WILD CATTLE
Denseness of forest -- Wild cattle originally escaped from
early settlers -- Grown somewhat shaggy -- Indians will
not hunt them in forest -- Patagonia not a big-game
country -- Hunting wild cattle -- Disappointment --
Hunters paradise -- Twelve blank days -- Sport on Punta
Bandera -- Big yellow bull -- Losing the herd -- Baffling
ground -- Charge of bull and cow -- A shot at last --
Hunting in forests on Mount Frias -- String shoes --
Winter hunting -- Shoot bull -- Shoot huemul five-pointer
-- Wild-cattle hunting first-class sport.
Very different to the easy sport afforded by the huemul was our
experience of hunting wild cattle in the forests which clothe more or
less densely the ravines and slopes of the lower Andes. These forests,
which in some parts are absolutely impenetrable in the spring, because
at that season the _pantanos_ are saturated with the rains and melting
snow, give shelter to many scattered herds of wild cattle.
[Illustration: FORESTS UNDER THE SNOWS WHERE WILD CATTLE BREED]
Captain Musters, writing in 1871, speaks of hunting these animals
under the Cordillera, but their existence in a wild state dates from a
far earlier period--in fact, from the time of the first Spanish
occupation, when cattle escaped from the Valdez Peninsula, and roaming
over the pampas at length reached the high grass and sheltered places
of the Cordillera. Finding these entirely to their liking, they have
ever since lived and bred in that region; their numbers, no doubt,
being from time to time increased by deserters from the unfenced farms
on the east coast of Patagonia. It is a strange thing that cattle
which escape almost invariably head north-west towards the Cordillera.
This fact has been commented on to us by many different Gauchos and
cattle-owners up and down the east coast.
The older herds have lost the smooth aspect of domesticated animals
and thrown back to the shaggy front, longer horns and rough-haired
hide characteristic of wild cattle. As to the special parts of
Patagonia in which wild cattle are most plentiful, it would be of
little use to give a list of them. Should a herd stray in the plains,
the Indians will soon make them change their quarters and return to
take refuge among the woods and ravines of the foothills. Inside this
forest-land the Indians will never venture, and there the emancipated
bull thoroughly enjoys himself. Even the beasts belonging to the
farmers lead a wandering life, and at a short distance from the
settlements are shy of the approach of man, and have to be rounded up
by mounted Gauchos. Those of them that have been inside a corral and
regained their liberty are every whit as wild as the wild cattle
proper. Being caught with a lasso and branded is by no means an
experience calculated to instil any deep confidence in mankind into
the mind of a calf.
In the Cordillera the herds are extremely wideawake. When a point is
disturbed, they always go higher up into the mountains, and almost
invariably leave that particular neighbourhood under cover of the
ensuing night. Their climbing powers are extraordinary. Wherever a
guanaco can go, a wild bull can follow him. Their tracks are regularly
and clearly marked, and they appear to move along precisely the same
paths from feeding-place to feeding-place. The snows of winter force
them to lower ground, but in my opinion the herds never penetrate very
deep into the Cordillera. Precisely how far they go it would be hard
to determine, but they seldom ascend to the higher levels, preferring
to wander about the outer spurs of the lower hills. There is a spot on
the south side of the Lake Rica where they appear to make their way
farther into the recesses of the mountains than in any other district.
Patagonia, as the reader will by this time realise, cannot be called a
big-game country in the sense of affording any variety of large
animals for the benefit of the sportsman. But whoever goes into the
Cordillera will find the wild bulls of their forests well worthy of
his attention, for they give as excellent sport as any big game in the
world. A point which must tell greatly in their favour in the eyes of
some people is the fact that the pursuit of them is a pleasure by no
means unattended by danger.
The first day on which I attempted to find wild cattle we sighted two
herds, one about half way up the hillside and the other higher, almost
upon the snow-line. We had gone out rather with the idea of
prospecting, having but little hope of being so lucky as to get a
shot. Mr. Cattle, Burbury, and myself made up the party, and while
Cattle hid in the direction towards which the herd might be expected
to break, Burbury and I undertook the stalk. We separated, and I
finally got within two hundred yards of a dun-coloured bull; but his
position was so bad that it seemed a pity to shoot. The herd
ultimately moved into a strip of forest high on the shoulder of the
mountain, and we failed to locate it again.
Upon this followed a period when the memory of the shot I might have
taken rankled as a thorn in the flesh. The difficulty of finding a
herd was very great. We went out several days in succession and failed
to catch sight of a single horn. For twelve days we searched from dawn
to dark and found nothing. Yet these days, which resulted in a total
bag of two huemules, were infinitely more sporting than were those in
the neighbourhood of the River de los Antiguos, where a large number
of animals might have been secured. On four occasions fresh tracks
were found, and in that keen invigorating air the hunting of such a
quarry was a sport for the gods.
[Illustration: A GLADE IN THE LAKE RICA FOREST]
There is a picturesque sentence in one of Mr. Kipling's writings, in
which he speaks of a life "spent on blue water in the morning of the
world." Each savage of us has, I suppose, some such ideal existence,
and if that be so, mine would be passed in hunting some great horned
quarry upon frozen hills in a land where no wind too strong should
blow, and where the views of water and of peaks should be in all
shades of separate and glorious blue. What a splendid place such a
happy hunting-ground would be! Quite different to the happy
hunting-grounds of the North American Indian, the Tehuelche or the
Eskimo--the latter, by the way, looks forward to a paradise where
he will lie for ever upon the sleeping-bench in the warmth and eat
decomposed seals' heads! The nomad hunter races kill to eat in any
manner or by any means, the romance of sport is in one sense lacking
in them; but in my happy hunting-ground there will be Irish elk with
mighty spreading horns upon those wondrous hills....
We have wandered far away from our subject. I think it may be said
that during those twelve blank days every method of hunting wild
cattle had a fair trial. Upon the northern slopes of Mount Buenos
Aires (which, I must mention, is very far distant from Lake Buenos
Aires, being, in fact, surrounded on three sides by the waters of Lake
Argentino) there is comparatively little wood, although there is much
thick high brush, so that--as in Sardinian moufflon-shooting--one may
spy the ground two or three times in the day, and yet fail to discover
a herd hidden in the brush or in one of the many water-worn ravines.
Nevertheless, this place was the most open ground which we hunted, and
was far superior to the Lake Rica side of the mountain, upon which
cluster dense forests of antarctic beech, through which it is
impossible to see more than twenty or thirty yards, and often not so
far.
Once or twice I tried sitting up for bulls at their drinking-places,
but never with any success. The fact is, that the forests they range
through are so well watered with streams, _pantanos_ and springs, that
they have a score of drinking-places to choose from, therefore the
chances are twenty to one against getting a shot. But in a district
where water is scarce, it seems to me that this plan might meet with
success. The best sport was undoubtedly that which we enjoyed towards
Punta Bandera, a headland forming the north point of Mount Buenos
Aires.
It was here, upon the thirteenth day of my hunting, about an hour and
a half before dark, that I perceived a fine point of seventeen upon
the hillside in front of me. They were, however, in a spot utterly
impossible of approach, in the centre of a bald ridge upon the summit
of which they were silhouetted against the black background of the
mountain beyond them. Deep gullies cut up the intervening ground, and
after advancing as near as might be, I lay down and possessed my soul
in patience, waiting until the moment when the herd should choose to
move. They had left me time enough and to spare for observing them
through the glasses. Three black bulls, a yellow one and a red were
the pick of the herd, there were some cows and well-grown calves also,
and these last began to proceed very leisurely down a cow-track, which
would ultimately lead them on to ground where they might be stalked. I
had tied up my horse in a hollow among some bushes of _Leña dura_. It
was a glorious evening and the shadows stood out very distinctly, so
much so that from the slightly higher ground I could see with the
telescope the movements of the shadows of the bulls. The bases of the
mountain were steeped in clear still dusk, there was no wind, and the
whole scene lived again fantastically in the smooth waters of the
lake. When one is shooting, no matter how intent one may be upon the
game, it is natural to observe these things and enjoy them, in a
secondary sense possibly, but none the less keenly. Anyway, there was
plenty of time to observe, for the herd took it easy, and now and then
one of the big bulls would come to a standstill and stare about him.
The yellow bull especially took my fancy, the spread of his horns must
have been over four feet. At length, however, the last of the herd
disappeared into a gully and I hastened forward. About a mile
separated me from the point, and this I covered at good speed; the
final bit necessitated a crawl, which ended on the edge of a low rocky
plateau. Here I peered through some fuchsia-bushes. To my disgust the
herd had quickened their pace, and were a little beyond range upon a
space of level land beneath me; they lingered here for an uncommonly
long time, giving me ample opportunity to study the surrounding
cow-tracks and the grass-bare wallows. Meantime the precious light was
fading, and the reflections of the snow-peaks were beginning to blur
and darken in the mirror of the lake. Ahead of the herd were a number
of tracks, which ran parallel with each other for a certain distance,
but afterwards branched into different directions. I could see them
dimly through the telescope. Should they happen to take the lowest of
these, they would be delivered into my hands, for it led immediately
under a cliff over which I could get within a few yards of them. This
track finally emerged upon the shore of the lake. Under the leadership
of a yellow cow, the whole point began presently to descend this very
track. As soon as the last of them was out of sight, I rushed on to
secure my shot. On the way I spied from behind a boulder on high
ground the coveted old yellow bull knee-deep in the lake, drinking.
Over the first part, which was high, I had to be very careful, but
once this spot was passed, coming to the conclusion that as the light
was fading so fast the race would probably be to the swift, I hurried.
Alas! a deep gully again blocked my way, and it was necessary to make
a détour of about half a mile through breast-high bushes. While
passing amongst the brush much care had, of course, to be exercised to
avoid the breaking of twigs or branches, as the herd was not far off.
When at last I arrived at the cliff above the spot where the herd had
disappeared, I could not see the sights of my rifle. I would have
given much for two minutes of moonlight, for I could hear the noise of
the bulls moving within twenty yards, and the smell of them was
distinctly perceptible to my senses, sharpened by months of a natural
life. The whole herd had packed pretty close together on the edge of
the shingle, but it was already too dark for me to shoot, so I retired
after a while, comforting myself with the prospect of following the
herd in the morning.
Yet although I followed, I never found. The herd, as was to be read
from the tracks, struck upwards after leaving the lake and entered a
wide piece of forest, in which no day was ever long enough to find
them. Several times after this we were on the tail of a herd, and
again and again lost them in the dense forests. The ground over which
one had to move was extremely baulking to success; it was covered with
broken sticks, dead trees, and branches, dry, rotten, and ready to
snap beneath the smallest pressure. Sometimes after a long stalk one
found oneself in a patch of dry dead bushes, the breaking of any bough
of which would certainly spoil all chance of success. Again, one could
not see more than from twenty to fifty yards ahead, and in thick
forests much less. A herd will stand quite still till within thirty
yards if you have not perceived them, but the moment your eye catches
one of theirs the animal makes off, taking his companions with him.
A bull, if you wound him and he charges, will charge but once, and if
he misses you, will pass on. But a cow is quite another affair. She
will return to the charge again and again, and will kneel down in
order to horn her antagonist. She is at least twice as formidable an
antagonist as a bull.
The next time I saw wild cattle was once again upon Punta Bandera, and
upon this occasion I had my first shot. It was early in the morning
when I made out the point with the glasses, feeding about half-way up
a spur of the mountain-side. Determined this time not to be
disappointed, a whole day was spent in a series of very careful
manœuvres. All went well until I entered a patch of dry dead
growth, so thick as to make it impossible to move without giving
audible indication of one's presence. While lying among this stuff
debating what course to pursue, to my delight a black and white bull,
evidently the leader of the herd, rose, grunted once or twice, and,
followed by the whole of his companions, began to come towards me. He
got to within 150 yards, and there coming upon the edge of the dry
stuff among which I lay hidden, turned tail and moved slowly in the
opposite direction. To shoot through the undergrowth, which was about
five feet high, was, of course, impossible. Yet there was no chance of
the animals, while roving in search of pasture, reaching any better
position with regard to me, while any movement on my part to approach
them must have been through the dead bushes. There was nothing for it
then but to stand up and take the chance of a shot. A twig snapped in
my rising and the herd charged furiously away. A red bull, which had
travelled higher than his fellows upon the slope of the mountain, gave
very much the best chance as he raced along nearly broadside on.
He turned a complete somersault to the shot and lay so still that I
thought I had killed him. As I went towards him, however, he scrambled
to his feet and galloped after the retreating herd, and although upon
their tracks for the greater part of the evening, at no point on the
way, nor at the spot where he had fallen, did I find any traces of
blood. I therefore concluded that he had put his foot in a hole, and
that I had missed him clean. Since my return I have heard the end of
the history. The red bull was found dead quite close to where I had
shot him. He was, I understand, hit through the lungs.
[Illustration: THE FATHER OF THE HERD.]
After this shot on Punta Bandera, the herd left that locality, as they
invariably do, and most of the remainder of our hunting took place
upon the Lake Rica, or southern side, of the great mountain. One of
the pleasantest days we enjoyed was upon Mount Frias where a large
point of cattle had gone up beyond the snow-line. On that occasion,
when above the snow-line, I saw a pampa-fox, some guanaco and a few
ostriches. Quite a number of small birds that I was unable to
identify, as I could not shoot them, were feeding upon a red berry
which grows beneath the snow.
I think of earthly situations I would choose that for the location of
my happy hunting-ground where life throbs and quickens in the keen
air, and where, in the shelter of the black forest of antarctic
beech-trees, one can hear the wind from the snows moaning and crying
among the tree-tops, and dropping the leaves, painted with red and
yellow, upon the soft mossy mid-forest carpet.
While on Mount Frias my attention was drawn away from the cattle by
what I took to be an instance of albinism in the guanaco. There was an
immense herd of five hundred or perhaps more in an open hollow, and
among them I observed a very white specimen, but on looking at it
through the glasses it proved to be piebald rather than truly white.
My next excursion was made on much lower ground in the direction of
Lake Rica. We had observed some spots to which a herd returned night
after night.[24] The success with which the herds can pick their way
over bad ground such as this and through trees, and most of all across
the giant trunks, decaying and rotten, many of which must have fallen
years ago, is extraordinary. Had it not been for the openings broken
by the passage of the cattle, we should have been unable to penetrate
the denser parts of the woods without axes. In spite of his being such
a heavy brute, a bull can always overtake a horse in these spongy
swamps, or indeed in most cases over very bad ground.
In the winter, which was now only too quickly coming upon us,
wild-cattle shooting becomes, as does the shooting of all game in
Patagonia, much easier than it ever is during the rest of the year.
The herds descend to the low ground, being driven downwards by degrees
while the snows creep day by day lower on the mountain-sides. As they
desert the heights the area in which one may expect to meet them
naturally becomes smaller, and on the more level country they can be
followed with less trouble. The hunting in this big forest was quite
different to that on Punta Bandera, the sole method here being to find
comparatively fresh tracks and follow them up, there being no
possibility among that dense growth of spying animals from a distance.
One day I had entered an extremely wet and boggy strip of forest and
came upon new tracks, which I followed in and out among the trees for
some hours. At length they led me up another hill into another belt of
forest. I remember that under the hill I took a "spell," and at that
moment, although I could not see them, the cattle were within one
hundred and fifty yards of me. Fortunately I was very quiet and did
not light my pipe, but presently went on. Arrived at the top of the
hill, I peered through the branches and saw a fine brindled bull just
in the act of rising to his feet. One of the outlying cows had winded
me and had given the alarm. My bull was off at a gallop, and there was
nothing to do but to send the heavy Paradox bullet into the only part
of him that was visible as he dashed away. The shot took effect, he
staggered but the second barrel brought him down in good earnest. A
third hit him in the centre of the forehead, which is a deadly shot
indeed, but with a smallbore rifle one must be careful to place one's
bullet clear of the shaggy curl. The first shot had, I discovered,
gone forward and upward, touching the backbone; the second was a fair
behind the shoulder shot. I write this to illustrate the amount of
shooting that a wild bull will sometimes take.
[Illustration: AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING]
There are few higher joys in a sportsman's life than the pipe which he
smokes after a successful shot, but the skinning of the quarry that
comes later is a very different matter. This is especially the case
when the animal has dropped in such a spot that one cannot turn it
over owing to its weight.
[Illustration: EDGE OF FOREST]
For this forest shooting a 12-bore Paradox or jungle-gun is as good as
any. I had one which was made for me by Jeffrey and Co., and with it
one could make a very decent pattern at seventy yards. In open ground
I generally used a Mauser, but this rifle was, of course, not heavy
enough for forest shooting at a dangerous quarry, where most of the
shots were within forty yards.
Once again on Punta Bandera I saw the big yellow bull. One day I
watched the great herd of wild cattle straggling slowly down the
opposite hillside, the cows with their calves trotting alongside them,
and the magnificent yellow bull bringing up the rear in solitary
state. They were in a hopelessly unget-at-able position, so that one
could only watch them. The air was so clear that, with the telescope,
it was possible to make out the tracks of each separate animal as the
herd descended the incline.
While I was still engaged in watching the cattle, I saw something
brown move on a knoll above me and about four hundred yards distant. A
huemul doe had appeared upon it. She was not frightened, and was
entirely unaware of my proximity. Soon she was joined by a buck, a
four-pointer with nice clean horns. There were now two sporting
interests in the landscape, the greater and the less. The cattle had
turned and were moving relentlessly upwards over bare ground where a
stalk was out of the question. I turned my attention therefore again
upon the huemules, from whom I found myself separated by two deep
gullies.
In an hour's time the cattle had diminished to mere specks upon the
side of the mountain, and a strong wind having arisen, which blew from
the huemules towards me, I thought I might safely try a shot at the
buck. It knocked him clean head over heels. He proved to be in fine
coat, and I at once set to work to skin him. By the time I had
finished it had grown quite dark. As for the herd, they were too
clever for me. I never sighted them again, but that big yellow bull I
shall often see in dreams. Perhaps I may be permitted to meet with him
when I attain to the happy hunting-ground of my desires.
Apart from the rifle, there are other ways of hunting wild cattle, but
in the practice of these open ground is naturally a necessity.
_Boleadores_ will rarely stay on a bull, but the lasso is an efficient
weapon, and on horseback a Mauser pistol will take a lot of beating.
In the last instance the hunter gallops level with his quarry and
trusts to his horse to carry him clear of danger in case of accident.
As a rule, wild cattle avoid open ground, and if they chance to be
away from the cover of the forest keep a sharp watch. Their hides are
worth about £1 more or less when sold in the settlements, a value
which is enough to turn every man's hand against them, were there any
men in those districts whose hands might be so turned. But the wild
cow will long continue to breed in her chosen solitudes, and indeed
she is well able to take care of herself. From all I saw of wild
cattle, they yield the palm as a sporting animal to few others in the
world.
FOOTNOTE:
[24] To hunt this swampy ground in shooting-boots is an unnecessary
handicap, for the footing is so soft that one sinks to the knee in the
worst places. A pair of string-shoes called "alpargatas" are the most
useful and suitable footgear for this work, and the gain of their
lightness is an added advantage.