THE FIELD FROM THE ARCHIVES
Shooting wild sheep and deer in Turkey. Taken from The Field, 1 February 1936
Turkey in Asia is a good shooting country. Small game abounds and one can count on a good mixed bag of migratory birds: woodcock, quail, snipe, duck and such like. Red and grey partridge are ubiquitous, francolin only being found in Cilicia. Wild boar are almost a pest, and the Turkish authorities are taking steps to prevent their increase. Red deer, wild sheep, wild goat and a few wolves and brown bear are to be found in the wilder parts.
At the end of the past century there were red deer within 10 miles of Constantinople; now they are found on three mountains only. Each of these varies in the density of its forest, and it is always possible to recognise from which mountain a head has come, as the more open the forest, the broader the splay of the antlers. Their home is amid the pines in delightful scenery, a magnificent climate and easy going. Alas, during the past 10 years the rifle has replaced the muzzleloader and their numbers are decreasing.
Wild sheep inhabit the barren, undulating hills that border the Baghdad Railway from the Taurus Mountains northward for 150 miles. They are similar to the shapo of Northern India except that the old rams have a pronounced white saddle. Wolves are their greatest enemies and during the past two hard winters they have taken a toll of them.
Wild goat are to be found in the Taurus and on one isolated mountain, Maimun Dagh. A Belgian in pre-war days spent a month there, had daily drives and shot more than 60 animals with a shotgun and slugs – he was obviously a butcher by trade. In 1914, I visited the mountain and in a week’s strenuous stalking saw only six animals, including one shootable head. It was difficult country and they could be stalked or driven. Their number has since stayed stationary.
A few years before the war, when on leave from India, my brother and I tried for both sheep and red deer. Leaving Smyrna on 1 September we reached Konia on the third, where we were hospitably entertained by the British Consul (the late Colonel Doughty-wylie, VC). After a day spent in making arrangements and sightseeing (dancing Dervishes, mosques and holy carpets, for which we were assured the British Museum had offered fabulous sums) we started off in a springless cart for our 25-mile drive across the salt plain.
We were accompanied by two mounted gendarmes, to protect us. Full of Sandhurst zeal I inspected their rifles – I could hardly see through them for dirt. They told me they cleaned them once a year, before annual inspection. I did not believe them but after the war, when commanding a Turkish gendarmerie battalion, I found it was true. They had no food for their horses, so lived in a village 10 miles from our camp and were useful for fetching mail, vegetables, etc, from Konia.
The drive was enlivened by two foolish Imperial sandgrouse settling by the roadside. My brother fired at them sitting, missed, and then shot them both flying with the second barrel. “I am useless at sitters,” was his only comment.
We left camp before dawn. Each of us was accompanied by a Turk, who carried our food and a canvas water-bag. A curious incident happened to me. Wild sheep are supposed to be the most alert of wild animals. I saw some about two miles away and proceeded to stalk them. Arriving within 500 yards of them I saw their sentinel stare at me, trot some distance and then walk away. Thinking the animals had gone I advanced to where they had been and on topping the ridge I saw eight rams asleep about 40 yards away. I was so startled I shot the nearest one and missed a good saddleback.
My Turk slung the animal over his shoulder and carried it back to camp, a matter of 10 miles. I have seen hamals (porters) in Constantinople carry grand pianos a few hundred yards, and coolies in the Himalayas loads up to 80lb on a day’s march, but never have I seen such a combination of strength and endurance.
My brother in one day saw 10 rams, half of them with saddles. Over 10 days of shooting our total bag was one good ram and two average.
After a day in Konia and 24 hours on a train, we set out on the four-hour march to the Murat Dagh – the home of the red deer – about 150 square miles of pine forest rising 5,000ft above the surrounding plain. Early morning and evening we looked for animals to stalk. In the middle of the day we hunted for tracks to follow. On the second day, I came upon the father and mother of all tracks, and in the late afternoon sighted my animal disappearing over a rise 200 yards away. I fired and hit the ground in front of it. During the fortnight we managed to get two average stags and a hind.
In present-day conditions, a game licence costs 10/- and allows one to shoot anything – anywhere. If there are any game laws, they are not obeyed. Edible big game is therefore decreasing. Foreigners are discouraged. I was out there in February 1935 and applied for a game licence. I shot pending its arrival, leaving a fortnight later, neither having received or paid for it. It appears that on my receipt of my application the Police Commissar had written across it: “This person is unknown to us. He is a military officer and should be looked upon with the gravest suspicion. I suggest the secret police take the matter up.” This they did. And presumably I was not found out before I left. The import of rifles is prohibited. One double-barrelled rifle was imported owing to the custom house officials mistaking it for a shotgun.
Having passed the strict customs and obtained the necessary shooting licence and the permit to live (permis de séjour) there are no further difficulties, and the peasant Turk is, as he always has been, a courteous and hospitable gentleman.
“MY TURK SLUNG THE ANIMAL OVER HIS SHOULDER AND CARRIED IT 10 MILES BACK TO CAMP”