Inside the Ancient Mongolian Art of Hunting with Eagles
19.05.2026 13:47:09
In the harsh steppes of far western Mongolia, notorious for their arid climate, sharp temperature swings, and scarce natural resources, Kazakh nomads continue to preserve an ancient art whose exact origins remain a mystery. It is possible that it was here, more than 3000 years ago, that their ancestors or other peoples first began training birds of prey for hunting, laying the foundation for a tradition that evolved into modern falconry, reports the portal History.com.
Archaeological evidence suggests that falconry was practiced in Central Asia as early as the first millennium BCE, making the region one of the oldest known centers of this human-bird partnership. By the first centuries BCE, the practice had spread to Persia, the Middle East, and China, where it became part of courtly and military traditions. In medieval Europe, it turned into a royal pastime, earning the reputation of the “sport of kings.”
However, unlike the European tradition, for Kazakh nomads this is by no means a sport, but a vital — albeit disappearing — part of their existence. And while classical falconers usually use birds such as peregrine falcons or red-tailed hawks, nomads hunt with golden eagles. Among the Kazakhs of western Mongolia, eagle hunting has retained its original, purely practical role, rooted in the necessity of survival.
Harsh land that breeds partnership with animals
Bayan-Ulgii aimag in Mongolia borders China, Russia, and Kazakhstan and is located in the Altai Mountains region, home to mountain goats and the elusive snow leopard. This land, with its short hot summers and long, incredibly cold winters, is inhabited by semi-nomadic Kazakh families. They herd sheep, goats, camels, yaks, and horses, moving from one pasture to another throughout the year. Traditionally, labor here is strictly divided by gender: women cook and manage the household, while men herd livestock and use eagles to hunt foxes and other animals for their fur. These eagle hunters are called berkutchi.
“More than 90% of the land is unsuitable for agriculture, so they cannot engage in farming,” explains Lauren McGough, biologist, anthropologist, and falconer. She first came to the region in 2009 on a Fulbright program and became one of the few outsiders — and equally few women — to train with berkutchi, mastering the art of fox hunting with an eagle while riding a horse. “Instead, they came to the ingenious conclusion that they must form partnerships with animals — from livestock to … wild predators such as eagles,” says McGough. “What they can get from this union — everything necessary for life — is truly astonishing.”
Who becomes a berkutchi
Not every man in the community chooses this path, but those who do earn great respect. “Locals will tell you that this calling must be in your heart,” explains McGough, whose work with berkutchi helped her earn a doctorate in social anthropology from the University of St Andrews in Scotland. “A genuine desire for such a relationship is required. If it is present, it becomes a source of immense pride and a way to honor one’s culture. But everyone here understands perfectly: this path is only possible for an extraordinary and highly determined person.”
This occupation requires enormous effort and time, and nomadic life is already full of chores: herding livestock, obtaining water from snow or ice, collecting dung for fuel, and maintaining the fire. That is why, as McGough explains, the most dedicated berkutchi are usually older men. “They usually already have adult sons who take on all the herding duties. So they can devote themselves entirely to hunting with their eagle.”
The art of training
The path of a future berkutchi, as McGough recounts, begins with helping an experienced mentor care for his eagle — for example, feeding the bird in the evening if it did not hunt that day. The next step is to become a “beater,” whose role is to flush out foxes so the eagle can hunt them. “If the apprentice shows enough diligence in this, in time the experienced hunter will help him catch his own eagle,” explains McGough.
Berkutchi are almost always men, with some notable exceptions. The eagles themselves, however, are always females — they are larger and considered more skillful hunters. Eagles are caught in autumn, when young, during their migration from Russia to China through the Altai Mountains. Hunters lure the birds with fox carcasses and then cover them with a special net.
Training the winged partner
Surprisingly, training an eagle can be quite simple, says McGough. First, hunters use a well-known falconry hood (klobuk) to calm the bird: since birds of prey rely primarily on vision, a hood over the head disorients them and makes them docile.
“In the beginning, in the evening you bring the eagle into the house with dimmed lights, remove the hood and hold a piece of fresh meat on your glove,” recounts McGough. “Usually it doesn’t take long before they start leaning down and eating from your hand. And then progress happens quite quickly.”
After that, the bird is taught to jump onto a special glove, and then to fly to it from a distance of several meters while on a leash. The distance is gradually increased.
“When the eagle confidently flies to the call, say, from 30 meters, it can be released without a leash,” continues McGough. “By this time you are firmly associated in the bird’s mind with care and food, so it stays. And when the eagle begins to grasp the connection between your presence and the appearance of prey, its desire to fly away disappears completely.”
The hunter usually works with only one bird per season, using it for hunting during the cold months. The caught fox is divided: the valuable pelt goes to the human, and the meat goes to the feathered partner. With the arrival of summer and the molting period, hunting stops. During these months the eagle is fed generously, allowed to eat as much as it wants — this is necessary to form healthy, strong, and dense new plumage.
The moment of parting
The bond between human and eagle is close and mutually beneficial, but it is devoid of anthropomorphism: as McGough explains, hunters do not even give their birds names. From the very first day of the partnership, the berkutchi feels deep respect for his feathered ally and understands that sooner or later he will have to release it into the wild. The decision of when that moment comes — usually after several years — is made individually by each hunter when he feels the time is right.
“My mentor had an adult female, and during hunts a wild male began flying to her, showing courtship behavior, and this started to worry the owner,” recalls McGough. “A couple of times she flew off to respond to the male’s advances. She would return, but it made him think: ‘Okay, perhaps it’s time to let her go.’”
Reasons for parting can vary: perhaps the understanding with the eagle never fully developed, or the hunter simply wants to start working with a new bird. “The choice of timing is a very personal decision,” adds McGough. “After all, the eagle embodies years of labor and undivided attention invested in this partnership.”
A tradition on the brink of oblivion
Times are changing. More and more young people are abandoning the harsh nomadic life, seeking education in the nearby city of Ulgii or in the capital Ulaanbaatar. Many stay there to work after their studies or leave in search of a better life. Today there are only about 70 berkutchi left. In an attempt to preserve their heritage, they hold a festival for tourists every autumn.
“To be an eagle hunter, you need to be part of this life from birth — a nomadic herder,” explains McGough. “You must live in the steppe, breathe its air, understand the habits of eagles and know where to look for foxes. There is no other way. This connection between man, bird, and steppe is something wonderful and fragile. Their life is incredibly hard, and it is painful to see this tradition gradually disappearing.”
Translation by Yulia Rozhdestvenskaya
Illustration: “Eurasia Today”, Midjourney
Archaeological evidence suggests that falconry was practiced in Central Asia as early as the first millennium BCE, making the region one of the oldest known centers of this human-bird partnership. By the first centuries BCE, the practice had spread to Persia, the Middle East, and China, where it became part of courtly and military traditions. In medieval Europe, it turned into a royal pastime, earning the reputation of the “sport of kings.”
However, unlike the European tradition, for Kazakh nomads this is by no means a sport, but a vital — albeit disappearing — part of their existence. And while classical falconers usually use birds such as peregrine falcons or red-tailed hawks, nomads hunt with golden eagles. Among the Kazakhs of western Mongolia, eagle hunting has retained its original, purely practical role, rooted in the necessity of survival.
Harsh land that breeds partnership with animals
Bayan-Ulgii aimag in Mongolia borders China, Russia, and Kazakhstan and is located in the Altai Mountains region, home to mountain goats and the elusive snow leopard. This land, with its short hot summers and long, incredibly cold winters, is inhabited by semi-nomadic Kazakh families. They herd sheep, goats, camels, yaks, and horses, moving from one pasture to another throughout the year. Traditionally, labor here is strictly divided by gender: women cook and manage the household, while men herd livestock and use eagles to hunt foxes and other animals for their fur. These eagle hunters are called berkutchi.
“More than 90% of the land is unsuitable for agriculture, so they cannot engage in farming,” explains Lauren McGough, biologist, anthropologist, and falconer. She first came to the region in 2009 on a Fulbright program and became one of the few outsiders — and equally few women — to train with berkutchi, mastering the art of fox hunting with an eagle while riding a horse. “Instead, they came to the ingenious conclusion that they must form partnerships with animals — from livestock to … wild predators such as eagles,” says McGough. “What they can get from this union — everything necessary for life — is truly astonishing.”
Who becomes a berkutchi
Not every man in the community chooses this path, but those who do earn great respect. “Locals will tell you that this calling must be in your heart,” explains McGough, whose work with berkutchi helped her earn a doctorate in social anthropology from the University of St Andrews in Scotland. “A genuine desire for such a relationship is required. If it is present, it becomes a source of immense pride and a way to honor one’s culture. But everyone here understands perfectly: this path is only possible for an extraordinary and highly determined person.”
This occupation requires enormous effort and time, and nomadic life is already full of chores: herding livestock, obtaining water from snow or ice, collecting dung for fuel, and maintaining the fire. That is why, as McGough explains, the most dedicated berkutchi are usually older men. “They usually already have adult sons who take on all the herding duties. So they can devote themselves entirely to hunting with their eagle.”
The art of training
The path of a future berkutchi, as McGough recounts, begins with helping an experienced mentor care for his eagle — for example, feeding the bird in the evening if it did not hunt that day. The next step is to become a “beater,” whose role is to flush out foxes so the eagle can hunt them. “If the apprentice shows enough diligence in this, in time the experienced hunter will help him catch his own eagle,” explains McGough.
Berkutchi are almost always men, with some notable exceptions. The eagles themselves, however, are always females — they are larger and considered more skillful hunters. Eagles are caught in autumn, when young, during their migration from Russia to China through the Altai Mountains. Hunters lure the birds with fox carcasses and then cover them with a special net.
Training the winged partner
Surprisingly, training an eagle can be quite simple, says McGough. First, hunters use a well-known falconry hood (klobuk) to calm the bird: since birds of prey rely primarily on vision, a hood over the head disorients them and makes them docile.
“In the beginning, in the evening you bring the eagle into the house with dimmed lights, remove the hood and hold a piece of fresh meat on your glove,” recounts McGough. “Usually it doesn’t take long before they start leaning down and eating from your hand. And then progress happens quite quickly.”
After that, the bird is taught to jump onto a special glove, and then to fly to it from a distance of several meters while on a leash. The distance is gradually increased.
“When the eagle confidently flies to the call, say, from 30 meters, it can be released without a leash,” continues McGough. “By this time you are firmly associated in the bird’s mind with care and food, so it stays. And when the eagle begins to grasp the connection between your presence and the appearance of prey, its desire to fly away disappears completely.”
The hunter usually works with only one bird per season, using it for hunting during the cold months. The caught fox is divided: the valuable pelt goes to the human, and the meat goes to the feathered partner. With the arrival of summer and the molting period, hunting stops. During these months the eagle is fed generously, allowed to eat as much as it wants — this is necessary to form healthy, strong, and dense new plumage.
The moment of parting
The bond between human and eagle is close and mutually beneficial, but it is devoid of anthropomorphism: as McGough explains, hunters do not even give their birds names. From the very first day of the partnership, the berkutchi feels deep respect for his feathered ally and understands that sooner or later he will have to release it into the wild. The decision of when that moment comes — usually after several years — is made individually by each hunter when he feels the time is right.
“My mentor had an adult female, and during hunts a wild male began flying to her, showing courtship behavior, and this started to worry the owner,” recalls McGough. “A couple of times she flew off to respond to the male’s advances. She would return, but it made him think: ‘Okay, perhaps it’s time to let her go.’”
Reasons for parting can vary: perhaps the understanding with the eagle never fully developed, or the hunter simply wants to start working with a new bird. “The choice of timing is a very personal decision,” adds McGough. “After all, the eagle embodies years of labor and undivided attention invested in this partnership.”
A tradition on the brink of oblivion
Times are changing. More and more young people are abandoning the harsh nomadic life, seeking education in the nearby city of Ulgii or in the capital Ulaanbaatar. Many stay there to work after their studies or leave in search of a better life. Today there are only about 70 berkutchi left. In an attempt to preserve their heritage, they hold a festival for tourists every autumn.
“To be an eagle hunter, you need to be part of this life from birth — a nomadic herder,” explains McGough. “You must live in the steppe, breathe its air, understand the habits of eagles and know where to look for foxes. There is no other way. This connection between man, bird, and steppe is something wonderful and fragile. Their life is incredibly hard, and it is painful to see this tradition gradually disappearing.”
Translation by Yulia Rozhdestvenskaya
Illustration: “Eurasia Today”, Midjourney
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