I won this ibex hunt at auction two years before I ever set foot in the Pamirs. That’s how the whole Tajikistan trip got started. When I found out Marco Polo argali are hunted from the same camp, that became part of it too. Two years and 50 pounds after winning, I stepped on a plane for the grandaddy of all adventures.

The sheep hunt from this trip is its own entry.

Ibex fascinate me. Where they live, their regal appearance, the challenge.

But we had to find them. While glassing we spotted tracks that looked like a fight had happened at the top of a rise. It was clear in the snow: two tracks came together, they fought down the hillside, and through the spotting scope we could see it, a snow leopard with a sheep kill. We came back later and set a pair of trail cameras on the kill site. A few days passed, we pulled the cards, and the footage was stunning. A beautiful leopard and two cubs. Seeing that through binos and then seeing the footage was a remarkably rare sight for anyone, much less a Southerner from the U.S.

We came around a bend and they started heading for the ridge immediately. My pack was thrown in front of me for a near-vertical shot at 380 yards. It looked like a good hit. He went down and for a few seconds it was over. The assistant guide, doing double-duty as cameraman, even turned the video off. But then the ibex stood up. When I looked through the scope again, there was the scene I had always imagined: standing atop a rock, chest out, horns up. I anchored him there, at 470 yards. He slid down the mountainside a good bit.

Success can be emotionally overwhelming. Head in hand, thinking of my dad, my brothers, and how in the world did I wind up here doing this thing.

Two years of anticipation, dreaming, came to a conclusion at 14,000 feet in the Pamir Range of Tajikistan. The meat cannot be brought into the U.S. but it certainly did not go to waste, feeding locals to help them through the winter.

We left the same way we arrived, but no overnight. Eighteen hours straight through. Running the tight potholed dirt road along the river border with Afghanistan, we could see lights in the Afghan homes. Our driver loved the outside lane, hugging the sheer cliff down to the water.

With gear and guns on the inside and trophies on the roof, we cracked out early for the final leg to Dushanbe. Said so long to Afghanistan and hello to civilization, or something close to it. From 13,000-foot base camp down to 4,400 feet in Kalaikhum. Y’all know I enjoy a good road trip.

This trip took place during COVID. Once we were back in Dushanbe, our hunt group met a guy, pretty sure he was Russian, for a “covid test” before flights the next morning. We each gave him $100. A few hours later he came back with official doctor’s notes for each of us.

The hunting group had a celebratory last meal before a 3am run to the airport. Favorite local place of our outfitter, and it was awesome. Walk through the front door, into the courtyard, down the open-air hall where each door is a private dining room. Green soda and the real-deal green tea, quail soup, then family style lamb, chicken, beef and trout.

It’s during that time of year when I visit with friends and family and inevitably the question of “why do you do it” comes up. It takes me to places I would never otherwise visit, experience cultures and traditions, and share adventures with like-minded and wonderful, unique people I would not meet in any other endeavor. And I think of all this every time I look at the trophies on my wall.