A very comfortable (for a change) minibus ride took us from Bishkek eastwards to the shores of lake Issyk-Kul, and then beyond to the town of Karakol. Long being the base for mountaineering expeditions into the nearby Tian Shan range, this city has seen its fair share of travellers even before the modern age of backpacking, and these days mere backpackers are lost here among the cyclists, trekkers, climbers and other athletic types who flood this area during the summer season.

Before heading into the mountains ourselves, we decided to spend a couple of days on the lake, so we went to a yurt camp in Tosor on the lake’s southern shore. The lake itself is immense — the second biggest saline lake in the world after the Caspian Sea. Its water is clear and welcoming, if a bit too cold for more than 5 minutes of swimming. The yurts, too, are quite interesting and ingenious structures. Made of a wooden structure covered by felt rugs, they’re warm and very cozy, and their portability is a perfect match for the Kyrgyz nomadic spirit. The nation is so proud of them that a drawing of the wheel that supports the yurt’s roof is centrally featured on the Kyrgyz national flag.

We spent two days enjoying the lake, the yurts and the village of Tosor and then returned back to Karakol.

There was another thing which I’d been hoping to see when we were planning our visit here. A grand tradition in this region, going back thousands of years, is the art of  falconry, or more specifically hunting with eagles. This craft is passed from father to son, although these days less and less sons are interested in learning it from their fathers, so the tradition is now slowly dying. The season for hunting is winter, when the “berkutchi” (hunters) take their eagles to the mountains on fox hunting trips; since we’re here in the summer, we had to settle for a demonstration hunt performed for tourists.

In Karakol’s hippodrome we met Talgar, a berkutchi from the village of Bokonbayevo, with his eagle Tumara. He had with him a sack of rabbits that are used for the hunting demonstrations; an eagle eats one rabbit every two days. When Talgar leaves home with Tumara he puts a special hat on her head which covers her eyes, and it makes her completely dependent on her master. With her hat on, Tumara behaves every bit like a pet, and is quite easily handled. She even responds to her name.

Talgar fetched one rabbit from the sack, to be sacrificed for today’s demonstration, and put it on the grass in the middle of the field. Completely oblivious to its shortly upcoming gruesome demise, the rabbit promptly started nibbling at the grass around it. Talgar then took Tumara a couple dozen meters away, removed her hat and then shooed the rabbit so Tumara could detect the movement. Tumara swiftly descended on the rabbit and held it firmly until her master came to inspect the catch. After Talgar approved, Tumara in turn started nibbling at the rabbit. It was not a pretty sight by any measure, but it was amazing to see raw carnivore nature from such a close distance. She did not get to finish her meal as another demonstration was scheduled for that day, and only a hungry eagle can be a hunting eagle. What was left of the rabbit was packed away to be fed to Tumara on less busy days.

Talgar told me a lot about his craft. Tumara, who is eight years old, lives with the family in their yard, and has been trained to hunt with Talgar since it hatched. Older eagles captured in the nature are also often trained, a process which takes about a month. After that the eagle becomes attached to its handler. Many berkutchi also train other raptors, such as hawks, which are migratory and thus are captured in autumn, quickly trained for a week, and after the winter’s hunt released back into the wild. The eagles are also released, but only after a service of about 20 years, during which they learn to hunt so well that they’re subsequently doing better in nature than their wild siblings. When a berkutchi dies, Talgar says, his eagles die after him, so it is customary for an old berkutchi to release his eagles when he falls ill at an old age.

Life with an eagle at home is not simple — the family, and especially the children, have to avoid wearing red clothes so as not to invite trouble from Tumara. A fellow berkutchi once brought his bird with him when he came for a visit; Tumara killed it with one clench of her claws at the first opportunity she had. Talgar however is very proud of his profession and his bird. Tumara won first place in two national hunting competitions when she managed to subdue a wolf, no less. Talgar’s son is only seven years old, too young to be able to hold heavy Tumara, but he shows interest in his father’s craft, and Talgar hopes that he will continue in his steps and keep the ancient tradition going.

July 30, 2011