The Markhor’s Untold Story in Chitral
Fakhar e Alam
Chitral: In Pakistan’s far north, where the towering peaks of the Hindu Kush rise in stern silence and snow-filled valleys descend into wind-carved gorges, lies Chitral — a land celebrated for its breathtaking beauty and layered history.
For generations, Chitral has been defined by three enduring symbols: the majestic Tirich Mir, the vibrant traditions of the Kalash valleys, and the towering presence of the Markhor — Pakistan’s national animal.
Here, mountains are not merely geography; they are witnesses. They have watched empires advance and retreat, rifles lifted in conquest, and prized trophies carried down perilous slopes. Within these dramatic landscapes lies a story only partially told — the story of the Markhor.
The Imperial Pursuit
Distinguished by its magnificent spiral horns and astonishing agility on near-vertical cliffs, the Markhor has long been one of the most elusive inhabitants of these heights.
During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when the North-West Frontier formed part of British India, hunting was more than sport. It was ritual, masculinity, and imperial theatre.
Dr Muhammad Mumtaz Malik, former Chief Conservator of the Wildlife Department in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, explains that colonial hunting expeditions were deeply symbolic.
British civil and military officers ventured into remote valleys not merely to shoot game, but to demonstrate endurance, courage, and dominance over both terrain and beast.
British memoirs described the Markhor as cunning, alert, and extraordinarily difficult to pursue. Its sharp senses and preference for near-vertical terrain transformed every hunt into a test of stamina and nerve.
To bring one down was to claim not just a trophy, but status.
Yet, unlike Kashmir and Gilgit — where sporting journals and administrative records meticulously documented hunting exploits — Chitral remains comparatively silent.
From that silence, faint traces emerge. Among them is the name Major Reilly and a handful of aging photographs circulating in private collections and digital archives. The images, believed to date back to 1918–1919, appear to show a Markhor hunt in Chitral’s Gahirat Gol area.
A British officer poses beside a fallen Markhor, flanked by local attendants. Beyond these visual fragments, however, official confirmation remains scarce.
British administrative records from 1914 to 1918 were largely preoccupied with frontier security and the geopolitical turbulence of the First World War. Individual hunting excursions, unless politically significant, often went unrecorded.
Dr Malik suggests another possibility: the animal may have been hunted by the Mehtar — the ruler of the princely State of Chitral — with the young man in the photograph serving as a household attendant. Without regimental logs, military registers, or family archives, definitive conclusions remain elusive.
From Decline to Revival
For centuries, hunting the Markhor formed part of northern Pakistan’s cultural fabric. Among local tribes, it symbolized skill, survival, and bravery.
But by the late twentieth century, uncontrolled hunting and widespread poaching pushed the species toward extinction. Populations plummeted, and Pakistan’s national animal teetered on the brink.
Pakistan is home to five subspecies — Astore, Kashmir, Kabul, Suleiman, and Bukharan — each adapted to distinct mountain ecosystems across Gilgit-Baltistan, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and Balochistan.
The turning point came in 1990, when Pakistan introduced a community-based trophy hunting programme aimed at conservation. The strategy was both controversial and pragmatic: strictly regulate hunting, limit permits to a small number of old, non-breeding males, and channel the majority of revenue directly to local communities.
Today, under provincial wildlife management systems, permits are auctioned annually. Markhor hunting ranks among the most expensive trophy pursuits in the world.
In Lower Chitral’s Tushi-Shasha conservancy, an American hunter secured a permit last year for US$243,000 — a striking indicator of the programme’s global demand.
Divisional Forest Officer Farooq Nabi confirms that 80 percent of permit revenue is transferred directly to local communities, funding schools, healthcare facilities, roads, and conservation initiatives. The remaining 20 percent supports wildlife management.
Where villagers once hunted illegally for survival or prestige, they now guard the animal fiercely.
The results are measurable. In 2015, the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) reclassified the Markhor from Endangered to Near Threatened, citing population recovery driven significantly by community-led conservation.
A Changed Symbol
The hunting season now runs from November to mid-April, with December marking the peak rutting period when males descend slightly from high ridges and become more visible.
Unlike the carefully archived hunting chronicles of Kashmir and Gilgit, Chitral’s Markhor narrative lingers in personal albums and oral histories — fragments awaiting broader recognition.
What was once an emblem of imperial conquest has transformed into a symbol of local stewardship. The rifle that once signified dominance now, paradoxically, funds preservation.
For international hunters, securing a Markhor remains the pinnacle of big-game achievement. For Pakistan, it represents a rare conservation success story. And for the communities of Chitral, the Markhor is no longer merely wildlife — it is identity, livelihood, and pride etched into the mountains themselves.
