by Liz Welch
Moments later, my grandfather called to me.
I came running out of the house to see him.
He commended me on capturing White Feathers by saying, “This is a hard bird to catch!” with a teasing smile. Then he grabbed my hand and said, “May God help you pursue the hunter’s path. May God keep you healthy. May you grow old with yellow teeth like me. May no bird escape your hands, and may no horse leave you on your journey. God is great. I entrust that eagle to you.”
My grandfather taught my father to hunt with eagles, and now he would help train me, too.
When school started that September, I had been training White Feathers for two months. On my first day of school, I told my best friend, Aimaral, that I was going to compete in the Golden Eagle Festival at the end of the month.
Her eyes grew so wide, I thought they might pop out of her head.
“In the famous festival?” she said, surprised.
We were lying on our beds in the dormitory, catching each other up on our summers.
“Yes!” I said, laughing. “What other festival is there?”
“How is that even possible?” she asked. “Your father allowed you to do this?”
I smiled and said, “Of course!”
“And your mother?” she added. “She also said it was fine?”
I explained that my mother was harder to convince.
“She worries I will get teased,” I said. “That the judges may not respect me.”
“You are strong, Aisholpan!” Aimaral said. “You will do well.”
A few other girls came into the dorm, and Aimaral announced, “Aisholpan is going to compete in the eagle-hunting contest!”
There was a gasp followed by so many animated questions.
“Is that in the rules?” one girl asked.
It was a good question, and I did not know the answer. Were there rules for entering the contest? If so, I had no idea what they were. I just knew I was going to Ölgii to compete. And I could not wait! My girlfriends were so supportive.
“If any girl can do it, it is you, Aisholpan!” Aimaral said.
Everyone in my dorm agreed, including Saigulikh, who was the only girl there who knew how special White Feathers was.
“If any eagle can do it, it is White Feathers!” she added.
Word got around school that I was competing, and the boys had a very different response. They all laughed, but not in a nice way.
“Girls should stay home,” one boy said.
“Girls can’t eagle-hunt,” another said. “You will be too scared! Eagles are too fierce.”
“You don’t have the stamina,” another chimed in. They were all laughing, and my face began to burn red hot. Not because I was embarrassed, but because I was determined to prove them wrong.
“Just you wait,” I said. “I will show you!”
Their teasing only made me that much more determined.
10
The Road to Ölgii
It takes six hours to make it to Ölgii on horseback, and eight if you are traveling with an eagle, as you have to make multiple stops to let them rest. My father and I woke up early the morning before the contest in order to make the long trek. I ate breakfast quickly and began getting dressed. My mother was staying behind with Saigulikh and Dinka. She braided my hair that morning into two long plaits, clasped at each end with white lace flowers, before placing my brother’s eagle hunting hat on me—its fox-fur brim fanned above my face.
The morning we left for Ölgii, Samrakhan called to wish me luck.
My brother knew I was competing. He also knew that I had caught my own eagle. He was still in the army but called every week to touch base. My dad assured him that I was still looking after his eagle, and that I would be more willing to give his eagle back now that I had my own to train.
“You are lucky I am not competing, too,” he said that morning. “Now you actually have a chance to win!”
I laughed at him and said, “I just hope my eagle can find me!”
I had never been to the festival before but had heard so many stories from my father, a veteran. He said that the biggest challenge was to have your eagle hear your voice in the crowd, as there would be so many hunters and eagles at the event. It was hard enough for older, better-trained eagles to handle that level of distraction, but even harder for young eagles, like White Feathers, who had never been with more than six or seven people at a time. There would be a hundred people at least!
I had heard that some eagles get so confused that they fly to the wrong person or just fly off, away from the crowds, because they are not used to so many people.
White Feathers was still a baby. She had only just learned to fly that same summer, with me. We would both be the youngest girls at the contest!
My mother sensed my nervousness as she secured the thin leather beneath my chin, and asked, “How does that feel?”
I nodded my head, fine.
My father dressed in his wolf coat. Even though he would not compete that year and was going solely as my coach and support, he wanted everyone to know that he was a great hunter. Both for the competition itself and in regular life, eagle hunters are judged by their outfits, and you can always tell how successful an eagle hunter is by his coat, pants, and hat: To have an entire suit made of wolf meant your eagle has killed an animal three times as big, and ferocious, as a fox. It is the sign of a truly great eagle—and hunter.
We saddled our ponies, placed our eagles on their leaning sticks, and began the journey to Ölgii. My father knew the way instinctively. He did not need to follow the tracks that had carved a faint road into the tundra. He used the position of the sun in the sky, the curve of a river, and the shape of a mountain peak to find his way. It was a long ride, and White Feathers sat patiently on her stick, chirping every once in a while as I spoke to her in soothing ways, giving her—and myself—a pep talk.
“Tomorrow, there will be lots of eagles in the competition. You must ignore them, and focus on me,” I said as we rode. She had her hood on, but when I spoke, she turned her head toward me, as if listening to my every word.
“Remember my voice,” I continued. “This is the most important thing to do. When I call, you come to me. Ignore the other hunters and noises from the crowd. They will be a distraction if we let them.”
It is one thing to have your eagle fly to you quickly and land on your arm when you are on a quiet, familiar hillside with no one watching. It is another thing entirely when you are surrounded by fifty or more eagles and eagle hunters and performing in front of a crowd of hundreds of tourists with clicking cameras. I had no idea what that would feel like. I just knew we would both have to focus.
It was the last weekend in September and the weather was cool but sunny. The horses had worked up a sweat, and I had as well.
I knew we were getting close when I saw the smoke streams in the air. We had passed only four nomadic homes during our trip, but as we got closer to the city, we started to see more homes, closer together, which meant more heating and cooking stoves emitting curlicues of smoke. People who lived in Ölgii lived in permanent houses, made of concrete or wood. They had animals, but not herds of hundreds, like the nomads throughout the province.
Soon the packed dirt became a paved road beneath my horse’s hooves, which meant the clopping had a more distinct sound. White Feathers had never heard or felt this before. She suddenly became more alert, bobbing her head up and down.
Ölgii has streets and stop lights, and stores that sell food and clothes and gas and more. I had been there only a few times before, and it was always a treat. We went directly to my father’s brother’s home, which was on the outskirts of town. After we tied up our horses in his backyard and fed them and our eagles, my father and I went into town, leaving our animals behind to rest after the long journey.
I loved walking past all these shops and grocery stores. We had nothing like this in Altansogts, where I went to school. This was the big city, and though there were
other nomadic country people walking through the streets, I stood out in my embroidered pants and fox-fur hat. Most people in the city wore Western clothes—jeans, sweaters, and parkas. All these items were available for sale at the department store, which was where I wanted to go. Seeing all of the fashionable clothes and fancy things people could buy—from hair barrettes to high-heel shoes to face cream that smelled sweet like flowers, not sour like the yak butter we rub on our face when the weather gets really cold and dry—was all so fascinating.
That night, we ate a good dinner that tasted that much more delicious after the long ride. Both my father and uncle were giving me advice—too much advice! My head was swimming.
“When you get to the festival, ignore anyone who says anything to you,” my uncle said. “The other hunters will make fun of you because you are a girl. Do not let them intimidate you!”
“Keep focused on your eagle,” my father added. “She will feel your nervousness, and that will interfere with her performance. This is all about staying calm—and she will stay calm, too.”
“And make sure that when you ride in front of the judges, you are really alert! Sit up straight and hold White Feathers up for all to see! This is a time to shine.” My uncle was on a tear.
The effects of a full belly and the long ride were starting to overcome any nervousness I may have had. My eyelids felt so heavy, it was hard to keep them open. I began to nod my head, first agreeing with my dad and uncle, and then just falling asleep! My body all of a sudden felt weighed down by heavy rocks. I said good night to everyone and then walked outside to check on White Feathers, who was resting on her perch. I knew she was a bit hungry—she chirped at me to say so—but I also knew she needed to be a bit hungry for the contest.
“You will eat well tomorrow!” I whispered as I petted her head and neck. She chirped at me. “A feast! I promise.”
11
The Golden Eagle Festival
Today is the big day!” the radio blasted through the one-room house the next morning. “The day of the Golden Eagle Festival, when hunters from all over Bayan-Ölgii will come to compete!”
“Let’s go!” I kept urging my dad, who was taking his time over tea.
“What’s your rush?” he joked.
Finally, we got our birds, mounted our ponies, and started our trek to the festival site on the outskirts of town. I had heard so much about the legendary Sayat Tobe, Hunter’s Hill, that I gasped when I finally saw it rise up from the flatlands. I understood why it was so famous. It stood out in the midst of a huge flatland, offering the perfect launchpad, with many nooks, crannies, and ledges from which to perch and fly eagles.
As we approached, we saw eagle hunters on their ponies converging from every direction—north, south, east, and west—carrying their eagles. Some people arrived on camels decorated with colorful fabric saddles, and so many others came in cars, on motorbikes, or piled into vans.
It was easy to tell the hunters from the tourists: Those who were competing wore ornately embroidered suits, like mine, or ones fully made of fox or wolf fur, like my father’s.
Participants register on the day of the contest, so no one knew I was coming. My father had not told anyone but close family that I was competing. From a distance, people may have mistaken me for a boy, as I was dressed in the traditional outfit of a young hunter. But as I got closer to the grounds and passed several hunters, I saw their heads snap my way, confused. My long braids, fastened with white lace flower barrettes at the ends, were the giveaway.
Once we arrived at the festival grounds, I lined up with the other competitors and my father to sign in.
“What is she doing here?” an elder hunter asked my father.
“That is my daughter Aisholpan,” he said proudly. “She is competing today.”
One man laughed so hard that a few turned to see why, and he nodded toward me. This caused others to laugh as well. I felt my cheeks burn. I decided to ignore them and instead whispered to White Feathers, “Forget them. Focus on me.”
This was my mantra as I made my way toward the judges’ table to sign in.
There were five judges, including the governor of Ölgii and the head of the Eagle Hunter Society.
“Name?” one of the judges asked without looking up.
“Aisholpan,” my father said.
The judge looked up.
“A girl?” he said.
The other judges looked as well.
Each one seemed stunned.
Another judge said, “A young girl.”
“Yes,” my father said.
There was more laughter from the crowd circling the judges’ table, as well as from the other hunters lined up behind me. I tried to ignore it. There was no rule that a girl could not compete—we had checked—but for a moment I wondered if they would allow me to enter.
Then I watched with relief as the judge wrote my name in the registration book and handed my father my number. I would be the twenty-fourth of seventy eagle hunters who would compete that day. Having that ticket and my place gave me a sense of relief. I wanted to compete because I love eagle hunting. I love being a nomad girl. I love being in the mountains. If boys could compete, why not a girl? I knew I was just as good as they were. Today was my day to prove it.
When it was time, I ignored the stares and laughs, and followed my father to line up with the rest of the contestants for the first competition: outfit, appearance, and riding style.
I took my place in the line of seventy hunters and waited for my name to be called. At that moment, you must ride your horse, holding your eagle, in front of the judges. They give you scores of one to ten based on your outfit, horse, and equipment: the saddle, reins, and eagle-hunting gear, which includes the leaning stick and the small embroidered leather bag worn around the waist to carry the rabbit leg for your eagle.
As the hunters before me were called, one by one, to parade in front of the judges, my father looked me over one last time and said, “You must sit up tall and look your best!”
He was on his horse next to me on mine. White Feathers was very calmly sitting on my arm, which was resting on the leaning stick. Beneath my coat, I could feel my heart pounding.
Another hunter was called, and my father reached over to straighten my hat. He was nervous, too. I could see his hands shake ever so slightly as he refastened my chin strap.
Just then, my name was called.
Word had gotten around that a girl had registered. As I started walking my horse out from the line of hunters and toward the judges’ table, I heard someone shout, “Congratulations!”
Another shouted, “Good luck!”
But others in the crowd laughed. I tried to block them out. When I finished parading in front of the judges, I heard someone say, “Oh, that is the girl we heard about. Look how young she is. She can’t be an eagle hunter!”
Those words hurt me a bit, but I am not someone who cries when someone says something mean. Instead, those words gave me strength and inspiration to do my best.
I was relieved to get good scores for my outfit and equipment—two eights and two tens. Not four tens, like the son of a famous eagle hunter from Altai who went before me. But good enough.
From there, my dad and I made our ascent up Sayat Tobe to find a spot and wait my turn. Not only was I the only girl, I was also the youngest participant, but there were other young men there with their fathers and grandfathers as well. Some of the older men were there to compete as well as to coach their family members.
I got off my pony and sat down on the hillside with my eagle and studied my competition and their birds. I had been practicing so hard during the prior months, but this was my first time doing this with hunters other than my dad.
I was so relieved that I was the twenty-fourth person to compete. That meant I could study their moves and take notes.
The next event was to drag a fox skin behind your horse and call your eagle, as my father had taught me earlier that summer. The judges time
how quickly the eagle is able to land on the fox. I knew White Feathers could do this easily. I just had to concentrate on calling her. That meant my voice had to penetrate the din from the chirping eagles and the audience that had formed in a large circle around the arena.
“When you perform for the first time, you get nervous,” my father explained to me as we watched the first dozen hunters compete. The older hunters had no problem—their eagles went straight to them. The younger hunters struggled a bit more. One eagle got so distracted that, instead of flying down into the arena, she took a hard left and flew over to another hunter waiting his turn. The whole audience gasped and then laughed. Another eagle started off well, but then totally missed the fox and instead flew over the crowd before circling back and disappearing behind Sayat Tobe. More laughter rose from the crowd as the hunter galloped after his errant eagle.
Watching those eagles that landed on the fox pelt, as they were supposed to, made my heart soar. It was so beautiful to watch. I knew White Feathers could do this but worried she might get frightened by the crowd of six hundred people surrounding the arena below.
My turn was coming up soon, so my father told me to go down to get my pony ready.
“You must ride with confidence, Aisholpan,” he explained before I went. “Your pony can also get nervous and run into the crowd, so if you stay calm, the pony and the eagle will, too. Show them who is boss.”
When I heard my name called through the loudspeaker, I knew that was my signal: time to compete. I trotted into the arena and the crowd got quiet. I looked behind me and saw my father and White Feathers at the top of Sayat Tobe. My father shouted down, “Use your voice, Aisholpan!”
That was my cue. I started to canter my pony down the middle of the arena and shouted, “HUU-KAAA!” as loudly as I could. I turned back and saw White Feathers launch, and my heart launched with her.
