53 



SHOOTING OVrS POLII ON THE PAMIRS. 



By Baron Edmond dk Poncins. 



{With a Plate.) 



[Read before the Bombay Natural History Society on \^th July, 1895.) 



The first time I saw that gigantic sheep the Ovis polii was just after 

 entering the Pamirs on the northern side. We had crossed the Kizil 

 Hart Pass early in the morning, and leaving my caravan with orders to 

 remain near the Kizil Kul frozen lake, I went with a guide to look 

 for Ovis polii. The man was not at all a shikari, but like all these 

 nomads, was more or less acquainted with the " arkar's " habits (the 

 native name of the Ovis polii) and he could take me to the ground 

 and back to camp, which was all I wanted. After crossing the Kizil 

 Hart we turned to the west and began to follow the ridge of the 

 mountain. It was grand scenery and made one feel lonely. The 

 mean height over the sea was about 15,000 feet, and as far as the eye 

 could reach it was always and only white snows, and white mountains 

 outlined against the sky. The valleys were flat deserts of pebbles, 

 without any sign of life, not even any grass. In some places were 

 dark rocks protruding from the long rolling plateau. Everything 

 was silent desert, a dead country and a country of death ; that is the 

 common aspect of the north of the Pamirs and the true Ovis polii 

 ground. 



After a long time we came to a broad nullah running all along the 

 foot of snow fields and glaciers. There we stopped, the ponies were 

 left behind, and slowly we climbed the ridge commanding the nullah. 

 Right in front was a white mountain, one of the largest in the Trans- 

 alai chain and , if not the Kaufman peak itself, one of the neighbouring 

 peaks. There about half a mile off, on a rounded spur, between the 

 snow fields, on a little patch of grass the game was in sight. Six 

 arkars were quietly feeding and moving about. Hoping that they 

 would soon lie down for the day-time, as mountain game nearly 

 always does, I waited and watched them. I had lost my glasses in the 

 Kohistan mountains— a most terrible loss — and I had to depend upon 

 my eyes only. I could see them from time to time, now lying down 

 and now getting up again. In some places they were scratching the 

 ground and raising clouds of dust, and at twelve in the day they showed 



