Caucasian Tur - August 2007

Hunting in Karachay-Cherkess Republic which is in the south of Russia started with a phone call in April. A polite and good English-speaking manager of Huntika staff called me and provided an information about hunting opportunities in Russia.

I had been to Russia on several previous occasions, hunting Kamchatka bear, but I have never hunted a Kuban Tur in the south of this mysterious country. Without much thinking I decided to come. 

In August I flew to Russia and was greeted by Huntika staff and soon had transferred my baggage into a trailer, located a few hundred yards from the airport.

After a quick lunch and change of clothes, we packed our guns and another accessories into the car and departed for Huntika camp which lies high in the Caucasian mountains. About 3 hours later Sergey, my personal hunting guide pointed out a camp pitched at the edge of a wood.

The weather was pleasant! The second morning we went into the mountains for the Tur. About 11 a.m. I spotted a Tur feeding up the valley and my heart really began to beat. I had come for a Tur and now I was looking at one of obvious large size.

The conditions were right and we soon had worked up to within 30 yards of it. At that point, we found that it was feeding in the bottom of a small creek. If I stood up, I could see the top of its back, but could not get a shot. It would have been foolish to move closer, so we had to wait for it to move up on the bank.

The next 20 minutes seemed like hours, as we sat and waited. At last we could stand it no longer and we stood up to look. It was gone! We were never able to spot the Tur again.Several hours later we arrived at camp, exhausted. The fourth morning we dried our gear, had good breakfast and headed back into the field. We had only been on the hill a few minutes when Sergey leaned over and pointed to a large grey shape moving at the edge of the alders, about a mile and a half away. 

I continued to watch through my binoculars, awaiting his decision. "Looks to me like the best Tur we’ve seen," he finally whispered. Four hours later we were still several hundred yards off, with the Tur feeding along the base of the mountain, that made up the west side of the valley. As the wind was blowing steady, in our favor, we were not concerned about him scenting us. It would be a long shot for my .375 Denisov rifle, but I know that it was now or never.

I would have to take the best shot possible and hope that my hours of practice would make up the difference. Sergey was right beside me as I threw myself on the ground, lined up on the tur’s body and fired. "You hit him!" Sergey exclaimed. We could see blood and the fallen body.

When we made the top of the mountain we could see into the next valley. It was my first trophy of a tur. Needless to say, Sergey and I danced around the swamp for quite some time, congratulating ourselves. It was one of the greatest experiences I have ever had in hunting.