By Jason Soulliere
The mountains are covered with pines and growth and the sky is clear and
sunny. I am in an ancient land where civilization began tens of thousands of
years ago, hunting for an animal that looks like he has been carried over from
that time. In fact, he has.
The Bezoar Ibex is the largest ibex in horn and body size and calls the
rugged mountains of Turkey his home. It is the ancestor of modern goats. This
animal, for anyone who has hunted the Capra or goats of the world, is the crown
jewel of the ibex family. Although Markhor are the rarest and priciest of the
goats, the Bezoar Ibex, in my opinion, is the most impressive and beautiful of
them all.
Though we are a mere few hours from the bustling city of Adana, it is
like we are in an entirely different land. My Turkish operator refers to this
particular spot as the “sacred valley.” It is a dramatic canyon, emerging out
of nowhere from the flat land: the rivers and tributaries have cut the
surrounding mountains into a labyrinth of valleys and hiding places. It’s where
we will begin our search for the monarch of the area, the one with the
endearing name of “Curly,” due to the very long curve of his horns. Curly is
one of their older rams on the hunt list that had been carefully compiled by
the guides.
This particular beautiful ram had been on the radar for about 4 years
for these guys, and had been pursued since he turned ten years old, which was 3
seasons ago. I was informed that this increasingly reclusive ram was one they
wanted to take from the mountain due to his age. He had become even more
secluded and only would come out in far off difficult canyons. This season
alone, four previous hunters had tried and failed to locate and harvest Curly.
No surprise there. Ibex can jump six feet straight up, and their hooves act
like suction cups on the steep ridges. An older experienced ram like Curly
becomes wily.
In general, the Ibex are hiding in the pines, and emerge to browse in
the wispy, ankle-high yellow grasses above the high timberline only
occasionally. Currently, they are pre-rut and starting to break away from the
larger bachelor groups. Soon they will begin to ardently pursue the tiny
females, who are also in small groups. Then, they will lose caution. But now,
everything is in limbo. The odds of getting a ram like Curly are not great. He
has been hunted. He is wise. And hasn’t yet been blinded by the rage of the
upcoming rut. The odds are not great, but that’s not a reason to stop
hoping.
My entourage of guides and I stalk the rocky cliffs and ledges, pausing
to get a glimpse of the various ibex as they feed in and out of the timber. As
I glance about, I am amazed at the sheer vastness of this country. It had
seemed so small when I looked at it on a map, but somehow held the fifth
largest city in the world by population, Istanbul. Istanbul, as it is presently
called, has had a wild history. It has had many names: Byzantium was first,
then Constantinople named by the Roman empire, then after falling during the
crusades was finally conquered by the Ottomans in the 15th Century and renamed Istanbul, and has remained
that to this day. So much history and so much to see and learn about. What an
amazing place.
As always, whenever I visit the places I do in the world I am forever in
awe at the landscapes, the people, and of course the fauna. And again, I find
myself far from anywhere in a land so beautiful but far removed from the
Midwest where I call home.
Though enriched by the landscapes and the history, my focus still
remains on the fauna. As we hike from ridge to ridge trying to locate one of
the rams on the coveted “hunt list” we receive an excited radio call. One of
the spotters had found Curly! We drop everything and hustle to the vehicle, stumbling
down the mountain, sliding down the shale, frantically trying to get to where
he was. We needed to try to get a shot before night fell.
As my guide passes an old stump I see a cloud of buzzing insects,
teeming darkly in my direction, growing in size. I am being attacked!!
Aggressive bees swarm me and sting me in the head, inside my clothes,
everywhere imaginable. I scream to those behind me to find another way and take
off running down an extremely steep and dangerous grade. I smash bees against my
scalp and squash them in my clothes as I run towards my guide who helps me get
away.
After all this I try to assess what happened to me. I have been stung
about 30 times in the head and about another 10 times in the body. Thankfully,
I’m not allergic and did not have a reaction other than pain. Finally, we reach
the car and jump in to head off to see about Curly. Away we go up the windy
road to the lookout where we have been told the ibex is being glassed
from.
Despite being tired and covered with tender spots, we are
hiking with a lot of pep in our step, as the looming sun is not on our
side. We walk about 3 miles and climb up a very tall grassy knob in the middle
of a vast valley. The ibex are on the other side of the knob. There are two of
them: what appears to be the infamous Curly, and another ibex a few inches
shorter and about two years younger. My guide is frantic: he needs everything
to go right, he personally has attempted stalks on this ibex so many times and
he always escapes. I am prone looking down into a small depression where the
water had made a sharp cut in the larger valley. As the ibex emerges my guide
asks, “do you see him?” I reply “yes I see him, are you sure that one is
Curly?”
After he confirms it is, in fact, Curly, we range him. It is 485
yards at an angle of close to straight down. I dial my scope to the 300-yard
turret mark as my G7 suggests and settle in for the squeeze. Curly is there,
standing perfectly broadside as I slowly remove the slack from the trigger.
Boom!!! The echo of the shot fills the valley as I watch the 180-grain bullet
hit its mark. I have made a perfect lung shot and Curly doesn’t take another
step. I am always a lung shot hunter. I know the high shoulder looks good for
TV, but I have found if you can take the air away you will always recover your
game. This time I got both effects, a perfect shot, and an immediate
kill.
We make our way down the extremely steep hill towards my coveted prize.
I was in awe once I was able to put my hands on him. What an animal! Very
mature and missing part of an ear from an old battle from years ago. As I lift
his head and get him set for photos I can’t help but take some time to admire
the beauty of Curly. He had actually lost about 1-2 inches from his horns due
to rubbing, and his body compared to the other ibexes I have seen was
massive. Ibex horns can get as long as five feet. The operator of the
concession said that Curly was maybe the handsomest ibex he had ever harvested
and that he was very proud to have me take such a beautiful animal with
him.
Curly would end up being a top 20 Bezoar ibex, but he is tops in my
book. I will never forget him or the experience. As I see him memorialized in
my trophy room, I will stop to smile at how he got there. I’ll probably rub my
head where the bees got me, and dream about the next time I will visit the
magical land known as Turkey!
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