Roe deer in the mountains of Zhetysu, a TV shoot and a hard 480-metre shot — notes on hunting at home, in the saddle and on foot.
While African horizons were closed, we hunted at home. That season, after the pandemic, I went into the mountains — and grew so practised on marmot and other small game that I took them on the wing; I wanted a sterner task.
We took a licence for roe deer and, with a film crew from the Turan TV channel, set off into the mountains of the Zhambyl region, the Turar Ryskulov district. The estate's host met us with southern hospitality — a white dastarkhan, warmth. Only the horses were missing: for a Kazakh, riding out to the hunt is a special joy. So, like the wandering bard Zhayau Musa, I had to go on foot.
The nature of Zhetysu is something special. You understand why our ancestors drew their borders with the hooves of their horses and guarded every span of it. Here you want not to stare at a smartphone but to listen to the voices of the beasts and birds.
«At home or in Africa, the essence is the same: respect for nature and a trophy taken fairly.»
At dawn we climbed into the Makpal gorge. The game was beyond counting: a badger, a gazelle at the foot of the slope, chukars right underfoot. From the ridge we made out roe deer through the binoculars — five on the north slope, two on the south. And suddenly, among the junipers, a large old buck with almost white horns appeared. To this day I'm amazed I spotted him from afar: at 776 metres it's nearly impossible to make out a roe deer's horns — they must have flashed in the sun.
I decided to stalk him. Like a wolf, through the gullies, we crept closer unseen. But while I waited for the stragglers, the buck slipped into the next ravine, where two more males stepped out of cover. The range — 480 metres. On an ordinary day I'd never shoot so far, but a true master was beside me, and the Turan director hadn't come for nothing. I aimed carefully, pressed the trigger — through the binoculars I saw the deer leap, then the sound of the hit reached us. I finished with a second shot so the animal would not suffer or slip into the thickets.
The descent was hard: I stumbled, bruised myself slightly and broke off the tip of the trophy's horn — on a hunt you must always keep the risk in mind. But the task was seen through, and that is what matters. At home or in Africa the essence is the same: respect for nature and a trophy taken fairly.