Chamois hunt in Austria Part 2

Of course I’ve also brought along a very nice double shooting stick with supports both in the front and the rear, bought specifically for this trip. “You’ve got the wrong kind of stick” Uwe factually declares as soon as he sees it. I protest weakly and mumble something about rear support being good for accuracy. “You need one of these” Uwe responds and hands me a classic Alpine walking stick, “it’s good for both shooting and walking”. I however refuse to yield, prompting Uwe to end the discussion with “Ok, you’ve got the wrong stick, I’ve got the right stick.” Events will prove him right since my adjustable four legged stick will prove difficult to walk with, be prone to folding up on itself and in the end we won’t use it. Trust your PH is usually good advice, as so also this time.

Climbing up the mountain is hard work and I can almost feel the air getting thinner with each 100 meters we climb. Both Tony and Uwe walk, climb and hop ever upwards at the same pace I would normally stroll down a city street and I am having some difficulty keeping up. Determined not to show any weakness I do my uttermost to hide my laboured breathing and do my best to keep my feet straight when putting them down upon not always solidly anchored rocks. Every broken twig underfoot and clattering of falling rock hangs embarrassingly in the morning silence.

Uwe and Tony occasionally whisper to eachother in the local Corinthian dialect, which seems only very distantly related to the limited schoolbook German that I know. As we start approaching the treeline, both guides stop more and more frequently to scan the mountainside using their binoculars. Finally we deviate from the path and lie down in the tall grass under one of the last clumps of fir trees. We are not far from the treeline.

“There is one!” Tony suddenly whispers back at us. I am looking through my binoculars furiously but am not able to see anything. After some more directions from Tony I am finally able to see the chammy, lying just in front of a rock at the very last trees. “That’s about 300 meters” Uwe says, using his rangefinding binoculars, “do you think you can shoot?”. Looking at the tiny chamois lying just below the big rock I start feeling a little bit out of my depth. I answer noncommittally that it would probably be better if we could move a little closer first.

We crawl down to the path again and continue upwards, taking a large detour around a small crease in the mountainside in an attempt to reach a higher spot without being seen by the chammy. Now daylight has arrived and we can just about sense the sun starting to rise from beyond the next mountain ridge over. We see lots of chammy droppings on our path and it is obvious that we have now arrived in the natural habitat of our quarry. Just as the sun breaks over the ridge at the opposite end of the valley, we pass the treeline and above us lies now only bare mountain.

The first chammy is long gone by the time we reach our stalking spot. We sink down into the deep heather and cloudberry brush, and I am finally able to catch my breath properly. I ask what altitude we are at and Uwe estimates it to about 2,200 meters. A few cloudberries will have to do for the breakfast we didn’t eat earlier. Over the next few hours we see many chammies, including the old female. We see a large flock of mothers and young, not for hunting, as well as a few lonely chamois. But all of them are either in the wrong place for a stalk or are too far away.

“I think it will be a difficult stalk” Uwe says when I ask about the old female at first. However, after looking at her trough the high power monocular we finally decide that she is the one. An old female who has done her part will not be missed by the herd and that also feels appropriate somehow.

“Ok, let’s go for it!” I say.