Alpine chamois are masters of their terrain, and since they, like all ungulates inhabit the higher parts of the world, look down for danger, the hunter must get above them for a chance at a shot. In summer this can be nigh-on impossible, as the chamois head for higher and higher ground, well above the treeline, forcing the hunter to the very tops of the majestic French Alps. In winter, however, chamois descend to richer feeding grounds, where the weather is less harsh and they can find a bit of protection. This isn’t to say that you’ll get an easy ride — you still need to climb above them, reaching heights of 6,500 feet or more, in thick snow, with biting winds and the danger of weather coming in ever present.
Lifelong hunter Simon K. Barr has hunted in the Parc Naturel Regional du Massif des Bauges three times during the winter, and as he warned me, it took him three attempts to achieve success. It’s hard hunting, and the guides there are as tough and fit as any I’ve met.
The Parc is part of the French Prealps, covering 5,200 hectares of nature reserve in eastern France, and stretching from Annency to Chambéry. It’s one of the jewels of France as far as hunting destinations go, with its wild mountains, deep forested valleys and the white mountain, or Mont Blanc, the highest of Europe’s peaks, visible in the distance. It was with this giantess in the background that Simon and I set off, guided by Bastien Deleplanque, a 26-year old from northern France who has been guiding hunters there for three years.
Normally, winter hunting means hard work, with snow up to your knees, but this year there hadn’t been much snow by early December. It was a mixed blessing, for although we didn’t have to deal with quite as hard a hike through the white stuff, the animals had not descended as far down the mountains as they normally would, and we’d have to get above them. This entailed hiking up to an altitude of 6,500 feet, just above the treeline, where there was little shelter from the icy winds. Snowy patches covered the dead grass, and the rocky surfaces are treacherous all year round, but even more so in the winter.
I opted for a backpack, rather than a bipod. To my mind, for this type of hunting, a backpack has two major advantages — no extra weight to carry, as you’ll have a backpack in any case, and it can be used on any surface. We’d been up the previous day, and exhausted ourselves trying to get close enough to a group of chamois for a shot, but hadn’t had any luck. On the second day, however, we spotted not one, but eight of these agile goats to the right and to the left of us. This was a great start, although it did also increase our chances of being spotted, particularly as we were below the animals. We knew we had to get higher, possibly to the top of the peak at some 8,000 feet, and proceeded as carefully and quietly as we could. As we climbed, we suddenly spotted a good male, just over 100 yards away — an unusually close distance for a shot at a chamois in these mountains. Just as quickly, he spotted us, and vanished from view — whether he’d simply ducked down out of sight or run, we didn’t know. We carried on up the slopes, stopping to spot every few yards. We were well and truly in chamois territory now.
Confident that we would find a suitable target, we gained height, and before long we were proved right. One, then two, then three chamois were spotted. Bastien decided on the central animal, which was at 280 yards. Now for many hunters, this distance is considered “long range”, and they take pride in getting close enough to the animal to look it in the eye. Out in the Alps, however, shots out to 400 yards are considered well within range. This is not hubris, nor does it show a lack of fieldcraft, for getting within 400 yards of these animals is a skill in itself. Not only is the hiking hard, with steep, dangerous passages, but chamois and their mountain brethren, mouflon and ibex, have excellent eyesight, are wary, and can move incredibly fast when they sense or see danger.
Knowing I may be taking shots at these ranges, I’d chosen the 6.5 Creedmoor, known for its accuracy at these ranges. Simon was manning the Leica rangefinding binoculars, another essential part of our kit during a mountain hunt — for not only do you need to be able to calculate distance in a heartbeat, but angles are all important too, as that will affect your scope adjustments, and the likelihood is that you will be shooting at an angle when hunting in the mountains is very high.
Simon ranged the animal for me, giving me a click value of eight, the adjustment I needed for the distance and angle. I settled down to the rifle, which was snugly bedded into the backpack. The chamois was quartering towards me, so I adjusted my aim slightly to allow for that. What would be a straightforward shot on flat ground is never quite as simple in the mountains. The bullet hit the chamois well, breaking its shoulder and piercing a lung. In any other situation, taking out a shoulder and a lung would do the job. But not here, where these goats are built of tougher stuff. The hardy animal still found the strength to run some 650 feet before coming to a standstill. The rifle had next to no recoil, allowing me to watch the chamois the entire time, following it with the scope until it stopped. I didn’t hesitate, knowing that if I did, we’d most likely lose the animal for good. I fired again, and it dropped on the spot.
Unfortunately for us, the spot it dropped also happened to be on the lip of a precipice, and the unfailing forces of gravity did their work. The chamois, almost in slow motion, toppled over the edge, plummeting down the mountain side. We’d now need to do some mountaineering to extract the animal, a dangerous task at the best of times. Luckily mountain guides are prepared for this, and always carry ropes with them, so while it may have taken us a few extra hours, my chamois was retrieved — in time, I’m glad to say, for Simon to do it justice with his camera. As we set off down the mountain with the chamois, I looked back at Mont Blanc. It’s not every day you get to hunt a wild goat in the shadow of Europe’s highest peak. I wish it was, though.
