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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