The shepherds of the Tusheti mountains

Every autumn, a spectacular animal migration takes place in Georgia’s Tusheti region in the northern Caucasus Mountains. Radio Free Europe photographer Amos Chapple recently joined a group of shepherds and their dogs on what he refers to as a “deadly, boozy journey” from the steep mountains to the plains, as they brought their 1,200 sheep down to their winter pastures.

On the road towards the formidable 9,190 ft (2,800 m) high Abano Pass. The morning is spent winding through the alpine lakes and watching for the rocks that occasionally clatter down the cliffs.

In the villages of Tusheti, summers offer lush green grass for grazing, but autumn comes early to the highlands, and by early October Tusheti’s shepherds round up their flocks and begin to move before winter grips the mountains. 

A group of friends with their 1,200 sheep are some of the dozens of shepherds who spend their summers in the Tusheti mountains. It will take them three days to move from their village down to the safety of the plains. 

For one member of the clan, the migration will be a new experience. "Georgik," a 3-month-old Georgian Shepherd was rejected by his mother as a pup, and is treated as a favorite by the men.

Georgik runs alongside sheep as one of hundreds of streams is crossed on a switchback.

The tacit leader of the shepherds is Sulkhan Gigoidze. The 29-year old dropped out of a technical institute to become a shepherd. "I didn’t want to be around people."

The climb to Abano Pass is regarded as one of the most dangerous on Earth.

At the base of the pass the men pause for lunch—a bag of salty sheep cheese, bread, a tin of stewed fish.

They share “chacha,” a viciously strong liquor made from the leftovers of wine production. The shepherds down three shots each. Every swill is accompanied with a toast—to the mountains, guests, and to a friend who died recently on the road they’re about to take.

Several pups too young to make the journey on their own were carried along on the trip.

Keeping warm. 

A shepherd leads his horse during a rest near Abano Pass.

The flock stretches along a narrow road. The Georgian Shepherd dogs that help herd them are bred to be the same color and size as the sheep they protect. From a distance, it’s impossible to spot the dogs, meaning all flocks are treated with caution by the wolves which stalk the migration.

A traffic jam at a narrow bridge. Road-clearing bulldozers warming their engines at the base of the pass are an ominous sign, heavy snow is blanketing the pass which still lies ahead of the flock.

Around 85 percent of each flock is female. The Tusheti sheep are known for their resilience and rich, buttery meat. Their fleece is too coarse to be sold and is usually burned after shearing. The breed carry a wobbly lump of fat above their hind legs which serves as a kind of emergency energy reserve. Each sheep is worth around $60.

As the sheep and shepherds climb, the rain turns to sleet, and then snow.

A buffeting wind tugs at the flock as they crest the pass. With no shelter to be had, the flock push ahead. The animals need to get to the relative warmth of the lower altitudes as quickly as possible.

On the other side of the pass the men turn off the serpentine road and direct the flock straight down the mountainside. The sticks the men use for thwacking wayward sheep come in handy on the risky descent. 

The flock rejoins the road, but only for a short time. It’s a race against darkness to descend from the freezing heights of the mountains.

As the sheep pick their way down the mountain face, the weary dogs snatch sleep where they can. Little Georgik is exhausted, and yelps in fright at some of the steeper sections of the mountain. The men help to carry him over the rougher sections of the path.

As the sheep enter the tree line, they plunge straight down the slopes that, from above, look impossibly steep.

A Georgian Shepherd at sunset.

As the daylight disappears, the exhausted flock files down the last sections of the day. 

After 12 hours of near continuous marching, Sulkhan says the flock lost eight sheep, a typical number for a large flock crossing the pass. 

Once the sheep sit down from injury or exhaustion they quickly die of exposure. Some are also picked off by wolves, or by passing locals who take them straight for slaughter.

After the shepherds make a kind of rudimentary camp, the men get dry as best they can, and countless shots of chacha are knocked back, before they finally curl up into their felt sleeping bags. Little Georgik slinks inside Dato’s sleeping bag.

Autumn colors on the steep slopes of the mountains in the Tusheti region.

The following day the flock moves into civilization and the t-shirt weather of the plains—and the first priority for the men is a cold beer from one of the village stores.

With the mountains far behind them, the flock will spend one week grazing on the plains to get used to the mild weather, before continuing around 200 km to their winter pastures on the border with Azerbaijan.

With the toughest part of his journey behind him, Georgik has a spring in his step once more. Soon though, he will learn that what comes down must go up. In the spring, an even tougher test will be the journey back up into the mountains. By that time he’ll be a fully-grown dog who’ll be too big for much sympathy from the men, and definitely too big to sneak into any sleeping bags. 

(Source: The Atlantic)