Applying For Big-Game Tags In The Silver State

I hunted one area with Tomas and Miro while my dad and his group hunted another. Hunting the Low Tatras was much different than the typical chamois hunt. The steep slopes were thick with pines and brush, not the typical open meadows, and hid chamois extremely well. We focused our glassing on the open patches, catching chamois as they’d step out to feed and then vanish. The area we were hunting was full of hiking trails, which meant these chamois were used to humans in the area. They were still timid but much less wary than those found in more heavily hunted areas. We hiked through tall trees, the grade burning my legs. An hour in, we hit a glassing knob. The mountains were beautiful: jagged peaks, grassy patches, mist in the valleys.

Before long, we glassed up two females across the valley. Their winter fur showed no rut yet. We climbed higher, glassing constantly. Cresting a ridge, a chamois stood 25 yards off, a big ewe with long horns. We passed, holding for a ram. She slipped away but gave us some great footage.

Around midday, a lone animal grazed a rocky patch across the valley. Tomas and Miro locked on. “Shooter,” they said. His horns curled thick and his coat was pristine. My pulse spiked. We set up on a steep peak, my body nearly vertical as I laid prone. The slope tested my balance, but I steadied, ranging him at 450 yards. The shot hit him hard. The beautiful ram stumbled and rolled off a 100-foot ledge into a forested gully.