CHAPTER XVIII
STALKING THE GREAT SHEEP OF MARCO POLO
Do you know the world’s white roof-tree—do you know that windy rift
Where the baffling mountain-eddies chop and change?
Do you know the long day’s patience, belly-down on frozen drift,
While the head of heads is feeding out of range?
It is there that I am going, where the boulders and the snow lie,
With a trusty, nimble tracker that I know,
I have sworn an oath, to keep it on the Horns of Ovis poli,
And the Red Gods call me out and I must go!
Kipling, The Feet of the Young Men.
Life in the East, more especially away from important centres, lacks most of the amenities which are taken as a matter of course in the civilized West. Family life is broken up, society is restricted, communications are bad, involving few and irregular posts, and health frequently suffers from the climate and from indifferent food. So much for the debit side. But fortunately there is a credit side, and for the Englishman sport is a large item on this side and does much to brighten the otherwise trying monotony of life in Asia. It also helps him to maintain his energy and health, and with it that sane outlook which is one of the main secrets of our success as a world-power.
When appointed to Kashgar I had hopes of fulfilling the ambition of a life-time by stalking one of Marco Polo’s great sheep, the Ovis poli. As a youth I had been fascinated by the record of the celebrated Venetian traveller, and after joining the army had made considerable efforts to travel in the Pamirs in 1891 and 1892. But the arrest of Younghusband, mentioned in Chapter XV., closed the “Roof of the World” to the private traveller, and it seemed as if I were not destined to tread these mysterious upland valleys. But the fates were kind. On the way to Kashgar I stopped at Petrograd, where a high Russian official, whose colleague I had been at Meshed, said that he felt sure I should wish to shoot an Ovis poli in the Pamirs. I replied emphatically in the affirmative, and it was speedily arranged that I should receive an invitation to travel in the regions which for so many years I had longed to visit.
Before describing the Ovis poli, which confers the blue riband upon the hunter of big game, both from the magnificence of the trophy and the inaccessibility of its habitat, I will quote Marco Polo, who wrote: “There are great numbers of all kinds of wild beasts [in the Pamirs]; among others, wild sheep of great size, whose horns are good six palms in length. From these horns the shepherds make great bowls to eat from, and they use the horns also to enclose folds for their cattle at night.”
The credit of Marco suffered through the ignorance of mankind, and it was not until the nineteenth century that his character for accuracy was vindicated by Lieutenant Wood, who, when he reached England in 1838 after his famous journey to a chief source of the Oxus, exhibited some skulls with horns 4 feet 8 inches long, and on the strength of these specimens the species was appropriately named Ovis poli or “The sheep of (Marco) Polo.”
It is the most splendid member of a splendid group, to which belong also the Ovis ammon of Tibet, with more massive but shorter horns, and the Ovis karelini of the Tian Shan, which is a smaller sub-species of the poli, the “record” head, shot by E. W. Dixon, measuring only 58½ inches. In the Ovis poli, the enormous horns are longer and relatively narrower than in any of the other wild sheep, forming a more open spiral and much more than one complete circle, with the flat surface markedly angulated.[18] The summer coat is lightly speckled and the legs are white, but in the winter the ruff becomes pure white. The height at the shoulders exceeds 12 hands, and the weight may be about 22 stone. The length of horns is enormous, one specimen, believed to be the longest on record, measuring 6 feet 3 inches! Marco’s “six palms” may perhaps be the equivalent of 5 feet; so that his estimate was in no way exaggerated.
The great distinction of being the first European to shoot an Ovis poli was won by Captain (the late Sir Henry) Trotter, who describes the event as follows: “It was during a very tedious and long march of thirty-seven miles, mostly through snow, that my attention was suddenly called to the presence of some wild sheep about two hundred yards up the hillside. My rifle was handy, and in a few seconds one of them came rolling down. It was the first Ovis poli ever shot by a European sportsman, but it was unfortunately a very poor specimen.”[19] Since that date British big-game shots, including the most famous of their generation, have visited these remote upland valleys in pursuit of this king of sheep.
When I actually visited the Pamirs I found that some of the descriptions I had read did not convey a clear impression on all points. Perhaps my chief disappointment was the aridity of the country, for, travelling in June and July, I had expected to find rich meadows decked with Alpine flowers. On the contrary, nowhere did I see anything but the scantiest pasturage, and it remains a subject of wonder that the huge Ovis poli can find nourishment in such a barren land. A second point which struck me was that the Pamirs were for the most part open and easy to traverse, and the mountains, although actually rising very high above sea-level, appeared almost insignificant when viewed from the high altitude at which we were travelling. The one point on which there was no mistake was the severity of the weather.
Starting from Kashgar in considerable heat on June 7, we crossed the Katta Dawan twelve days later in equally considerable cold, and from its crest, at an elevation of 15,250 feet, the Pamirs lay before us. To the north the Trans-Alai range rose up in snow-covered peaks, while almost at our feet a corner of the Great Karakul, the largest lake of the Pamirs, was visible. Descending into the valley from the storm-swept pass, I felt very happy that I had at last reached the haunt of the Ovis poli, and my elation was increased by seeing three small herds of females grazing on the mountain side as we passed down the valley to our camp near the lake.
The following morning I started off to try for game, feeling as keen and excited as I had done during my first shooting expedition more than twenty-five years ago, when everything was “fair and new.” I had fortunately secured the services of a good shikari, by name Nadir, who has already been mentioned. He had travelled with other Englishmen and quite grasped our methods of stalking, which utterly puzzle an untutored Kirghiz. He was indeed a treasure; for, besides being a good stalker, he understood how to manage the Kirghiz, who worked willingly under him.
Followed by some ponies carrying bedding and food, we rode across the level steppe to the foot-hills. By good luck we sighted a herd of six or eight four-year old rams, which were grazing about a mile off to our right, and before very long we saw their horns moving over a low ridge about 400 yards away. I jumped off and, running up to the ridge, had an easy shot and bagged my first Ovis poli. Though the head was a small one, such a start was of good omen for the future.
We afterwards examined the ground for miles, but saw no tracks of big rams; so we bivouacked in the hills and returned to camp the following day, satisfied that the local shikari was speaking the truth when he explained that the veterans visited the range only in winter. There was, indeed, no chance of a big head anywhere near the Karakul, and as sport was merely a pleasant incident of the journey, not its object, we marched on to Pamirsky Post.
OVIS POLI—THE 51-INCH HEAD.
Page 328.
From this centre we were making for Sarikol, and, owing to it being midsummer, when the Kirghiz were grazing their flocks all over the country, the prospects of bagging a good head appeared to be small. Nadir, however, knew of a nullah to the south, and we determined to give it a trial, and therefore made for the Uchak Valley, where we camped at an elevation of 13,500 feet, some miles from the stalking ground, for the sake of obtaining supplies and water. It was bitterly cold at night, but we started off for our day’s stalking by 4 A.M., warmly wrapped up and riding the invaluable yak. Walking at these high altitudes is trying to the heart, especially to the middle-aged, and I decided, wisely I think, to save myself as far as possible. We gradually made our way up the open but stony valley towards the skirt of the main range, riding up the side of the mountain almost to the snow line, where we dismounted to spy. The bare, open hillside was littered with large and small boulders; there was little grass and no cover to speak of; so I did not feel hopeful.
Fortune, however, was kind, and before very long a herd headed by a really fine ram was sighted, slowly grazing its way uphill. For a long while we watched our quarry, as at one time it bore away from us and then again turned in our direction, until we finally saw that its line lay about a mile from where we were in hiding. The stalk consisted mainly in crawling round boulders; but although the wind was favourable we were seen before we approached within the usual range for a shot, as was indeed inevitable owing to lack of cover.
The only course left was to rely on my telescopic sight and risk a long shot. But I could not see the quarry either from a lying or from a sitting position, owing to the boulders, and at the distance a standing shot would have been folly. Accordingly I told Nadir to bend down and, using his shoulder as a rest, was able to aim steadily at the big ram, which, after stopping for a moment to gaze at us, was moving off at a slow pace. My shikari was as steady as a rock, and, thanks to this, I was able to hit the ram through the heart. It was a most fortunate shot; for the distance was paced out at 300 yards.
Nadir and the Kirghiz, wild with excitement, raced off to the fallen ram, while I, equally elated but far less active, slowly followed them, panting for breath when I attempted to run. It was indeed a lucky day, as the ram was a fine six-year-old specimen, standing as high as a small mule, and with a perfect pair of horns measuring 51 inches.
On the following day I wounded a second ram in the shoulder by another long shot, and tracked it until nightfall, leaving it when we were about five miles from camp. Early the next morning we sighted it again near the foot of a precipitous hill on a wide open plain where it had joined some ewes. Stalking was out of the question, as concealment was impossible, and we felt depressed until the Kirghiz told us that a few miles off there was a man, the owner of two hunting dogs who would run down the wounded quarry. In time he appeared on the scene and handed over his dogs to the Kirghiz shikari, while I sat down to watch. The Kirghiz showed great skill in separating the ram from the ewes, and when the dogs were let loose he ran at their heels at a remarkable pace. The ram went very fast at first, but then circled and doubled, threatening the dogs at times. But its efforts to escape were vain, and after a five minutes’ run the noble quarry was pulled down and the shikari cut its throat. The scramble down to the valley was very steep and long, but my yak was equal to it, and I was interested in watching some snowcock, which kept flying past us in alarm, displaying their striking plumage to great advantage. When we reached the bottom of the hill we found the ram to be a fine head, but smaller than the one shot on the first day, which, according to our information, was the biggest in that area, although not a first-class head.
HUNTING-DOGS WITH KIRGHIZ OWNER.
Page 330.
The dogs were not fed until they were rested, and to my surprise they refused a piece of bread; but it was explained to me that bread was such a delicacy among the Kirghiz that a dog never had a chance of tasting it and so did not know what it was!
Their owner, like all the Kirghiz I met, was friendly and gave me his views on life. He laid down emphatically that no man of substance could be comfortable without four wives, and on my challenging this statement he was quite contemptuous and said that the Prophet, on Him be Peace, gave his commandments wisely when he permitted Moslems to marry four helpmates, as two were needed to milk the yaks and the sheep, a third to do the cooking and a fourth to sew and weave carpets. He ended up by saying, “Praise be to Allah! I have four obedient wives, who spend all their days in trying to please me!”
On the way home we passed a number of fine skulls lying about below a bluff which the Kirghiz referred to as a “cemetery.” They said that the Ovis poli are hunted in the snow by packs of wolves and take refuge on such steep places, where they are surrounded. In spite of their huge horns the rams apparently never attempt to defend themselves, and as their joints, heated by the pursuit, stiffen from the cold, they fall an easy prey to their enemies.
******
As I sit at home surrounded by trophies gained in the plains of India, in Kashmir, in Ladak, in Persia and finally in the Pamirs, each head evokes pleasing memories of the stalk and recalls some of the happiest days of my life. On no expedition does the golden haze lie deeper than on the successful stalking of the great sheep of Marco Polo, in the remote upland valleys of the “Roof of the World.”