Ibex (part II)

Inside the yurt a low table was set with plastic dinnerware and fresh bread and sauces. Their bread is called “boorsok,” and it is pan fried. It is kinda like a cake donut but without the sugar. The aroma of mutton grilling in a skillet on the open fire outside the yurt filled the inside of the yurt. I sat on a sheepskin rug on the ground with my back touching the colorful homemade Kyrgyz traditional blankets lined up around the inside perimeter of the circular yurt. I was so exhausted after riding horseback all day, I could easily have leaned against the blankets and slept until morning. And that is exactly what happened.

While we were eating the delicious grilled meat and bread dipped in sauces and complimented with whole cloves of raw garlic, I unknowingly fell deep asleep. The next thing I knew was Alex, my interpreter, waking me up at daybreak. Someone had covered me up and I slept all night curled up against the thick blankets.

Breakfast was more grilled mutton and bread, and I was ravenous after that good night’s sleep. The guides saddled the horses, and I dreaded getting back into the saddle. I was so sore that I could hardly walk. Yes, I had grown up owning and riding horses, but it had been 25 years since I had spent an entire day in the saddle.

Alex told me that after I passed out a couple more shepherds came by for a visit and told them that they had seen a herd of Ibex only a couple hours ride from us. That was exciting news.

As we departed, the guides cautioned us not to talk from this point on as we could scare the Ibex away. We would use only hand signs and not make sudden moves. The Kyrgyz guide scouted ahead of us and sure enough, after a couple hours he returned to tell us that he had sighted a herd. However, they were positioned on a ridge with a good view of our approach, so were not going to be able to get very close to them. 

After a short ride, we dismounted, and Alex and the Kyrgyz guide stayed with the horses while the Afghan guide and I crept along towards the herd of ibex. It looked like the herd was a half mile away, but after looking more closely, we were about 500 yards from the herd—OK, so it was only one-third of a mile away!

The Afghan guide handed the rifle to me. I was stunned. He expected me to shoot an Ibex that was 500 yards away. I had hunted deer all my life, but I had never taken a shot longer than 300 yards. I looked closely at the gun. It was a Russian-made rifle and appeared to be about a 30-06 size barrel. It was bolt action with a finger safety next to the trigger. The scope lens was covered with dust, and I gently wiped it clean with my bandana.

We were crouched on the ground, and it was an awkward shooting position. As I looked for my target in the scope, I remembered the Afghan guide’s nasty fall from the horse, and I just knew that this scope could not possibly be zeroed in. I surveyed the herd through the scope, and my mind was racing. What was I going to do with an Ibex trophy. Cheryl certainly would not let me hang it on the wall of our home. Besides, how would I get a trophy back to Mississippi. All those thoughts were running though my head while the guide was whispering harsh words in my ear which I assume were something like “why don’t you shoot dumbo!” I am sure that he used more graphic words with his expletives.

As I lined up the sights on a large ram, I pulled the trigger. All of a sudden the Afghan snatched the rifle from my hands, stood up and fired off two more shots. I had missed, and he was so angry at me. But he also missed, and I wanted to laugh out loud at him, but he had a gun in his hands, and I was a long way from home.

After the gunfire, Alex and the Kyrgyz guide walked to us, and Alex asked the Afghan guide if he could shoot the rifle as Alex had never held a gun in his hand. The guide agreed and as the herd of Ibex scurried along the ridge far away, Alex fired in their direction. The grin on Alex’s face was worth the discomfort of traveling to this remote place.

I was happy that I did not have to fool with the logistics of getting an Ibex head to the USA. Alex was happy. The guides would be happy when I gave them a tip—which was not customary in the culture at that time because the communist government set the price of all commodities, and everyone paid the same price regardless of who you are or where you live.

Today, there are companies that provide this type of experience in the Tien Chan mountains in Kyrgyzstan, and it costs a small fortune to bag an Ibex trophy. But my experience cost nothing as far as finances. But it did cost time as I had invested a lot of time in my Kyrgyz friends, hosting them in the USA, leading business conferences in their country before communism fell, and just being their first ever western friend.

Time invested in people does not have a monetary value, but it has a long-lasting impact on relationships. I am so glad that the Lord created me as an individual with gifts designed especially for me and allowed me to relate and live among other people.