North Ossetia Russia late September 2009
By John F. Cedarberg IV
SCI member #20079282
Since January I had dreamed of little else, having been the winning bidder for a rather unique hunting experience at the Reno SCI show donated by Sergei Shushunov and Oleg Potechkin of Russian Hunting Agency. It was all fine and good to explain in a rather bravado manner that I was going after an East Dagestan Tur in North Ossetia. A what? my friends asked. A goat, I answered. In Russia. Near Chechnya, Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Iran. Isnt that dangerous? Isnt there a war going on there? Arent there terrorists there? they all asked. I had well rehearsed answers to all the questions, but as the time came closer, I began to wonder just what I might be in for. I hoped I was ready for this as I boarded the plane for the first leg of my journey to the other side of the planet. I had lain awake many nights worrying about this expedition. How hard will it be? It is supposed to be pretty tough. Will my guides meet me at the airport? Will the Russians let me in? How about my rifle?
As I flew into Vladikavkaz with my guide Oleg Potechkin, whom I had met in Moscow, where he flawlessly negotiated all the red tape, I could see massive mountains rising from the steppes, up through the clouds. Perhaps the Tur I was after was looking back at me? When the plane landed, we were met by a bodyguard who loaded our bags into a Mercedes SUV with blacked out windows and off we raced to the hunting compound. We met the boss, Serra, a short solid fellow in his mid fifties with close cropped hair and a Makarov on his belt. He is the chief director of hunting in North Ossetia. He explains the plan and issues the proper paperwork. Oleg and I will share a suite in the luxurious lodge looking out to the not so distant mountains covered at the moment in thick fog. From here we will head out to hunt a couple days at a time. We have not yet received the proper authorization to enter the frontier border area for Tur hunting so we will try for Caucus Chamois first.
Serra arrives early in the morning and whisks us an hour away to a small village where we meet up with our guides. The rough looking men shake hands and introduce themselves as Aslan the leader, Saslan the assistant leader, Alec, Yuri and two others. They have mismatched uniforms and old battered weapons, but look like they can run up and down the mountains all day long. We pile into a big truck filled with thick cigarette smoke for a couple hour drive. Chamois have been spotted in the next valley past some abandoned fortifications from the Georgian conflict last fall. I get out with two soldiers to climb while the truck departs dropping off men with radios and binoculars along the road to glass for goats while I scramble to get up the slope and into position. A group of chamois is spotted and I am vectored into position. With an audience of soldiers watching every move from several thousand feet below, we scramble on the shale and boulders staying low and edge slowly up ridges to carefully peer over trying to catch a glimpse of our quarry. What looks so easy from below is not easy on the mountain.
The next several rainy, mist shrouded days are spent reading, napping and eating outstanding food at banquets hosted nightly by Serra for local VIPs, as well as visiting a couple local sites of interest including a visit to the site of the Beslan school massacre where September 1-3, 2004 a dozen Chechnyan terrorists held over a thousand children and teachers hostage and murdering several hundred. It is awful.
Finally it is time to hunt for Tur. My gear is stuffed into a small Kelty pack, enough for a two or three day assault on the Caucasus Mountains climbing from 4000 feet to 13,000 feet up a 60 degree incline over loose shale and ice covered boulders.
Speeding, overdriving headlights, narrow roads, wandering livestock, tailgating, passing blindly and weaving are commonplace on the terrifying three hour ride to the Georgian border.
We report in to the guard detachment responsible for patrolling the mountainous border. After receiving authorization to enter the frontier zone, our truck winds its way up a narrow dirt track ending at a bunker with a machine gun and two soldiers. We proceed on foot. The path is very rough and tangled, once a road carved into the hillside but after hundreds of washouts and rock slides it is now a treacherous obstacle course. I enjoy the hike which ends at a hot springs near the face of a large glacier. It is bright, sunny and about 60F.
Then starts the hard part. Aslan indicates the top of the mountain towering overhead. The climb is easily the most strenuous physical endeavor I have ever undertaken. The mountain is very rough, with rolling rocks, slippery moss, and hidden crevasses. As we get higher, it gets colder, windier and steeper. Ice and snow cover the hellish terrain. Each false peak is a spot to rest and gather strength for the assault on the next section. I discipline myself to keep moving. As we continue to ascend, I can feel the reduction in oxygen. We eventually come to a cave where some meager supplies are stashed and collapse into our sleeping bags. It is terribly uncomfortable and I sleep very little.
Several hours later with two casts and a shy grin, Oleg and I ride to the airport in an ambulance. The gun paperwork and customs emigration is a horror show of red tape, but eventually all the officials get their rubber stamps in the correct locations and I am free to leave Russia.
On the way home I reflect that I am not in a real hurry to repeat my Caucasian adventure any time soon.well, until the next time when I have forgotten all the hardships and can only remember the glory of the Caucus mountains and my magnificent East Dagestan Tur.
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