peak of the rut, so bucks were cruising and marking their territories. We even heard fighting within the salt cedars along the creek bottom. The beauty that the prairie farm lands produce and mystery of what lies within was so overwhelming that minutes felt like seconds during the hunt.

It was only the second morning of hunting this ranch when we made our first move on a buck. Sitting in the same spot upon a hillside, around 8:30am, our guide excitedly whispered repeatedly as he looked through his spotting scope, “That’s a typical 12!” Within a minute of spotting this buck, we quickly headed down the hillside towards the creek bottom in pursuit to hopefully intercept him before he got downwind of our position. Within an instant, you go from calm, collected and still, to excited and almost running. It’s the ultimate rush in Whitetail hunting that my Dad and I rarely get to experience due to Texas-style hunting. It’s what hunting in Eastern Colorado is all about. As we were making our way through the creek bottom, we would stop and glass often to see exactly where the buck was. At some point, we lost sight of him. We were questioning if the wind swirled and he got our scent, or perhaps if we spooked a doe in the process. Regardless, it was exciting and now we knew exactly what we were after.

After that hunt, I made it very clear that I wanted my Dad to harvest that buck. I was willing to dedicate the rest of our trip to see that he got a crack at him. I would sacrifice and do whatever I needed to help him along the way. The fourth morning of the hunt is a memory that I thankfully get to carry with me forever. Not long after sun up as we all sat glassing the creek bottom and the crops that outline the west, our guide spotted the typical 12 heading our direction with a few other bucks. We knew this was the morning, and still far off, we were granted enough time to devise a plan of attack and let the nerves settle a bit. Observing through the spotting scope, it was the first time I was able to get a good look at the buck, and the last thing I was going to do was tell my Dad just how big he really was.

Our guide asked if I would stay back on the hillside and take watch through the spotting scope as they made a move on the buck. Just in case he spooks or something goes wrong, I’d be able to watch him to see where he goes. Without any hesitation, I agreed and wished my Dad luck as he quickly gathered his composure and followed closely behind our guide and cameraman down the hillside. Shaking intensely from the cold and excitement, I would watch the buck through the spotting scope and also keep track of their progression towards him. As the buck made his way down a fence line, rubbing every single post along the way, I lost sight of my Dad, our guide and cameraman somewhere within the salt cedars in the creek bottom. What seemed like an eternity and anxiously waiting for a rifle discharge, the buck moved in front of some trees and out of my line of vision. As I became uneasy, it wasn’t two minutes later I heard the sound of my Dad’s rifle and no sight of the buck.

I noticed all the other deer in the field running away, so I was certain he made a successful shot. Without being able to see anything, I excitedly called my older brother, Jayme, to tell him what had just happened. Jayme had hunted with me in Eastern Colorado the previous two years, and holds such moments as I was witnessing close to his heart, as well.

 

After getting off the phone and minutes of waiting, I could faintly hear their voices as they celebrated with the buck. Not long after, I noticed our guide and cameraman making their way back to me as they left my Dad with his trophy. After some fist pumps, high fives and hugs, we gathered up all of the gear and started making our way towards the truck to go pick up my Dad and the buck. As we were walking, our guide asked if I’d like to go meet my Dad with his deer, and they would take the rest of the stuff to the truck. Without hesitation, I began a swift walk towards my Dad as I could see his blaze orange vest. The anticipation of seeing him, his excitement and his largest buck of his life was overwhelming. As I was walking towards him, I was shedding tears of joy and excitement. We had worked so hard all week for that buck, and I was so grateful he capitalized on the opportunity.

When I finally made it to him, he was smiling ear to ear and brought me in for a hug before I had the opportunity to look at the buck up close. The time spent admiring the buck with my Dad while waiting for our guide and cameraman to arrive is one of the best moments I’ve ever spent with him. It was truly remarkable.

Thankfully, not only were there impactful memories made, but a reward with this buck as well. My Dad’s buck was a mainframe typical 12 point with three abnormals, giving him 15 scorable points that total to 152 2/8” B&C. The buck had a 19” inside spread and 34 6/8” of mass. Truly a hunt to remember.

 

Trey Sperring

 

 

Mid-Asian Ibex Hunt: August 2017

International hunting enthusiasts have long considered the mountain ranges of Asia to be home to the best Ovis (Sheep) and Capra (Goat) hunting on the planet. The continent of Asia is quickly becoming our company’s most popular hunting destination due to the diversity of landscapes and amount of huntable game species.
 
The Kyrgyz Republic, or Kyrgyzstan as it’s commonly known, is a central Asian mountain hunter’s dream located in the western Tian Shan Mountain Range. The Tian Shan Mountains cover some 80% of the entire country. With affordable rates for both Mid-Asian Ibex and Argali, it’s no wonder that Kyrgyzstan is such a favored country to hunt. The altitude in Kyrgyzstan isn’t quite as high as what hunters experience in Tajikistan, and horses are used extensively on the hunts. Our outfitter has been operating in Kyrgyzstan since the late 80’s and has access to some of the best areas in the country. With all of this considered, Kyrgyzstan is a must-visit for all hunters, whether it’s your first international mountain hunt or you’re on your way towards your Capra/Ovis Slam.
 
After flying from Denver, CO to Houston, TX, I immediately met (with hugs) our good clients/friends, David Frisbie and Taylor Elston at a Mexican restaurant in the airport to toast to our adventure ahead and discuss what’s likely in our near future. Both David and Taylor had been preparing extensively for the hunt since their booking at the DSC Convention in Dallas, TX just eight months prior. David had lost 40 pounds up to that point, and they were both accurately shooting at farther distances than they ever could have imagined. I knew they were going into our hunt much more prepared, as my previous travel schedule set me back a bit. Although, I had peace of mind knowing that I live at altitude in Denver, CO. Most importantly, as both clients and friends, you couldn’t ask for two better hunting partners to share such an adventure ahead.
 
After a few margaritas and cervezas, we boarded our plane to make the 11- hour fight to Istanbul, Turkey via Turkish Airlines. This was the first time I had flown via Turkish Airlines overseas and it was much more comfortable than Delta Airlines. That is, for someone larger than the average bear. After a smooth flight, we landed in Istanbul and sat down at a comfortable setting for a few hours before heading over to our gate for our final leg to Kyrgyzstan. The airport in Istanbul is huge, and we finally made it to our gate to board after about a 20-minute walk. We did not have to go through customs once entering Istanbul, which was nice. After a smooth five-hour flight, we landed in Bishkek, the capital city of Kyrgyzstan.
 
As standard with all of our clients, we were immediately greeted by an airport VIP service employee to take us to the special lounge where we were able to bypass the common customs line and wait for our firearms/baggage. Our camp interpreter, Gulnaz (known as “Naz”), as well as the camp manager, Janish were waiting for us in the lounge. After introductions, discussing the recent travel and drinking some cold beer from Kyrgyzstan, our firearms/bags arrived and we were quickly loaded up into Janish’s Toyota 4-Runner to make the six-hour drive east to Janish’s home for lunch. We  spent those six hours learning about Kyrgyzstan, the people, culture, food, beliefs, etc. Naz was a fantastic tour guide/interpreter. We stopped to take a few pictures at Lake Issyk-Kul, which is the second-largest mountain lake in the world. It’s beyond beautiful with the most blue/clear water you’ve ever seen. It’s so large that it looks like you’re looking out into an ocean.
 
Upon arrival at Janish’s home, we sat down to eat a very traditional Kyrgyzstan lunch, comprised of lamb, rice, bread, sweets, tea, and mouth-watering organic honey. They requested for us to try a glass of mare’s milk, a traditional drink of Kyrgyzstan. I have to say that it was the worst thing I have ever tasted in my entire life. But, it’s all part of the experience! It was from this point that we were to switch vehicles into Janish’s more rugged, mountain-equipped SUV for another three-hour drive to base camp in the hunting area. The ride was rough, simply put. As these things tend to happen on Asian hunts, we had a flat tire not 45 minutes into the ride on the rocky mountainside road. As Janish was quickly changing the tire, it started to lightly hail on us, simply to remind us that we’re on an Asian hunt. After Janish replaced the tire with the spare, we continued to trek across the very rocky, rugged road towards base camp. It was very difficult to not get nauseated sitting in the back seat of the SUV, as we were also now going on more than 40 hours with no sleep. Attempting to dose in and out to relieve the motion sickness, we approached a gated area that was armed by Kyrgyzstan government officials. They were posted at the gate to regulate any passing vehicles simply due to being so close to the China border. After checking our passports and validating our firearms, we had another 30 minutes to a washed-out bridge where Janish’s guides/staff were waiting with horses. The plan was to load up all of our baggage and ride the rest of the way to base camp. After getting adjusted to the horse and feeling comfortable, we had a brief two mile ride to base camp. We dropped our things in our rooms, shot our rifles to make sure they were still accurate, ate a Kyrgyzstan dinner, toasted (a few times) to a great hunt ahead, and quickly went to bed.
 
We awoke the next morning to a nice breakfast in base camp before packing up all of our packs to head out for the hunt. We were to be spike camping separately with our guides, so we had to ration our clothing, gear and supplies for the hunting days ahead. With full, heavy packs on our backs, we mounted up on our horses and headed east as a big group up the Kaindy River. David, Taylor and I had a few hours of riding together to chat before we split off for an unknown amount of time. The plan was that after each of us harvested our Ibex, we would then make the ride back to base camp to meet up. Crossing back and forth across the Kaindy River, riding up and down the mountainsides, and passing through local ranch homes, the reality was setting in that we had finally started our hunting adventure in Kyrgyzstan. The beauty of the mountains started to become overwhelming. After every new turn of the river, there would be a more stunning look than the one before.
 
Taylor and his guides broke off from the group first. They headed south from the river up another large valley for an unknown distance. David and I continued to ride east together for a few more miles until he and I split off simultaneously. David continued up the river, and I broke off and headed north with my two guides. It was at this point that I realized what the Kyrgyzstan horses were really made of. I simply could not believe how incredible of climbers they are, especially loaded with weight. It wasn’t maybe a half-mile after splitting off the Kaindy River that I found myself in one of the most nerve-racking situations I’ve ever been in. The horse trails were on the edges of cliffs and steep drop-offs so deep that you could only hear the rushing water below. Simply put, there were a few situations where my life was in my horse’s hands. My main guide, “Erik,” had me get off my horse in a few places and walk due to safety for the horse and myself.
 
After a few hours of breathtaking views and suffering from a sore ass, we stopped to eat some lunch next to a stream. Erik and my subguide, Urmat, gathered some water to boil so we could eat some noodles and chicken. Seeing that I was still a bit tired from all the travel recently, they gave me a mat to lie down on for about 20 minutes to take a quick nap. We drank some hot tea, and got back on our horses to keep on trekking north along the valley. While on the ride, I started to notice a few Ibex skulls here and there from Wolf kills, so I could sense that we were getting close to a good area. The few times we would cross the stream in the middle of the huge valley, I would spot some Wolf tracks, as well as a few Lynx tracks.
 
We finally got to a spot on the west side of the huge valley where we got off our horses to glass the opposite mountainside for some Ibex. It wasn’t after a few minutes that Erik spotted a large group of Ibex very high up on the mountain, just below the slow pack. Erik asked that I get out my spotting scope so that we could get a closer look. There were lots of pretty good billies, and I was so excited to be watching these majestic animals for the first time. Some would fight a bit, others would lie on boulders, while others would just simply stand and chew their cud. I singled-out a few billies in the group that I judged to be shooters. Erik and Urmat had previously scouted this area and knew there were some good billies, but they were happy to know that there were a few I would shoot.
 
Erik and Urmat set up our spike camp right in the spot we were glassing as I continued to observe the Ibex on the opposite side. I gathered that the Ibex stay up high for safety during the day and come down to feed on the grasses at lower elevation during the morning and evening time. We would camp there that night, and get up the next morning super early to cross the valley to be in position for the Ibex as they come down to feed. Once our two tents were set up, I unpacked my heavy pack and set up my sleeping bag and other essentials for the evening. It was starting to cool off extremely fast and it became quite chilly. Immediately after dinner, which included some more noodles, chicken and tea, I crawled into my zero degree bag (with liner) to sleep, and to stay warm. I didn’t even change my clothes. I was so tired and chilled that I was anxious to not only get warm, but to have the next morning come as quick as possible. I awoke in the middle of the night for a pee, and noticed flashing lights, almost like lightening over the mountains ahead. The sky was crystal clear and I assumed that maybe there was a storm far away, but it was actually the lights from China. We were hunting so close to the China border that the lights were from some sort of activity in the country, per Naz’s feedback later.
 
When we awoke the next morning at 4:30am, the inside of my tent was lined with frost. For any other occasion it would have been really tough to get out of my bag, but I was excited for the potential chance that morning of harvesting my first Ibex. I got my things situated using my headlamp while Erik and Urmat gathered up our horses. We mounted up and rode across the valley, crossing the creek and up the other side in the dark. Once we got to the first steep hill, we got off the horses and roped them off. Knowing that we were going to have to do some climbing to get into position for spotting, I put my trekking poles together and we started up the steep hill. It wasn’t 10 seconds until I was sucking wind. It made me feel a bit better to see my guides sucking some wind as well. Although I was in decent shape coming into this hunt, there was just something about the Kyrgyzstan air.
 
As we continued to climb the grassy, rock-sided hill, we finally got to a good spot to glass and wait for the Ibex to show up from the extreme, rocky cliffs above. After about 20 minutes of not spotting any Ibex, I could tell that Erik and Urmat were starting to question if the group happened to move a bit down the valley during the night. While still behind the hillside, Erik walked a bit up the valley to glass a bit in other areas while Urmat fired up the Jetboil for some hot tea and noodles (breakfast). As soon as Erik came back to us, he spotted the Ibex right above. The group was feeding on some high grass and slowly descending lower in elevation as they fed. Quickly, Urmat grabbed my pack and had me follow Erik to get a bit closer, while preventing the Ibex from seeing us climb. Crawling in a few spots, the intensity magnified as I realized that there would be a very good chance I was going to harvest my Ibex that morning. Erik was very careful, and very slow moving, which I could appreciate. He was concerned that they would see us, but the slow pace allowed for me to keep my breathing together. He would even stop a few times to let my heart rate get down. We quickly hit a point that would serve as a good position for a prone shot, and Erik ranged the group with my binoculars. With the sharp end of one of my trekking poles, he wrote on a rock “538”. I shook my head, crossed out his number and wrote “300.” After a nod, he and Urmat started to discuss a game plan on how we could get within my comfortable distance. Going into this hunt, I knew it would be fairly difficult to get within 300 yards for a shot, especially during the time of year we were there, but with it being early in the hunt I wanted to stick to it.
 
At that point, most of the Ibex quickly moved farther down below the peak of a hill in front of us, to where we lost sight and allowed for the perfect cover to get closer into position. There were only three Ibex that stayed up high enough that they could see us if we made a move to get closer. To stay covered, we all three crawled on our chest for nearly 100 yards beside a wall of grass before we lost sight of the three Ibex that stayed up high. Once we got to where we couldn’t see them anymore, we got up and moved closer. Little did we know that there was a massive ravine between us and the hill that we wanted to get to. After carefully dropping down and back up the other side, we approached our target spot to get the next look. While walking hunched over, Erik and I simultaneously saw two Ibex just over the hill! Really close! We immediately fell to the ground and started crawling. I knew they were so close that I wouldn’t even need to range them. I chambered a round. My heart was pounding with nerves, as I knew this was going to be it. Erik was about 10 yards ahead of me when he waved to me to hurry and get into position.
 
Once I met up with Erik I could see the entire group just less than 200 yards away! Looking through my scope, I had to quickly find one of the two billies I had picked out from the evening before. A bit nervous that we would be spotted, I was anxious to find the right one to shoot. After about 30 seconds of searching from billy to billy in my scope, I caught the right angle of one specifically that I remembered from the evening before. He had more width to his horns and his left side somewhat flared out to the side, different from the others. I focused in on that billy and Erik told me to shoot. Zeroed in at 200 yards, I put the middle of my crosshairs behind his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The billy dropped to the ground immediately at impact. Didn’t take one step. Erik and Urmat started celebrating but I quickly re-chambered a round and keep my sights on the grounded billy just in case he were to get up. Realizing he wasn’t moving, I took the safety off and received hugs from Erik and Urmat. I was so pumped. I couldn’t believe it actually happened; that I conquered the humbling Tian Shan Mountains and harvest one of the most striking animals on earth.
 

I took the bullet out of the chamber and we started the short trek to my Ibex. We had to drop down a ridge and back up, but I somehow did it all without taking my eye off of the Ibex on the ground. I was so excited to walk up to this animal. Erik and Urmat were ahead of me and let me pass to be the first one to its presence. The moment of touching the billy’s horn was one of the most fulfilling and special moments of my life. I was fascinated with the animal itself, and all of its features. It’s simply amazing how they grow such long, rugged, yet gorgeous horns. I was so proud that I made a good shot to make it a quick kill for this old billy. Erik started counting the age rings and said, “11.” Hearing how old this billy really was is what made it so special. He had tons of broom spots and gashes in is horns from fighting through his years. We set the regal animal up for photos and took nearly an hour of them. I love quality harvest photos, as I believe it’s the least you can do to show respect to an animal. I had to make sure there were enough decent ones given the circumstances of the language barrier, but once we were done, Erik and Urmat boiled up some noodles and tea.
 

I heard some barking in the distance, and it was a beautiful Red Fox smelling my Ibex just over 200 yards below. The sound of the bark and seeing that Fox I will never forget. The bright red coat in contrast with the green grassy valley and blue water was an incredible sight. Erik started to cape out the Ibex while Urmat went and fetched our horses to bring them up the mountain to us. Nearly every bit of my Ibex was taken and packed by Erik and Urmat, even the linings of many organs. Once the Ibex was caped out and the meat was packed into the saddlebags, we headed back down the mountain towards spike camp to pack up. My Ibex horns were in one of Urmat’s saddlebags, and I couldn’t stop starring at them sticking out the side as we descended. I guess I had the constant feeling of success. Once we reached our spike camp, we packed everything up and started the extremely long ride back to base camp.
 
The ride back to base camp was very taxing, but the site of my Ibex horns out the side of Urmat’s saddle bag reminded me how it was all worth the aches and pains. While crossing the valley bottoms, I did see Bear tracks, as well as more Lynx tracks. We also came across one location where there were more than five dead Ibex from Wolf kills.
 
If you do not have much experience with horseback riding, this adventure will certainly be an eye-opener. It’s not that you’re simply riding horseback for an extensive period of time, but you’re riding in the rugged mountains where use of your legs and back are constant. It’s a mental grind, and one of the most extreme grinds you can go through. Once Erik, Urmat and I reached the Kaindy River drainage where we split off from David, Erik turned on his radio to see if he could get word from David’s guide. Erik quickly received word back from David’s guide and after a few minutes of chatting, Erik handed me the radio to speak into. I assumed I would be talking to David and sure enough, he informed me that he shot his Ibex the evening before and that they were headed back to base camp. Excited, the next three hours of horseback riding game me something to look forward to. We stopped at Erik’s home and had a quick meal with he and his wife. It was certainly an experience, as their style/standards of living are very different than in the United States. They live simply, and get by with what they can. It’s a tradition in Kyrgyzstan to drop in to as many homes as possible on your way back from a successful hunt to share meat and eat a meal. I’m grateful to have experienced that.
 
We finally made it back to base camp and I woke David up from a nap to congratulate him on his successful hunt and fine Ibex. His Ibex skull was sitting outside and it was the first thing I could see upon arrival back. As a good friend and client, it doesn’t get much better than that. With little to no energy left, we still managed to have some dinner and drink some Vodka to two successful hunts with Janish, Naz and the guides. David and I decided to bunk in the same room to have a little bit of pillow talk about our experiences, for the little energy we had left. David harvested a fantastic Ibex, and certainly a trophy billy for anyone. David was more than thrilled with his trophy, and over the moon with the overall experience he had hunting it.
 

We awoke the next morning, a bit rejuvenated to have some breakfast and reorganize all of our gear from the past few days of hunting. We tipped our guides and began looking at each other’s photos from our hunts. All at the same time anxiously waiting for Taylor to return with his Ibex. It rained most of the entire day in base camp, and Taylor never returned that day from his hunt. We spent that evening sharing stories and whiskey, while enjoying the evening.
 
After waking up the next morning, Naz informed David and I that Taylor had shot his Ibex the day before and they were on their way back to base camp. Excited, David and I got dressed and decided to walk a few miles up the Kaindy River to meet with Taylor and his guides as they were approaching base camp. After about an hour of waiting, we spotted the three horses in the distance. As Taylor and his guides got closer, we could see his Ibex’s horns sticking out the side of a saddlebag that we were both very fortunate to have already experienced. We greeted Taylor with congratulations and hugs, and went back to base camp.
 
Taylor’s Ibex was a great trophy with an incredible story. Taylor was very happy with his hunt and wouldn’t have asked for anything different from his experience.
 
After waking up from our last night in base camp, we packed up our things and made the long ride all the way back to Bishkek. We stopped for lunch at Janish’s home as we did before. No mare’s milk this time! Once arriving to Bishkek, we checked into our nice hotel and spent our remaining days enjoying the city until our scheduled departure back to the states. Great restaurants, hookah bars, sites, etc., we took full advantage of our time in the capital city of Kyrgyzstan.
 
To say that the experience was a success for us three is an understatement. Not only did we each harvest beautiful Ibex, we started a new passion for international mountain hunting together. Hunting the Mid-Asian Ibex in the “heavenly mountains” (i.e. Tian Shan Mountains) was a life-changing experience for the three of us. I am extremely fortunately to have shared the hunt with two amazing guys. What we took away most from this hunt was the astounding sights, generous people, amazing culture, and the unforgiving environment. We can’t wait to get back to Asia, and Kyrgyzstan will always hold a special place in my heart.
 

Trey Sperring

 

 

Recently I returned home from an excellent hunt in Alaska for AK Yukon moose. We’ve been booking moose hunts on the Peninsula for years, but the wolves and bears are really hammering the moose calves out there, so the number of moose tags available each year has dwindled down to just 2 moose/year. We get a lot of inquiries about moose, so I decided to go on an “exploratory” hunt in search of an area where we could send our clients for a reasonable shot at a big bull. After talking to an outfitter early in 2010, I decided I’d try and get a couple of guys and go up there to try the area for myself. Being on a fairly limited financial budget, I elected to take the “outfitted” option vs. a guide. I knew having a guide would be beneficial for a wide variety of reasons, but I simply couldn’t afford having one. The outfitted hunt is not your typical “float hunt”. It requires 2 guys to hunt in a camp, but you save nearly $10,000 off the cost of the guided hunt, which put the hunt in my financial reach. While doing this hunt without a guide presents its challenges, I felt comfortable enough with my hunting prowess to give it a try. I got a longtime hunting buddy on board and we booked the hunt last September.

The area requires you to draw a permit, so we put in as a party and both drew the tags for our 1st choice unit (Unit 23). Our hunt dates were originally planned for September 10-20, but my hunting partner found out his friend was to get married on September 10, so the earliest he could come up would be the 11th, making his hunting start as last as September 13. The season in this unit closes on September 20, so I elected to go up early on my own and hunt a few days before he got there to give us a better chance at shooting 2 bulls (I was worried we wouldn’t get 2 bulls in just 7 days of hunting). I moved my hunt dates up to fly into camp on September 8, starting on the 9th. We got to the lodge on the 8th, went through “orientation” and I flew out to camp that afternoon. The flight to camp was only about an hour and a half, most of which was over the hunting unit so I was able to see a lot of different country on the flight in. When we got near the lake I was supposed to land on, we decided to make a wide circle around the area to see if we could see any bulls from the air. Sure enough, there were 3 big bulls, all within a mile of my camp. We landed, set up camp and the pilot flew on to another camp, leaving me out there alone. I still had about 4 hours of daylight left in the day, so the anticipation of the next day’s hunt was in the front of my brain for sure. I cooked dinner and had an excellent view of an Alaskan sunset, then hit the hay.

The next morning, I got up before the sun came up and put on a pot of coffee. I went out to take a wizz and decided to do a little calling before the sun came up. After calling a few times without any replies, I went back in the tent to check the coffee. I was messing around with the coffee pot when I heard what sounded like a bull thrashing his antlers on the alders. I stepped outside my tent and sure enough, probably 500 yards from camp I heard a bull. By the time I got dressed (I was still in my long johns when I was calling the moose) it was getting light, so I hurried down to the river bank that was a few hundred yards behind camp and set up for my first calling sequence. Almost immediately after calling I got not one but two separate bulls to answer! I was pretty pumped, especially since both were on either side of me and working my way. The wind was in my face, so it looked like I was going to be right about where the two bulls met each other. Trying not to be too aggressive, I wanted to keep the bulls headed towards me so I grunted every once in a while. The bull to my right was coming straight in, but the other bull started working in front of me from the other side of the river, probably 200 yards into the alders where I couldn’t see him (I hadn’t laid eyes on either bull at this point). The bull coming from my left made it past me without me seeing him and was raking trees now, basically calling the other bull off the river and up to him. I decided that since the one bull had made his way past me I would move about 100 yards down river to the next bend so I’d have the best chance at seeing them if they hit this small oxbow in the river. Just about the time I got to that point, the bulls met somewhere around 200 yards from me (still out of sight) and started sparring. Not an intense fight, but it lasted probably 3 minutes. I let them break up and gave them about 10 minutes to cool down, then started grunting softly, maybe one grunt every 5 seconds or so in bursts of 3 and 4, then waiting a few minutes and doing the same thing. One of the bulls fired up, first grunting a couple of times then grunting with every step. I heard him walking in the river and knew he was just on the other side of the oxbow from me so I slid back into the alders a couple of feet and got set up on the sticks. Right about now my heart is pumping because this bull is less than 100 yards from me, just beyond the bend and the mixture of fog and the thick vegetation, I still can’t see him. He quit moving for 5 minutes or so, so I wasn’t sure if he was still there or had moved on so I let out two soft grunts and here he came. I first saw the alders moving about 70 yards from me, then saw the tips of his paddles as he was raking the trees. He came in doing the “cowboy walk”, grunting with every sway of his head and slamming his antlers into every small alder bush he came across. At this point I had a decision to make. I went to Alaska with a goal of a bull with big fronts and over 60″. Here I am, 9:15 am on day one of what was supposed to be a 12 day hunt, and I’ve got a bull (that by my rough estimates was right in the neighborhood of 60″ with long brows and what looked like around 15 points on the left side) standing 25 yards from me directly across the river. I hate to say it, but I considered passing this bull. I’d seen some of the monsters the area produced and knew that with the extremely limited pressure that there were bound to be some giants in the area, the weather was perfect and the rut was already kicking in. I had to ask myself -“Is this a bull you would pass on day 10?”. After thinking it over for what seemed like 5 minutes, the bull was losing interest and beginning to work up the river bank across from me. When he was walking perpendicular to me, I grunted and he looked at me, showing me that his left palm was past the mid-way point of the hump on his back thus confirming that he was at least 60″ (I’d also used the 10″ between the antlers rule before this). I’d be crazy to pass this bull, so I put the rifle on him and squeezed the trigger. At the shot, he just took about 5 steps into the alders and stood there. “No way I missed, he was 25 yards from me!”. He stood there for probably 60 seconds without moving, then starting coughing, alerting me that I’d hit him in the lungs. All I could see was his rack, and with the brush being so thick right there I didn’t want to chance a shot. I grunted at him a few times, finally getting him to move just enough to expose the hump on his back. I put one at the base of the hump and he went down like a (literal) ton of bricks. 9:30 AM, Day one, my first Yukon bull down.

I hadn’t even been in camp long enough to inflate the boat, so I had to go back to camp and carry the rolled up boat back to the river and pump it up with a foot pump. By the time I got the boat inflated and across the river an hour had passed since I shot him so I’d calmed down quite a bit. I floated across to where he was standing and quickly found him about 15 yards from the river, laying in a small ravine. Immediately I realized I’d made the right decision because I wanted a bull with big fronts and his were considerably longer than I thought. I didn’t have a measuring tape on me, but knew my rifle was 47″ so by my estimates he was somewhere between 61-63″.

Where he was when I found him:

(He ended up measuring just north of 62″ wide, I’ll take it any day for a first moose):

I took a bunch of photos using a tripod I’d brought and then began the long CHORE of cutting a moose up alone. I know some of you guys have done it, but Jesus maneuvering a 1600 lb+ animal by yourself is about as tough as it sounds.

I literally had to cut his entire left side off before I could even flip him over. After cutting him up and packing a hind quarter and some ribs, the pilot came in and helped me pack him (thank God). By the time I got back to camp with the bull it was after 11:00 PM, nearly 14 hours after I shot the bull. I was exhausted, but it was worth it. After 18 months of planning, 3 days of traveling and only 2 hours of hunting, I achieved my goal of shooting a 60″+ Moose. Better lucky than good I suppose.

PART 2 – SKIP 5 DAYS AHEAD WHEN MY HUNTING PARTNER ARRIVES IN THE CONCESSION
After shooting my bull on day one, I basically just stayed within a half mile of camp, keeping my ears open for wolves howling, hoping they would find my kill. Unfortunately, after 4 days they didn’t find the kill and I knew today was the day my hunting partner was due to arrive. I called Joe on the Satellite phone to see what my next move would be and he informed me I needed to pack up camp into my boat and float 12 river miles down river to meet Sean, my hunting partner, on a gravel bar where they could land the Cub. No big deal, except Joe’s camps are WELL stocked. I had 2 rubbermaid containers full of food and cooking utensils, one cooler full of food, a propane stove, a wood burning stove, 2 cots, all of my personal gear, and still had the moose rack and cape. I didn’t think I could fit it all on the boat, but after 8 trips from the tent to the boat hauling loads of gear, I squeezed the last items in and just sat on top of all the gear.

I pushed off, and literally right across the river a legal bull stood up and ran about 40 yards, turning to look at me and pausing long enough for me to snap this photo on my point and shoot camera. 6 brows on the right, but just barely 50″. Going to be a good bull in a few years for sure.

We wouldn’t have shot him, but it was good to see moose again after staying off the river for 4 days(I had originally thought that Sean was coming into my camp to hunt so I tried to stay away from the river where all the moose seemed to be).

Floating down river alone on a loaded raft into a head wind isn’t too fun, but it’s all part of the Alaskan experience so I was soaking it up. Because I had the moose on the front of the raft, it kind of acted against me with the wind so I ended up having to paddle basically the entire 12 miles. Interestingly enough, as I was floating I saw a total of 6 bulls, all of which were legal by brow tine definition and 5 of which were 50″-55″. ALL of these bulls saw the moose rack on the front of my boat and immediately went into “cowboy” mode, walking along side the raft and grunting at me. I snapped this photo of another bull, but decided to put the camera up after this because the boat kept wanting to turn sideways on me, which could have dumped me and all the gear out. I figured I knew what a moose looked like, no use taking any more photos.
After a few hours of floating, I finally met Sean and the supercub down at the gravel bar. It was nice to see people as I’d been without contact since the pilot came in to pick my moose up the day I shot him. Long days alone were actually nice as I got to really get some thinking in, and with my bull in the “salt” on day one, it was pretty relaxing. We set up a mobile tent on the gravel bar and the settled in for the day. Sean saw my bull and was pretty impressed, and even more impressed that I saw half a dozen bulls just floating down river to him. He’s moose hunted 3 times prior to this, once in Alaska and twice in Canada, and seen a total of 6 bull moose. I shoot a 62″ bull on day one and see 6 more just floating, so he’s pretty jacked up at this point. To say his first night in camp was restless would be an understatement, I don’t think he slept.
The following morning, we woke up before dawn and began getting dressed for the day. Sean was out of the tent before I was even out of my sleeping bag, so I knew he was ready to go. I told him to just call from camp to start off with to see what was in the area. Just as I stepped out of the tent he said he heard a bull grunting up river, answering his calls. We got our binos and guns and walked about 30 yards from the tent to where we would have a better view up river. As I turned my head to listen for the bull, I looked up on the hill across from us and spotted another bull about 500 yards away up on a hill. We could tell he was at least decent, so we started cow calling and he came in on a string. I snapped a ton of photos of him walking in, here are a few. From over 500 yards to about 10 yards, this is how well they were responding to calls:

We assessed he wasn’t a shooter for this area, probably mid-50’s but kind of spindly, but he was still coming. I could hear the other bull grunting and raking trees up river, so we were a little worried we’d spook this bull if he got too close or crossed the river and blow the other bull out of the area. He came across anyway…

As soon as he crossed the river, Sean looked where we’d heard the other bull grunting and saw him standing there looking at the other bull from about 200 yards. We grunted, and he came in thrashing every tree he came across. As he worked his way down the bank, it was pretty apparent that this bull was MUCH larger than the first bull. I knew he was wider than my bull, and knowing my bull was 62″ I figured this bull to be 64-65″ with wide and long palms. A definite shooter, right? Not exactly. Sean was hesitant to shoot the bull on day one because of my successes and what we’d seen. I did about everything I could to talk him into shooting, but Sean decided he was going to pass and take his chances. Here are some photos of that bull, would you have passed on a non-guided hunt after 3 unsuccessful moose hunts? Sean’s a die hard, and he wanted a bull with big fronts. This bull wasn’t weak up front by any means, but didn’t have the brows mine did so he passed him. Keep in mind we are standing 30 yards from the tent, ON the airstrip where a plane could come pick the meat up. It would have been a nice and easy pack, but Sean decided to pass…

After that, we actually saw 4 more bulls that morning, so Sean really wasn’t too worried about his decision. We even had another chance at that big bull that evening and again Sean elected to pass. This time he was a little hesitant to pass him, but still stuck to his goal of shooting a bull over 60″ but with giant fronts (We knew length of tines has nothing to do with B&C score, he just wanted a certain bull and was prepared to pass up big bulls to get it). That night in camp, after a day of letting it stew around in his head, Sean said “I messed up. I should have shot that bull. I’ve got to find THAT bull now…” I laughed at him, saying we had him across the river from the airstrip and now we’ll probably shoot him 2 miles down river 500 yards into the brush, but I said I was willing to help pack and we decided to hunt him.

We hunted him for 2 full days, going back to camp for lunch and nothing else without another sighting. Sean was beginning to feel bummed out at this point, realizing the likelihood of him seeing that bull again was very low. Sean began to get a little restless, so I decided we should move on, telling him that if there’s one bull like him, there’s probably a few more (This area produced 2 of the largest moose taken in Alaska just 2 years ago, so I knew there were better bulls there). We floated down river, hunting a bit and seeing some bulls but nothing that could compare to the one he’d passed. It’s day 4 of his hunt now with just 3 days left in the season, so he’s starting to feel the weight of his decision.

I decided instead of floating all the way down to the last known airstrip so soon, we should pull over and camp for at least one night in an area that, from the map, looked like it had a ton of oxbows in the river so looked very “moosey”. It’s noon, it’s foggy, and we’re tired. We pulled the boat over and quickly set the tent up on the gravel bar, but left all the gear in the boat because we wanted to wait for the sun to come out to dry everything off. Sean was understandably restless at this point, way past second guessing his decision to pass that bull and in the regret stage. As silly as it sounds, THIS RESTLESSNESS POSSIBLY SAVED OUR LIVES.

We had not seen a single moose between the hours of 10:30 am and 6:00 pm. Warmer than average temperatures probably contributed to this as the bulls were definitely rutting hard, but here we are at around 1:00 pm, both dead tired, and Sean decides to go call moose. I told him to go ahead, really wanting to let him clear his mind and just try. It looked like it was going to start raining, so I told him I’d hang back at the tent and unload all of our bags and cots and put them in the tent. Sean went downriver along the alders and I began unpacking. I got everything unpacked and was finishing setting up my cot when I heard Sean coming back to the tent, kind of half whispering “Greg! Greg!”. My first thought was, “No shit, he actually called up a bull mid-day!” I poked my head out of the tent only to hear him say “Greg, there’s a grizzly working downwind of us, you may want to get out here in case he gets into the alders and comes towards the tent”. “Shit, well keep an eye on him and I’ll put my boots back on and grab my rifle”. Sean agreed and walked to an open area of the gravel bar so he could see the bear. Sean said the bear was a few hundred yards away and just walking, so I sat on my cot and put my boots on. After tying one boot and starting on the other, I heard Sean yell loudly “HEY BEAR! HEY BEAR!”. I grabbed my rifle and threw a 4th shell in and jumped out of the tent.

 

THE CHARGE – (THIS ALL TOOK PLACE IN LESS THAN 30 SECONDS)

It was apparent by the tone of Sean’s voice that the proverbial “shit” was about to hit the fan when I heard him yell “Hey Greg!”. Sean’s a very calm, confident hunter. He’s hunted Alaska multiple times, was an apprentice guide on the Peninsula for 2 years and has been around TONS of bears. I knew something wasn’t right when he yelled at me, so I ran towards him, keeping a safe distance between me and the brush line (I still couldn’t see the bear). Sean kept yelling, slapping his gun, kicking rocks and waving his arms, but was slowing backing back into the water. When he backed about 10′ back into the water, he took a knee (later explaining that Ronnie Crous told him he took a knee on the now famous Botswana lion charge so he could be at eye level with the cat and have less of a moving target. Smart move). I was only 15 yards from Sean and still couldn’t see the bear, so I stopped and shouldered my rifle, keeping my head above the scope and on a swivel.

Just then, I heard it. It sounded like a faint “thud” of a large animal’s feet moving quickly, but I STILL couldn’t see the damn thing. I looked to where I heard it and the bear burst into my view at a DEAD RUN, locked in on Sean. At this point the bear is at 30 yards and running at a speed I thought only capable of a thoroughbred chasing the triple crown. I put my head down and got him in the scope at the very moment Sean shot the bear. The bear was 14 steps from Sean at the first shot As soon as he shot the bear took a barrel roll forward to about 10 steps and looked up dazed. I picked him back up in my scope, his gigantic head and beady eyes basically filling my field of view, but because he rolled in towards Sean, the shot was a little too tight for me to shoot. I’m sure some of your know that in moments like this your brain is working a million miles an hour, and mine was working at that speed and some. I decided that if the bear made any sort of movement towards Sean that I would shoot him (My muzzle was clear of Sean, but it was only about a 4′ window and I didn’t want to risk it unless I absolutely HAD to). The bear instead rolled back and turned towards the tent, trying to get away from whatever the hell just knocked him in the dirt. Sean quickly shot again, putting one somewhere through the midsection and rolling the bear again into the alders and out of our sight. We moved along the bank towards our tent to get in the boat and safely across the river, keeping a close eye on the area the bear went. We could hear him thrashing around and growling very loudly, but no longer could see him. We waited in safety for probably 30 minutes after the last time we heard him, and decided it was safe to come back across the river to end the ordeal and try to ensure the bear was dead and not wounded. When we got over to the other side of the river, we could easily see the bears running tracks heading towards Sean, where the bear had been rolled by the shot, and where he ran back towards the tent and entered the brush. The problem was, we couldn’t find a single drop of blood. Not good. Anyone who’s hunted up there knows that Alder brush along the river banks is THICK, comparable to the long grass in Africa except much more difficult to walk through due to the complex root system you’re trying to navigate with your feet. With visibility at about 10 feet, it makes for a tense follow up. I decided to grab a pocket full of rocks from the gravel bar to throw at him if I saw him (ensure he was dead without having to poke him) and we entered the brush. Not having any blood to follow and no tracks were visible, we just went shoulder to shoulder and slowly walked forward. After about 15 yards of walking, Sean saw a small patch of brown to the left and stopped me with a “tssst” sound. Sean raised his rifle and I threw the rocks, hitting him with both of them with no reaction. We approached the bear and he was done, just 10 YARDS behind the tent.
Your mind starts thinking about all the “what if’s” for sure. “What if Sean had shot the bull on day one, we wouldn’t have been here”, “what if Sean hadn’t SEEN the bull on day one, he wouldn’t have been as restless”. “What if we had both decided to hang out at the tent”. A lot of things go through your head. Whatever it was that actually made Sean leave the tent mid-day to go call moose, I’m glad he did it. Had we been in the tent or sitting in chairs around it, we probably would have been in deep trouble. Neither of us was too shaken by the ordeal, both obviously had adrenaline pumping like crazy but I never really felt “scared”. Excitement would be a better word, and a little remorse for a bear that we had no choice but to shoot. We took a ton of photos of the scene, called fish and game and were told to skin the bear, get its skull and float 6 miles down to an airstrip where they could come pick it up.

Sean with the Grizzly, this is where he fell but we obviously cut some brush and moved him for the photos.

We skinned him carefully, packed up camp and headed off. Sean did a quick measuring of his skin and came up with 8’8″, a true giant of a grizzly. This was later confirmed by fish and game when we gave them the skin and skull, in addition to them measuring his skull at 24 5/16″, nearly a half inch into the all time record book for Boone and Crockett. Just a gigantic old bear.

We floated 6 miles down the river to a gravel bar we knew the cub could land on and set up camp. Both of us smelled like a bear, so we decided to change and start dinner. It was about 7:30, so we still had a couple hours of good daylight left so I started calling moose from camp, hoping to get a bull to show up or at least move closer for the next morning’s hunt. I heard a bull answer my cow calls about a mile away, so I started raking a tree with the lid to one of our rubbermaid totes, imitating a bull raking his antlers on the brush (That lid was probably the best call we had in our arsenal, it carried the sound a long way and sounded very realistic. Gotta use what you got on hand out there!) Sean was still changing, but I could tell the bull was moving in on us. He was raking trees and grunting like crazy, so he sounded pissed. I’m standing 10 feet from the tent, Sean is sitting down pulling his hunting pants on over his sweat pants and we’ve got a bull closing in on camp fast. From the sound of his antler raking, you could tell he was a good bull. I kind of had to convince Sean to get ready because he thought the bull was farther away (he’s got terrible hearing from shooting a lot as a kid), so Sean stood up literally seconds before the bull came into view. I could see his paddles coming so I knew he was good and wide, but couldn’t see his brows to completely see what he looked like. When Sean looked down to jack a shell into his gun and turn the scope power down, the bull broke the brush at 50 yards directly across the river from us. I could tell he was a great bull, so without hesitation I said “Shoot that damn bull!” Sean grabbed for his binos and I said “Don’t look, just shoot him!”. Sean shot him in the front shoulder, nearly bringing him down in the water (would have been terrible had he fallen in the river) but a second shot quickly knocked him down safely on the river bank. The bulls head fell into the brush, so Sean had literally no idea what he had just shot. We gave him 5 minutes and got in the boat to go take a look, of which the whole time I was messing with Sean saying “I know he’s over 50 inches, and he’s got pretty decent length and a folded right palm”. Realistically, I knew he was over 60″, knew he had gigantic fronts with some non-typical type trash on both sides and a huge folded palm on the right, but after he passed that big bull early in the hunt I figured I should mess with him. I did start telling him he was a big bull, but I don’t think he was going to feel any better at this point until he saw it with his own eyes.

We crossed the river and Sean said “Man I hope you’re right, I’m going to be pissed if he’s 50”. We walked up to him and immediately Sean said “Whoa! You’re off the hook!”. He was pleased with his bull, I was pleased with the fact that we only had to pack the bull 10 feet to the boat. We were camped on the landing strip!

 

Greg Brownlee

[column_full]
Hunting is something that’s been controversial in the media in recent years. Photos of hunters with big game trophies have made the rounds with celebrities and comedians who don’t understand it and use their influence to badmouth it. When people look at a photo from a successful hunt, they often either see the rewards of a hard hunt or something grim that they do not agree with. It’s a classic example of two people looking at the same photo and seeing two completely different things.

I think the best way for me to describe what we do and why we believe hunting is the best form of conservation for wild animals is for me to make a list of a few key points, then explain each under them. I’ve given specific examples to further prove the point.

Hunting as Conservation

The first point I want to get across is that we are not hunting areas that are viable to photo-tourism. Because of recent postings in the media regarding hunting lions and giraffe, I’ll use Africa as my example. The national parks of Africa are incredibly beautiful, and I will be the first to tell you that these areas should be kept off limits to hunting, due to the fact that money generated from photo-tourism can fully sustain the anti-poaching efforts that the park has to pay for. In addition to be full of wild fauna and flora, they’re typically very scenic areas that make for nice photographs and settings for camps. These areas typically see a large influx of photo-tourists in 10-15 passenger vehicles who, though they cannot leave the vehicle for their own safety, can still see animals from the car and take photos. The animals are obviously use to people because many have come through over the years, so they are quite docile.

Hunting areas on the other hand are areas outside of national parks that the governments have set aside as sort of “buffer zones” to the parks. Human encroachment in Africa is a huge problem because the population is exploding. The areas where we hunt are typically very thick, densely wooded areas, that have indigenous human populations within them. They are not conducive to photo-tourism, thus they have to find another way to raise money. The people living in these hunting areas make money by either raising cattle, crops or both. The human/animal conflicts in these areas is extremely high because the wild animals compete with their cattle for grazing, and also severely damage their crops. The locals will do anything within their power to keep their cattle and crops safe, which typically includes killing them indiscriminately by any means necessary. An example would be, if lions kill their cattle, so they will poison the dead cow which in turn kills anything that feeds on the cow carcass. This typically not only means wiping out an entire pride of lions, but also the small scavengers and birds that also feed on them. Elephant and rhino are not only killed for eating crops, but unfortunately the Asian continent is in love with their horns and tusks so there’s an illegal demand for ivory and rhino horn. In these areas where there is very little outside income, people are easily persuaded to poach the rhino and elephant to sell their tusks and horns which has no limit and they poach until the animals are gone. They will wipe out any animal they think they can get money for, and 100 times out of 100 they simply shoot the animal, cut the horns or tusks out and leave the meat there to rot.
[/column_full]
[column_third]

[/column_third]
[column_two_thirds]This is where hunting comes in as conservation. What hunters do, is take these areas that have no source of income from wildlife (thus rendering them useless in the eyes of the bush African) and transform them into hunting areas. Hunters pay big money to have these areas to themselves for 10-28 days and come hunt. The hunting operators hire locals as trackers, skinners, cooks and scouts, and the government regulates this by setting very conservative quotas for animals, to ensure that off-take does not exceed reproduction rates. The money derived from hunting safaris goes toward funding anti-poaching teams, and the quota insures that only old animals are taken and the younger ones are allowed to reproduce. Anti-poaching teams are there to ensure that no illegal hunting is going on, and curbs poaching of animals indiscriminately. It’s a proven fact that in hunting areas, wildlife populations flourish because they have a value. Giving them value to the locals makes them want to protect them because instead of the animals competing with their crops and eating their cattle, now they gain income from them just being there. When a cow is killed by a lion, the hunting operator pays compensation to the cows owner. So, instead of the cows owner killing the lions in retaliation, he goes to the hunter and the hunter pays him cash. Same with the crop destruction.[/column_two_thirds][column_full]If an elephant herd breaks into a crop area and destroys it, the hunters money pays the local farmer compensation. On top of that, all the meat not eaten by the hunting party is required by law to be donated to the local community. The community gets paid for each animal taken by the hunters, gets compensated by the hunting party for crop and livestock loss AND gets to keep all the meat (which they are in desperate need of). This is how hunting brings the animals value, and why it stops poaching and indiscriminate killing. Hunting is truly the best option for the areas outside of national parks, and most areas without it are complete devoid of game and full of cattle.[/column_full]
[column_third]

Specific Example

[/column_third][column_two_thirds]
It’s a fact that hunters are willing to go into areas that no one else is in search of exotic game. A specific example is NW Pakistan. Pakistan isn’t exactly considered a top tourist destination in the world. They’ve had trouble with Taliban in recent years (Bin Laden was killed there), road systems are awful and extremely dangerous, and they’re not set up for accommodating large groups of people outside of the major cities. In NW Pakistan is where you find the Kashmir Markhor. A Kashmir Markhor is the rarest wild goat in the world. In and around the town of Chitral, Pakistan they historically had a large population of the Markhor, with as many as 10,000 of them living within just miles of the city. Over the decades as the human population expanded, so did the demand for more room for them to graze their livestock. As the demand for grazing ground grew, so did the conflict with the Markhor and domestic goats. Herders would kill the Markhor illegally in order to make room for their livestock, and by the early 1990s there was only an estimated 30 Kashmir Markhor left around Chitral. The local government saw that if they didn’t do something to protect these animals that they would go extinct, so they declared a portion of the mountains near Chitral a “Markhor Conservancy”. In doing so they made it illegal to graze goats within the boundaries of the park in an attempt to keep people out and grow the Markhor population.[/column_two_thirds][column_full]Game guards were hired to keep watch of the Markhor and make sure they weren’t being poached, but funding wasn’t there to keep this conservancy going for long. In the late 90s when funding was running dry because there was no tourism to sustain it, they decided to auction one hunting permit for a male Markhor. The permit brought over $50,000 the first year and was such a help that they were able to fund additional game watching teams and all but stopped illegal poaching. Today they auction 4 permits per year for Markhor for over $100,000 each. The permits directly fund the conservancy, but also fund road projects in the area, mosque building and area schools for school supplies. I visited this area in February 2014 while joining a client on his Marhkor hunt, and today there are well over 1,300 Markhor living within the areas conservancies. They’ve been able to expand the conservancy boundaries to neighboring towns because they see how much money these animals are worth living rather than using the ground for grazing their domestic goats. The population is growing at an exponential rate, and it’s 100% due to the fact they are hunting them.[/column_full]
[column_third]

 

Why I believe there is a difference in hunting vs. shooting…

[/column_third][column_two_thirds]

Why I hunt

Like the majority of hunters, I was raised hunting. My grandfather was not a hunter, but my father picked it up while working on his families farm in the summers and fall and raised my brothers and I to hunt. Growing up I was rarely allowed to actually carry a gun while hunting. My father would take me deer hunting, but we never shot anything. We would watch and observe the deer, and he’d teach me about them. Watching them in their habitat while “hunting” as a boy, I gained a respect for them that most people don’t have because they don’t understand them. I think it’s safe to say that I know more about whitetail deer than 99% of the people who say you shouldn’t hunt them, and the reason I know so much about them is because I hunt them. I hunt for the challenge, and the older I get the less I actually shoot anything while deer hunting. The older the deer is, the more of a challenge he is to successfully hunt, and I do enjoy the sport in trying to outsmart them. I hunt does (females) for meat, but never take more than I need and eat the deer meat year round. Its a good source of protein, and you know it hasn’t been tampered with like most meat in supermarkets have been. Even “Grass fed” beef has typically been fed grain and hormones for the last month of the animals lives.

When going on adventure hunts in Africa, Asia and North America, for hunters, it’s a personal challenge. Climbing at 16,000 feet is incredibly difficult, and trying to actually get close enough to a big game animal who’s spent his entire life avoiding snow leopards and wolves, is extremely challenging. People have flown halfway around the world and spent 2 weeks in a tent and failed to fire a single shot. That’s hunting, it’s not easy when you stick to your goals and never waver on them. If anything, unsuccessful hunts give you a deeper respect for your quarry. I also hunt because I know it’s the best way to manage game populations. This could mean controlling their numbers from getting too high, or spending the necessary funds to keep them valuable to the local population (as seen above in the Kashmir Markhor example above). Please don’t take this as me trying to make hunters sound like some kind of philanthropic organization, because that’s not why I hunt and that’s not what I am. I respect the game I hunt and do like the sport aspect of it as well, and that’s something I will never apologize for. We do however have a deep respect for the tradition of hunting, and care about all animals. Sustainable hunting is the best way to ensure they exist outside of national parks, period.[/column_two_thirds]
[column_full]

Final Thoughts

At some point in every single human’s genetic linage there’s a hunter. I understand that some people are so many generations removed from hunting that they cannot understand why we do it, nor will they ever understand it. But you must understand, that what a true hunter is doing, is not some attempt to prove our manhood, to try and look tough or to gain attention. A true hunter is doing it for themselves and for the game they pursue. Are there people who do it for the wrong reasons? Sure. But that’s human nature, and you’ll find people doing all sorts of things for the wrong reasons. Like everything in life, a few bad eggs can ruin the image of an entire group. When people stop respecting the game they pursue, they’ve lost what it means to be a hunter. The best way to keep this from happening is to educate kids and new hunters, what we perceive as the correct way to hunt. Teach them the way it is supposed to be done as my father did with me at a young age. Personally, I try and teach them it’s not about the kill, but about the pursuit, it’s not about the size of the trophy, but the challenge it took to get it. To teach them to utilize every bit of the animal they take, as to not waste it.  In the case of someone reading this blog post, I hope at the very least I’ve said enough to show you, that most of us are not blood thirsty, chest bumping morons, who get off on ending the life of an animal the way the media likes to portray us.

Greg Brownlee

[column_full]