VIACHESLAV KAISTRO is passionate about bird photography. He can tell you everything about birds—from their names and colors to how long you need to observe them to get the perfect shot. Sports help him reset and take his mind off the war, while also presenting new challenges.
About himself. I’m an emotional and very open person. I easily find common ground with others and connect with people quickly.
When I was over 40, I took up tennis and became passionate about it. I also started swimming after an incident in my family. I worked with a coach until I mastered three different swimming techniques.
believe everyone has two callings: one that provides a living and another that brings genuine joy. For me, earning a living was about leading a team to complete exclusive, high-end interior renovations. It was profitable, but I’ve since lost all interest in it and can’t see myself returning to construction work.
As for my personal passion, it’s photography. I spent all my free time traveling to various locations—nature reserves, wetlands, and lagoons—rarely staying in the city. I’m deeply interested in nature and the environment. My photographs have been featured in magazines and books, but this pursuit isn’t something one can rely on to make a living.
About Interests. Most people look down when they walk, but I’m always looking up—just in case I spot an interesting bird. I’m fascinated by everything that flies—birds, butterflies—and by little crawlies like little mice. Nature captivates me. I spent my childhood in Yakutia with my parents, surrounded by the northern taiga. We had a boat, and my father and I would live in the wilderness in taiga for up to a month and a half at a time.
After finishing school, I wanted to become an ichthyologist, but my parents didn’t approve. They believed I should pursue construction or metallurgy. Later, I dreamed of becoming a gamekeeper or an ornithologist.
Birds have always been a passion of mine. Initially, I focused only on photographing birds of prey, convinced for a time that I knew everything about them. Small birds, like sparrows, didn’t interest me at all. But as I learned to distinguish between field sparrows and house sparrows, or rooks and crows, my curiosity grew.
When I take photos, I approach them with an artistic mindset. I used to write short stories as well. There’s also an activity called birdwatching, which is widespread across Europe. People gather with binoculars to observe and document birds—not worrying about perfect photos but about simply spotting and recording them.
There are birds I’ve spent over 10 years trying to capture. To do that, you need to know everything: where the bird appears, what it eats, how it sleeps, its habits, migration patterns, and even how to access restricted locations where it might be found. Sometimes, you even need to know whom to ask for permission to enter those areas.
And yet, after all that preparation, you might find yourself waiting in a blind for hours, and nothing shows up. Insects crawl over you, and you can’t move a muscle because birds have exceptional vision. They can see through water, bushes, everything. You wait and wait, barely daring to adjust your hand after hours of stillness—and then, in an instant, the bird takes off before you get your shot.
Lying in water or sand, with bugs crawling on you and the sun blazing, you curse everything. But when you finally capture that perfect shot, it’s a feeling I can only describe as photographic orgasm.
I’ve always envied my smoking friend Vitya during these long waits—he lights a cigarette, and suddenly it feels like he’s being productive.
Photographing birds of prey is a whole different challenge. They are incredibly cautious. I have a series of photos of sea eagles that I took in winter. Setting up the equipment for those shots had to be done under cover of night However, there are always crows around the eagles. If even one of them sees you setting up your position, it will circle above you and scream nonstop, warning every bird in the area.
Bird behavior varies across regions. In some countries, birds let you approach them. Here, they won’t come near you at all. Poaching and military activities have had a profound effect on bird behavior in our region.
About a few days before the war. Ten days before the full-scale war began, I went to the military enlistment office. Since 2014, I had been volunteering, constantly following war-related news, worrying, and helping.
When the Russians started stockpiling blood supplies, I realized that a major war was inevitable. Sure, they could bring a few brigades to the border to create tension, but when they brought in medical supplies, it meant they were preparing for something serious.
At the enlistment office, I said I needed to at least refresh my skills in handling a rifle. I passed the medical examination. Then, on February 24, I arrived at noon but was too late—my unit had left in the morning. I waited for a few days and then joined our Territorial Defense Forces.
About the war. At first, I served as a sniper—a machine gunner. My experience from civilian life, where I used to camouflage myself while observing birds, came in handy. I taught the team a few tricks about blending into the environment, using what was available—grass, branches, or hay. Later, our unit was reassigned to support reconnaissance.
Later, our unit was reassigned to support a reconnaissance group, which brought new challenges. We worked in small teams of six, infiltrating enemy positions through tree lines. One of those positions was called “Palyanytsia” – everything imaginable was fired at it, and we had to hold it. The conditions were extremely tough.
Still, I actually liked it all. I was even surprised when I realized this. I had completely transformed into a soldier.
About the injury. We spent a year on the frontlines, and I went on countless missions. That time, our forces had pushed the Russians out of a tree line, and we were sent in to clear the area and hold the defense. The entire area was destroyed, churned into the ground. Many of our guys didn’t make it out alive.
As a platoon commander, I could have chosen not to go, but I always went with my men. I wouldn’t have been able to face them otherwise—we lived in the same trenches, shared everything. How could I stay behind while they went?
Two weeks before the mission, I planned everything myself and positioned the troops. From the very start, I had a strong sense that something bad was going to happen. The closer my turn came, the more certain I became. It’s strange, but there are moments when soldiers sense their own death. I felt something ominous coming.
We entered the trenches in groups of four. We called this process the “steamroller.” One group would approach from one side, while another moved in from the opposite direction.
Several small but strange things happened that day. Although I’m not superstitious, they stuck with me. but they were hard to ignore. On our way to the “steamroller,” one of the guys went missing, and we lost time looking for him. Another forgot his helmet and had to go back for it.
As we waited, I turned my head and spotted an owl. It was a Eurasian eagle-owl, a species that’s on the endangered list and very rare in our area. Yet there it was, sitting right in front of us. That was the last piece of the puzzle, and I knew it wasn’t a good sign.
I was stepping out of a trench, scanning the area with a thermal scope. I did this a few times. During twilight, I decided to shift slightly to get a better angle. I even said to myself, “What if there are mines here? Nah, there won’t be mines!” And at that exact moment, there was an explosion.
I saw my boot fly off and thought, “This feels like a movie—this can’t be happening to me.” I didn’t feel any pain, just the smell of burning and blood.
About accepting the injury. When I lost my leg, my initial reaction was that life was over. But when I was taken to the hospital and saw other guys with amputations—some missing multiple limbs—I told myself, “Why are you complaining?” That’s when I realized it could have been much worse for me. We were in the gray zone, and there was a chance we wouldn’t have made it out at all. The guys carried me for a kilometer and a half to safety.
I once heard a phrase that stuck with me: “You are who you are now. There’s no changing that. You have to accept yourself this way. Life goes on.” What happened has already happened, so now I need to focus on the future, on prosthetics, and on living life.
The other guys in the hospital, those who were going through the same thing, were a big source of support for me. I stayed mentally resilient through it all.
About changes after the war. I don’t think the war itself fundamentally changed who I am. I’ve always treated others the way I want to be treated—that’s just a core principle of mine. it’s a guiding principle for me. However, the war sharpened my focus on things I might have overlooked before.
What matters most to me now is the respect of my comrades. At the same time, my disdain has grown for people who don’t fight for our country, who hide or continue living their normal lives while others are on the frontlines for years without a break.
I’ve become more emotional and radical in my views.
About my greatest wish. My biggest wish is for the war to end—and for it to end with our victory. Right now, so many of my favorite spots for birdwatching are on the occupied territory.
There’s a Chinese saying: “What happens once may never happen again. But what happens twice will inevitably happen a third time.” If we freeze the conflict now, the Russians will eventually regroup, regain strength, and resume their attacks.
Translated by Green Forest English School