Unexplored Spain Part 42

Our quarters were a little white rancho perched amid deep bush and oak-woods on the slope of the Sierra del Valle. A mile farther up the valley was closed by the dark transverse ma.s.s of the Sierra de las Cabras, the two ranges being separated by an abrupt chasm called the Boca de la Foz, which was to be the scene of this day's operations.

A pitiable episode occurred. While preparing to mount, there resounded from behind a peal of strange inhuman laughter, followed by incoherent words; and through an iron-barred window we discerned the emaciated figure of a man, wild and unkempt, whose eagle-like claws grasped the barriers of his cell--a poor lunatic. No connected replies could we get, nothing beyond vacuous laughter and gibbering chatter. Now he was at the theatre and quoted magic jargon; anon supplicating the mercy of a judge; then singing a stanza of some old song, to break off abruptly into fierce denunciation of one of us as the cause of his troubles. Poor wretch! he had once been a successful advocate; but signs of madness having developed, which increased with years, the once popular lawyer was reduced to the durance of this iron-girt cell, his only share and view of G.o.d's earth just so much of sombre everlasting sierra as the narrow opening allowed. We were warned that any effort to ameliorate his lot was hopeless, his case being desperate. What hidden wrongs may exist in a land where no judicial intervention is obligatory between the "rights of families" and their insane relations (or those whom they may consider such) are easy to conceive.

The first covert tried was a strong jungle flanking the main gorge, but this and a second beat proved blank, though two roebuck broke back. The third drive comprised the main _manchas_, or thickets, of the Boca de la Foz, and to this we ascended on foot, leaving the horses picketed behind. Our four guns occupied the rim of a natural amphitheatre which dipped sharply away some 1500 feet beneath us, the centre choked with brushwood--lentisk, arbutus, and thorn--20 feet deep. On our left towered a perpendicular block of limestone cliffs, the right flank of the jungle being bordered by a series of up-tilted rock-strata, white as marble and resembling a ruined street.

Ten minutes of profound silence, not a sound save the distant tinkle of a goat-bell, or the song of that feathered recluse, the blue rock-thrush (in Spanish, _Solitario_), then the distant cries of the beaters in the depths below told us the fray had begun.

Another ten minutes' suspense. Then a crash of hound-music proclaimed that the quarry was at home. This boar proved to be one of certain grizzly monsters of which we were specially in search, his lair a jumble of boulders islanded amid thickest jungle. Here he held his ground, declining to recognise in canine aggressors a superior force. Two boar-hounds reinforced the skirmishers of the pack, yet the old tusker stood firm. For minutes that seemed like hours the conflict raged stationary: the sonorous baying of the boar-hounds, the "yapping" of the smaller dogs, and shouts of mountaineers blended with the howl of an incautious _podenco_ as he received a death-rip--all formed a chorus of sounds that carried their exciting story to the sentinel guns above.

The seat of war being near half-a-mile away, no immediate issue was expected. Then there occurred one crash of bush, and a second boar dashed straight for the pa.s.s where the writer barred the way. The suddenness of the encounter disconcerted, and the first shot missed--the bullet splashing on a grey rock just above--time barely remained to jump aside and avoid collision. The left barrel got home: a stumble and a savage grunt as an ounce of lead penetrated his vitals, and the boar plunged headlong, his life-blood dyeing the weather-blanched rocks and green palmetto. For a moment he lay, but ere cold steel could administer a quietus, he had regained his feet and dashed back. Whether revenge prompted that move or it was merely an effort to regain the covert he had just left, we know not--a third bullet laid him lifeless.

During this interlude (though it only occupied five seconds) the main combat below reached its climax. The old boar had left his stronghold, and after sundry sullen stands and promiscuous skirmishes (during which a second _podenco_ died), he made for the heights. Showing first on the centre, he was covered for a moment by a 450 Express; but, not breaking covert, no shot could be fired, and when next viewed the boar was trotting up a stone-slide on the extreme left. Here a rifle-shot broke a foreleg, and the disabled beast, unable to face the hill, retreated to the thicket below, scattering dogs and beaters in headlong flight. And now commenced the hue and cry--the real hard work for those who meant to see the end and earn the spoils of war. Presently _Moro's_ deep voice told us of the boar at bay, far away down in the depths of the defile. What followed in that hurly-burly--that mad scramble through brake and thicket, down crag and scree--cannot be written.

Each man only knows what he did himself, or did not do. We can answer for three. One of these seated himself on a rock and lit a cigarette. The others, ten minutes later, arrived on the final scene, one minus his nether garments and sundry patches of skin, but in time to take part in the death of as grand a boar as roams the Spanish sierras.

This last spring (1910), after thirty-eight years, we revisited the Boca de la Foz, partly to rea.s.sure ourselves that the above description was not overdrawn. No! 'Tis a terrible wild gorge, the Foz, but the days when we can follow a wounded boar through obstacles such as those have pa.s.sed away. The boars, we were told, are still there, and so are the vultures in those magnificent crags. We climbed along the ledges and there were the great stick-built nests, each in its ancestral site. In March each contains a single egg; now (April) that is replaced by a leaden-hued chick. These cliffs are also tenanted by ravens and a single pair of choughs. Neophrons occupied the same cavern whence I shot a female in 1872, and crag-martins held their old abodes, plastered on to the roofs of the caves.

As April advances a new and striking bird-form arrives to adorn the higher sierras--the least observant can scarce miss this, the rock-thrush (_Monticola saxatilis_), conspicuous alike in plumage and actions; with clear blue head and chestnut breast, its colour-scheme includes a broad patch of white set in the centre of a dark back. The contrast is most effective, and, so far as we know, this "fashion" of a white back is unique among birds, unless indeed it be shared by Bonelli's eagle. The rock-thrush is also endowed with a lovely wild song, quite low and simple, but replete with a fine "high-tops" quality.

By April 20 he yields to vernal impulses, and his courting is pretty to see; wheeling around on transparent pinions, he soars and sings the livelong day; at intervals, with collapsed wing, he drops like a stone to join his sober-hued mate among the rocks; a few picturesque poses, displaying all those flashing tints of orange and opal, and off he goes again to soar and sing once more. His cousin, the blue-thrush, has also a sweet song and a similar hovering flight, ending in a "drop act"; but the ascent is more vertical, while frequently he varies the descent and comes fluttering down in tree-pipit or b.u.t.terfly-like style. Even the sober little blackchat now "shows off," perched on some boulder with quivering wings and tail spread fan-like over his back. Both these two last, being resident, nest much earlier than the migratory rock-thrush: the latter was building (in crevices of the rocks) by mid-April, but hardly lays before May.

These sierras being only 3000 to 4000 feet, one misses here some of the alpine forms observed at higher alt.i.tudes. The tawny pipit, for example, a sandy-hued bird with dark eye-stripe and active wagtail-like gait, which was common on San Cristobal at 4500 feet in April, never showed up here at all; nor did any of the following species, all so characteristic of the higher ground: Blackstarts, woodlarks, rock-buntings, cole-and longtail-t.i.ts, and tree-creepers. The choughs, spotted woodp.e.c.k.e.rs, rock-thrushes, crag-martins, and wood-pigeons, though observed, were here very much scarcer. The lammergeyer, too, rarely descends here, and then only while in his smoke-black uniform of immaturity.

THE PUERTA DE PALOMAS

In May 1883, while returning from Ubrique, our horses fell lame owing to loss of shoes, and for four days and nights we were encamped in the pa.s.s known as the Puerta de Palomas. There is a tiny _ventorillo_, or wayside wine-shop, at the foot of the pa.s.s; but nights are warm in May, and we preferred the freedom of the open hill, where the strange growls made by the griffons at dawn, together with the awakening carol of the rock-thrush, formed our reveille each morning in that roofless bedroom amidst the boulders.

The opposite side of the pa.s.s is dominated by the picturesque pile called the Picacho del Aljibe, a conical peak that towers in tiers of crags above the adjoining sierras not unlike a gigantic Arthur's Seat over the Salisbury Crags. Our own side was rather a chaotic jumble of detached monoliths than cliffs proper, and by clambering over these we reached in one morning sixteen vultures' nests, the easiest of access we ever struck. They were mostly very slight affairs, bare rock often protruding through the scanty structure; though, where necessary, a broad platform of sticks was provided--as sketched. The poults (only one in each nest) were now as big as guinea-fowls, with brown feathers sprouting through the white down. These eyries, albeit slightly malodorous, are always strictly clean, since vultures feed their young by disgorging half-digested food from their own crops, and we watched this not-pleasing operation being performed within some eighty yards'

distance; hence there is no carrion or putrefying matter lying about, as is the case with the neophron and lammergeyer.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GRIFFON VULTURE FEEDING YOUNG--PUERTA DE PALOMAS, APRIL 10, 1910.]

These eyries were situate on three great outstanding stacks of rock, and during the scramble we came face to face with a pair of eagle-owls solemnly dreaming away the hours in the recesses of a cavern, though no sign of a nest was discovered. The caves were shared by crag-martins, whose swallow-like nests were fixed under the roof, usually just beyond reach. Their eggs are white, flecked with grey. On May 18 we obtained here a nest of the rock-thrush with five beautiful greenish-blue eggs.

It was built in a cranny of the crags.

This year (1910) found us once more in the Puerta de Palomas, the date April 8. On rounding the Sierra de las Cabras, as L. was already far up the hillside, I rode forward intending to ascend at the north end and work back, thus meeting in centre. A succession of mischances, however, upset that plan. A small clump of ilex clung to the steep above the point whereat I had left the horses, and in traversing this, I walked right into a calf concealed beneath a lentiscus. Knowing that this might involve trouble should its half-wild mother be within hearing, I gently retreated, but, hard by, stumbled on a second calf, even smaller, in another bush. No. 1 meanwhile had gained its legs and bleated softly.

There followed a crash among the bush above, and as fierce-looking a wild beast as ever I saw (and I have seen some) came hurtling down those rugged rocks at amazing speed. On seeing me (luckily some little distance from her own offspring) the infuriated mother pulled up, full-face--a pretty picture, but rather menacing, especially as she kept up a muttered bellowing, horribly eloquent. I had sidled alongside a tree; but Paco, who carried my gun, with the reckless spirit begotten of the bull-fight, boldly addressed the enemy in opprobrious terms. The only result was that she came still nearer, and I swung to a lower branch. Paco, nothing daunted, now tried stones (in addition to expletives), and it was, to me at least, a relief when that cow at length retired. The half-wild savage may easily be more dangerous than the truly wild. The former have lost some of their pristine respect for man, and of course one has less means of defence.

This incident over, we commenced the climb. The rock-stack rose vertically above us, but we diverged to the right as affording an easier route. On reaching the desired level, however, I found it impossible to make good that interval on our left--a smooth rock-face devoid of handhold, and too upright to traverse, forbade all lateral movement. Up we went another twenty yards, then another; but always to find that slithery rock-face mocking our efforts to outflank it. We were now well above the rock-stack overlooking the eyries, and I could see two griffons brooding, another feeding a poult close by. But between us was a great gulf fixed, and that gulf stopped us. The obvious alternative was to descend and try again from a fresh point. But here a new difficulty faced us: we could not descend. We had come up by following a series of vertical fissures, or "chimnies," none too easy, since every crevice sheltered some vicious vegetation, each more spikey and th.o.r.n.y than the last. Still from _below_ one can always select a handhold somewhere, and then defy the thorn; whereas on looking _backwards_, nothing is visible but a vanishing outline of rock and gorse, porcupine broom, or palmetto--beyond is vacant s.p.a.ce, and a sheer drop at that. In a word, we could neither descend nor move laterally. It was humiliating--even more so than the antecedent incident with a _COW_!

One resource remained--to climb on to the top; and even in that direction a single bad rock might cut off escape. No such crowning catastrophe befell, but it was tooth-and-claw work, every yard of it, and the vertical height could not have been less than 1000 feet.

While thus "clawing up" I recollect pa.s.sing a perfect glory in orchids--great twin purple blooms, golden-tipped and quite amorphous in outline. They grew just beyond my reach. Curious rec.u.mbent ferns clung to the rocks; anemones and violet-like bouquets peered from each cranny.

Meanwhile L., approaching from the other side, had examined the rock-stacks and succeeded in attaining one main objective--the nest of the eagle-owl. This was in a rock-cavern, close by that of '83, easy of access--indeed the great owl flew out in his face as he pa.s.sed below.

The cave (four feet high by two wide) was at the foot of a vertical limestone cliff, its floor level with a goat-track that skirted the crag, and fully exposed to view; there was no nest nor any debris. Two young owls in white down, with one egg actually "chipping," lay on the bare earth.

One of the griffon's nests still contained (on April 8) a fresh egg, which is now in the writer's collection as a memorial of that day. We had secured all we had expected in the Puerta de Palomas--and something more besides.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

A SPANISH SYSTEM OF FOWLING

THE "CABRESTO" OR STALKING-HORSE

Spain is a land of flocks and herds, of breeders and graziers. At the head of the scale stands the fighting-bull, monarch of the richest _vegas_; at the opposite extreme come the s.h.a.ggy little ponies and brood-mares that eke out a feral and precarious subsistence in the wildest regions. Throughout the marismas hardy beasts with wild-bred progeny on which no human hand has ever laid, abound, grazing knee-deep in watery wildernesses where tasteless reed or wiry spear-gra.s.s afford a bare subsistence.

There they live, splashing in the shadows, heads half-immersed as they pull up subaquatic herbage; on the back of one rides perched a snow-white egret, on another a couple of magpies, preying on ticks or warbles, while all around swim wildfowl that scarce deign to move aside.

No fowler could view such a scene without perceiving that approach to the wildfowl might be effected under cover of these unsuspected ponies.

The earliest aucipial mind probably realised the advantage offered, and the system has been practised in Spain from time immemorial.

The method is simple. The ponies (termed, when trained, _cabrestos_, or "decoys") seem by intuition to realise what is required. By a cord attached to the headstall, the fowler, crouching behind the shoulder, directs his pony's course towards the unconscious fowl. At intervals, still further to disarm suspicion, feigned halts are made as though to simulate grazing. Before closing in, the nose-cord is made fast to the near fore-knee, thus holding the pony's head well down. Presently the ducks are within half gunshot, and we amateurs (whose doubled backs ache excruciatingly from a constrained position maintained for half an hour) pray each moment for relief and the signal to fire. No! Our fowler-friends shoot for a livelihood, and continue, with marvellous skill and patience, so to manoeuvre their beasts that the utmost possible target shall finally be presented to the broadside. There is no hurry--nor time nor aching vertebrae with them count one centimo. (See photo at p. 90.)

Should it be necessary to change course, that operation is effected by wheeling the pony stern-on to the fowl, the fowler meanwhile crouching low under his muzzle: critical moments ensue during which the expert has no cover but the pony's breadth--instead of his length--to shield him from detection by hundreds of the keenest eyes on earth. But it is remarkable how little notice is taken of what is necessarily in full view provided that the exposed objects are _beneath_ the covering animal. Once let a human head or a gun-barrel appear _above_ its outline and the spell is broken. But otherwise--say during those interludes of feigned "grazing"--the suffering fowlers can straighten their backs by squatting down (in the water!) and thus enjoy at closest quarters a spectacle of wild creatures that is impossible to attain by any other means yet discovered. Though the fowlers are now fully visible, framed, as it were, beneath the _cabresto's_ belly and between his legs, no notice will be taken or any alarm created so long as the pony's skylines remain unadorned with human appendages. There, within a score of yards, you sit face to face with ducks by the hundred, feeding, splashing, preening--all utterly unconcerned! Those of our readers who are most familiar with wildfowl will best realise how incredible such a statement must read. Ordinarily, the slightest visible movement--the mere glint of a gun-barrel though half masked by cover--suffices to shift every duck at one hundred yards and more. Here they ignore objects practically exposed and close at hand. Apparently the habitual companionship day by day of water-bred ponies has annihilated in their minds all sense of danger arising from such a quarter.

The Spanish professionals (using large but antiquated muzzle-loaders) work singly, each man behind his own pony; or should two or more join forces for a broadside, there still remains but one man behind each animal. These men are reputed to have made extraordinary shots; and having viewed their infinite patience, we can well believe such records.

To place two guns behind one _cabresto_-pony, that is, an amateur as well as the professional, is a distinct handicap. We have done it ourselves, and accepted the handicap merely to see the system in operation; yet by using more powerful weapons have probably killed as many fowl at one shot as even the fabled totals of our friends.

Obviously no comparison can be, or is, suggested as between two totally different performances. It has been solely for the purpose of learning the system, and also of enjoying unequalled views of wildfowl close at hand, that we have occasionally put in a day with the _cabresto_-ponies, and here annex a few records of shots made by this means, taken at random from our diaries.

_January 1, 1898._--Fired three broadsides with two guns, a double 8-and a single 4-bore; in the second case the fowl had just been badly scared by a kite. Results:--

(1) 59 wigeon, 3 teal 62 (2) 30 " 3 " 33 (3) 60 " 1 " 4 pintail, 4 shoveler 69 ___ Total 164

_January 31, 1905._--In three shots at wigeon, the first being half spoilt by a big black-backed gull, the authors (two guns) gathered:--

27 + 51 + 48 = 126 wigeon.

_December 29, 1893._--Santolalla (2 guns), 78 teal, besides some coots, at a single shot.

_January 1894._--Laguna Dulce; three _cabrestos_ with Spanish fowlers, and two amateurs with big breech-loaders (a broadside of 5 barrels):--

198 teal (including about a dozen wigeon).

A shot made in January 1894 seems worth recording merely in respect of the numbers killed by only some _seven ounces_ of lead. An islet actually _carpeted_ with teal was our target, and two 12-bores, aided by an ancient Spanish muzzle-loader (about 10-bore), realised fifty head, to wit, forty-nine teal and one mallard-drake.

Geese will rarely admit of approach to the close quarters necessary for effective work; yet just on those rare exceptional occasions we have secured (using heavy shoulder-guns) from six to a dozen greylags in a day, once or twice more than this--five at a shot being the maximum.

THE STANCHION-GUN IN SPAIN

In contrast with the success of the _cabresto_ system, the stancheon-gun proved a failure. So admirably adapted for punt-gunning appeared those great shallow marismas, that in 1888 we sent out the entire outfit and artillery for wildfowling afloat--a 22-foot double-handed gunning-punt and an 80-lb. gun to throw 16 oz. of shot.