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An Easter Walk up the Vitosha Mount

Pressed for time over the week, me and my friend Svetlyo, nicknamed Thomson, made up our minds to go for a walk in the open on Sunday. The few hours we were intending to spend together, would be devoted todisputes and theoretical speculation over our favourite topic, ballistics. To make our pleasant walk still more enjoyable, we chose the afternoon on Palm Sunday and the less popular among visitors parts of the Mount Vitosha. Half an hour from the centre of Sofia, we left our cars and set out climbing up a small, inconspicuous wood path.
I hesitated whether to take my camera along with me, but eventually, I threw it round my neck and we started our way upwards, heading for where the melting snow was.
I had promised Thompson that I ‘d show him, if not animals, at least their tracks. It was on the very first snow-drift, which had not thawed yet, that we traced the prints of a fox. Their configuration hinted that the fox had been rummaging, most probably, trying to find food after the winter season. The weather, which that day was a gift for us, was clear and sunny, the first such day in the course of a fortnight.One shouldn’t forget it was Palm Sunday, after all! I showed Thompson wolf excrements which were over a month old. I explained to him that the hare fur ,which showed after breaking the dung, was a good piece of information about the predator’s diet.
In about a quarter of an hour, we came across a two-day old track left by a wild hog, which had been imprinted on the muddy path. Svetlyo, who has an excellent knowledge of arms and ballistics, was devouring the trapper’s stuff and my explanations, in his desire to fill in the gaps of what he had already learned .
At an altitude of 1 800 m the snow was still there. That meant, that more animal species would gather a bit below the snow line. This fact is due to the following two factors:
1. The comparative calm ensured by the difficult of access high mountainous regions.And:
2. The presence of food supplies under the freshly melted snow.

The hungry animals, in their effort to find food and mineral salts, are very likely to be encountered exactly in that season and that band. Because of this, in order to be able to stalk and ,luckily enough, to take pictures of animals, we stopped talking and continued our ascent towards the 2 000 m altitude.
Our efforts were soon rewarded, because some 50-60 m, from where we were, a herd of six does was startled. They started running and after 30 metres, or so, stopped to take a look at us out of curiosity. We went on moving upwards and the animals resumed their run this time without stopping. Without being well familiar with the relief of the area, I was sure about what way of retreat they’d chosen. Most probably up and then through the sparse copse , which was typical of does.
We sat down to rest for a while on the top of a small ridge. A vast view was opening below us. The smog enveloping Sofia was making me sad but the serene sky above us and the pleasant warmth of the spring sun were compensating for my blue mood. It was time to go back to our vehicles.
We made a short cut through the wood instead of following the path. I was alerted by the noise of broken branches and steps going quickly away. I’d produced out my revolver, quite intuitively, taking up a defensive position.The region offered optimal conditions for bears and during that particular season they could be expected to attack even people. The way the branches were being broken and the sound which was fading away in three directions, made me think that we’d , most certainly, worried some wild hogs. I started running in the direction of the noise and stopped abruptly after some 20 metres.
I spotted the female-hog immediately, which was 50 m from me. Then looked around carefully. Most of the females, which had been pregnant were supposed to have littered by now.
My assumption proved true. A slightly audible noise revealed 15 little pigs running straight in my direction. At no more than two weeks of age they were striped in yellow and light brown colour. Motionless, I was examining the little prisoners while they were nearing me. Then, at some distance of five metres, they separated. Part of the group kept approaching the spot where I was stationed, and it was not earlier than when they were only two metres from me that I realised I was standing all alone facing them. They’d quickly scattered around by the time I was plunging towards one of the little pigs, still clutching the revolver in my right hand. I softened the fall with my shoulder some fractions of a second before my left hand snatched the small body. The helpless little creature gave out a squeak and tried hard to get free, but I managed to keep it back energetically and comfortably, without squeezing it too tight.
The mother responded to its desperate squeak and made a couple of threatening moves in my direction. Then it decided that risking the life of the rest of the cubs, as well as its own one, was not worthwhile and sank inside the wood. I put my gun away and asked Svetlyo, who had caught up with me by that time, to take a picture of me.
My first thought was to take the little animal with me and raise it at home but I would hardly do that better than its own mother. And to think only how happy my children would be! However, I was not sure that at such a vulnerable age the little piggy would survive under the care of a human being. Pigs can’t count. It has been proved experimentally, that a mother notices the absence of a cub just when their number is reduced to less than three.
The little heart of the animal, which had just begun to see, was beating loud and fast. I didn’t wish to put it under stress anymore. I sniffed at it. It smelled clean. I started stroking it on the head and speaking comforting words until it stopped squeaking. Then I dropped it on the ground. The speed and the length of the leaps with which it disapperaed amazed me. I understood that it had been sheer luck and not a physical state that I had managed to catch it. It would have been impossible for me to get hold of it with a sprint like that one.
My excitement was supreme. Never before had I experienced such a feeling even during the most emotional hunt. I tried to compare the sensation with the gaining of a precious trophy but the comparison didn’t work. The adrenalin simply shook me. I felt happy because I had not only been able to catch a wild animal with my bare hands but I’d given it back its life and freedom.

Robert Atanassof