The epic journey with tigers began in 2019 with a young tigress I filmed in "Cedar Valley". The images captured then were among the first of their kind. Never before has the Siberian tiger allowed itself to be filmed from a hide. Although there are many more tigers than Amur leopards, the leopards have proven to be more accommodating and easier to bait. The first tiger to come out was that Little Rascal I wrote about four years ago.

I should probably say a few words on why I’m personally attracted to this method of photography. After all, you can shoot the tiger with photo traps, as dozens of scientists and photographers have already done. Well, I admit, this is mostly because of the personal factor. I’m just not interested in phototraps. In my understanding, the wildlife photographer not only makes rare shots, but observes the beast, overcomes difficulties, pushes the boundaries of the possible and brings from expeditions not only photos, but also unforgettable impressions and amazing stories. Eyewitness stories give an additional dimension to photography, allow to engage the viewer much more, bring the connection with the subject to a more personal level. What stories could I tell by setting traps and flying from the taiga to Moscow to wait for the "harvest"? What impressions would I have? Besides, what new level would I achieve in the field of wildlife photography by following a well-trodden path? But everyone chooses for themselves.

But let’s go back to our first experience. Alas, due to some circumstances, the tigress who came in during the day switched to a graveyard shift, and the footage with her was a far cry from what I wanted to ideally get. In addition, several serious shortcomings in the field had been identified and a decision had been taken to develop other sites.

Preparatory work was carried out by Valery Maleev's team, who tracked several tigers outside of nature reserves. Huge and painstaking work was done to prepare several locations and monitor animal movements. My next tiger expedition took place in 2021, when I spent ten days in a tree hide in a fierce frost, and the tiger walked just fifty meters behind me and disappeared into the unknown in search of the love of his life.

Another attempt was made in 2022. Two weeks in the other hide, this time firmly on the ground, and nothing, except for the episode when I ran out of gas one night. I had to quickly put on every bit of clothing I had, climb into the sleeping bag and wait for the opportunity to contact the base and request assistance. That’s how I spent the night and half of the day fighting the cold with all I had. The tiger could have come in the morning, so nothing could have been done until the dinner lull in the woods. As it turned out, it was all for nothing. There was no one to scare off.

Every trip, despite the setbacks, gave us a lot of information. We shared ideas, figured out the approximate cycle of tiger movements, and improved hides and our team's coordination. In addition, I was gaining experience and training my own ability to take failures in stride.

By 2023, my photographing a tiger had become a matter of honour for all of us. For me, the stakes have suddenly increased. I had one last opportunity to go on such an expedition due to a change in my personal plans. I really wanted to close this matter, but after weeks of sitting in the taiga without results, my faith in success was dwindling. But giving up is not how we roll. And here I was again, going to the Khabarovskiy Krai, to the domain of the real masters of the taiga.

The place where I was supposed to spend the next ten days in complete isolation was perfect for filming. Several tiger trails ran on the southern slope of the hill, the lighting lasted all day. The hide itself turned out to be so tiny that I immediately dubbed it Uncle Pumpkin’s cabin. There was only room for a narrow plank bed and a chair. The remaining space was occupied by a gas tank and a burner. There was a tiny little bit where you could stand if you wanted. That's it. 

Soon I discovered another feature of this hide. Once the burner was lit, the space warmed up almost immediately to the level of a sauna. After the burner was turned off, the heat would get blown out in ten minutes.  The heat insulation was there, but as I learned at the end of the expedition, last summer the structure was badly damaged by a bear. The four-legged moroder broke the door and took out the viewing window, and even after repair there were cracks, into which all the heat went.

As a result, I gave up on heating altogether. The burner was turned on three or four times a day to heat up some water for soup and tea. The rest of the time I had to rely on me gear.  Ten days in a cold, dark room where you can only lie down and sit down and cannot not make any noise.... I confess, it was very difficult. But the very first day changed everything.

On that day, there was a very odd bird frenzy going on. Three woodpeckers were pounding the walls of the blind and clawing at the door, as if it were them, not the tigers, who were lusting for my blood. The crows would go mad at the carcass, first taking their turn, then falling on the meat all at once.

Between four and five o'clock, the crows suddenly took off and settled in the surrounding trees. I was immediately alarmed that all the birds had went quiet simultaneously. I looked up and saw him. At the top of the hill between the two cedar trees stood the one I had been waiting for all these years as Penelope waited for Odysseus. He was huge. I knew that the dominant male in the area was very large: the width of his pug mark was 11 centimeters, and the footprints made deep impressions in the snow. But now I had the opportunity to see for myself the magnitude of this beast. 

As is usual for his kind, he stood for a long time and listened to the sounds of the taiga. Every time he turned away, I pointed my lens at him. An adult tiger is incredibly careful. It is extremely easy to scare him away with any extra movement or sound. Given how daring these animals behave when they themselves go to the roads or to a human dwelling, it is simply amazing! The fact remains that young tigers can overlook a photographer's mistakes, whereas adults have zero tolerance for sloppiness. Knowing that, I was afraid to breathe, calculating my every move. At last, His Lordship decided that everything was fine and began his slow descent.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. A magnificent adult tiger in the light of day, in fluffy fresh snow! Three years of ordeal suddenly turned into an epic adventure with a fabulous finale! The patron spirit of the taiga hunters Podia had finally shown his mercy.

How handsome he was, this ruler of the taiga! In his prime, well groomed, confident. He differed from the tigers at the zoo in much the same way that a special forces operator is different from a "white collar" guy who plays paintball on the weekends. And there was no doubt about the answer to the question "Who is the master of the taiga?". The bear, of course, is a baron, but the prince - here he is, majestically stepping on the snow, a burning flame in the midst of the ice kingdom. 

Meanwhile, the massive cat came down,stopping and listening from time to time. It became painfully obvious to me that shooting a tiger was not even a hunt, but almost a sniper duel. The tiger is not just a "well-equipped" opponent with the finest hearing, keen eye and good nose. This is an incredibly smart and suspicious opponent. If he was worried about something, he’d be walking around, listening to me, but staying out of sight. If he’d been watching us when we arrived, he’d have counted how many people had come and how many had gone. I was very fortunate that he was at ease enough not to make additional checks. All I had to do was not mess up and scare off my luck.

The tiger came down and walked up to the stash he left a couple of days ago and quietly tore into the frozen meat. He was unlucky, the meat turned to stone in the cold, and no matter how hard he pulled in different directions, it was not possible to drag away the remnants of the meal.

Suddenly the tiger froze, raised his head high, bared his fangs, and seemingly hissed. In fact, he noisily sucked in the air, directing it to Jacobson’s organ (an additional olfactory organ in a cat’s mouth). 

 

At first, I thought he smelled me from 30 meters away, but the tiger didn’t bolt away, but continued to examine the area, trying to sniff something out. I knew there was a tigress with a one-year-old kitten in the area, but she’d been laying low in the same ravine for a month and she didn't wonder around. What was the matter? Did the tiger, the sovereign master of this territory, smell an intruder? I didn’t know what he caught wind of. After a while, the tiger turned his back to me and went straight up the hill.

I was alone with what just happened. The need for silence kept me from bursting out in emotions. I only went through the footage a couple times to make sure I wasn’t crazy and it really happened.

The next two or three days were hard. For the first time in my practice, I started to develop "cabin fever", a syndrome that sometimes appears in isolation and confined spaces. I wanted to get out, move, make noise. I kept thinking about just opening the door and going out into the sun. Anything to get out of the tiny, dark, cold hide! I was coping thanks to the power of my will and, oddly enough, hot tea or soup. So I went through this dangerous streak, and I kept waiting, looking and listening to the taiga.

My "prince" did not return, and one day a flock of crows - my loyal informants - suddenly abandoned everything and flew away, leaving me in silence and solitude. I assumed that the tiger had made a large kill somewhere, and the crows had moved closer to the cushy spot. I almost had it right. Something really happened in the life of tigers, but not quite what I expected.

A few days after the first "audience", a large tiger came gingerly out into the clearing. He was behaving strangely: he was clearly frightened, constantly looking around and always trying to have cover. In fact, he looked unwell. The tiger went up to the rest of the meat and ate it greedily. I noticed that he wasn’t trying to steal the meat and kept eating standing up, although cats usually go down when having a proper meal. I got the impression the cat's back legs were bothering it.

After eating, the tiger became nervous again. He started looking around and sniffing. He wasn’t looking in my direction, so it wasn’t me he was afraid of. Noticing the remains of the musk deer nearby, he picked them up and, turning to the forest in front of me, hiding behind the bushes, he quickly dragged away his snack, not even allowing me to film him. However, I did manage to see a large wound on the left thigh and a deep cut on the right hind leg.

Was this unfortunate creature my "prince"?! I rushed to compare stripes on tigers' faces. No. The first one was clearly a younger cat with a noticeable vertical scar on the nose, a different stripe pattern and a strangely deformed pupil of the left eye. This phenomenon is called a coloboma and does not interfere with the beast's sight, but makes it quite easy to identify it.

The second tiger was clearly older. His nose was deformed and scarred. The expression on the poor face evoked a profound sense of pity.

In addition to the recent injuries, he had a wound near his eye. The ears were noticeably torn, like those of a street cat.

Interestingly, in his presence the crows behaved much more brazenly than around the "prince". They continued to chatter and even went down closer to the tiger.

It became quite obvious that the tigers had feudal disputes and this one, though no less impressive but older, lost. Hopefully, the younger one would not be further harmed. I felt sorry for the he senior tiger, who was most likely a relative of the young one and the former ruler of the territory. I even forgave him for not cooperating and stealing a carcass. The end of a forest ruler’s life is painful and sad. The beast, which was at the top of the food chain, loses the life he was so used to, is persecuted by the young "replacement", starves and slowly fades away. So much for the ideal of the "free" life of wild animals! 

The evening was over, and I had a life-affirming thought that I would now sleep in close proximity to a wounded tiger. Memory kindly provided such book titles as "The Temple Tiger", "Kumaon cannibals" etc. Taking in my surroundings from a new perspective, I found a fire extinguisher, shrugged my shoulders, climbed into a sleeping bag and happily fell into a deep sleep.

Soon after, my expedition came to an end. In addition to the much-coveted footage with easily identifiable tigers, I was able to obtain useful information. It became clear that there were two identical-sized males roaming the area and fighting over the territory. This explained the abundance of identical footprints and the one spot where everything was upturned by large paws, with traces of a large animal laying on the ground and splashes blood on the snow. It also became clear why the tigress with cubs was so cautious and and hiding. 

On the last night before my flight to Moscow, I spent the night at basecamp, when I was awakened by a series of loud tiger screams at 2:00 a.m. For no less than twenty minutes somewhere near the base the tiger kept repeating "awoo" in an eerily human voice. Maybe it was my "prince" celebrating his victory and reminding everyone who owned the taiga here. Maybe he was looking for a tigress. Or maybe it was a farewell song that I’ll keep in my heart along with this story.

In conclusion, I would like to express my great gratitude to Valery Maleev, who gave me the opportunity to become one of the pioneers in shooting the wild Amur tiger. I also extend my heartfelt gratitude to the entire Mitroshin family for their hard work, support on the ground and care. 

My deepest gratitude goes to my family, who believed in me and supported their "woodland monster" despite a string of setbacks. Your love and support help me on the darkest stretches of unknown paths and always bring me home.