Bosnia, bucks and bear hugs

Onwards, upwards and more remote we went. The hum of Sarajevo was behind us and the Bosnian mountains rose ahead.

Eventually, we arrived at a wooden house on a grassy plain — the local hunting office. Three smiling men, in wildlife ranger uniforms, emerged to greet us. They ushered us into the main room, where every inch of the wall was covered with taxidermy: bears, lynx, capercaillie, chamois and more roebuck than you could count.

Nick chatted merrily with them in Bosnian. Itwas clear that not much English would be spoken on this trip. Nick lives and works in Bosnia and had organised this trip for his nephew, James, who in turn invited me.

Bojan, the head ranger, poured moonshine from an unlabelled bottle into shot glasses. Our paperwork was in order and we had to toast the upcoming hunt. The office was hot and the strong liquor burned the back of my throat. Thankfully