THE COTO DOÑANA
NOTES ON ITS PHYSICAL FORMATION, FAUNA, AND RED DEER
The great river Guadalquivir, dividing in its oblique course seawards
into double channels and finally swerving, as though reluctant to lose
all identity in the infinite Atlantic, practically cuts off from the
Spanish mainland a triangular region, some forty miles of waste and
wilderness, an isolated desert, singular as it is beautiful, which we
now endeavour to describe. This, from our having for many years held the
rights of chase, we can at least undertake with knowledge and affection.
[Illustration]
Its precise geological formation 'twere beyond our power, unskilled in
that science, to diagnose. But even to untaught eye, the existence of
the whole area is obviously due to an age-long conflict waged between
two Powers--the great river from within, the greater ocean without. The
Guadalquivir, draining the distant mountains of Moréna and full 200
miles of intervening plain, rolls down a tawny flood charged with yellow
mud till its colour resembles _café au lait_. Thus proceeds a ceaseless
deposit of sediment upon the sea-bed; but the external Power forcibly
opposes such infringement of its area. Here the elemental battle is
joined. The river has so far prevailed as to have grabbed from the sea
many hundred square miles of alluvial plain, that known as the marisma;
but at this precise epoch, the Sea-Power appears to have called
checkmate by interposing a vast barrier of sand along the whole
battle-front. The net result remains that to-day there is tacked on to
the southernmost confines of Europe a singular exotic patch of African
desert.
This sand-barrier, known as the Coto Doñana, occupies, together with its
adjoining dunes on the west, upwards of forty miles of the Spanish
coast-line, its maximum breadth reaching in places to eight or ten
miles. The Coto Doñana is cut off from the mainland of Spain not only by
the great river, but by the marisma--a watery wilderness wide enough to
provide a home for wandering herds of wild camels. (See rough sketch-map
above.)
Sand and sand alone constitutes the soil-substance of Doñana, overlying,
presumably, the buried alluvia beneath. Yet a wondrous beauty and
variety of landscape this desolate region affords. From the river's
mouth forests of stone-pine extend unbroken league beyond league, hill
and hollow glorious in deep-green foliage, while the forest-floor revels
in wealth of aromatic shrubbery all lit up by chequered rays of dappled
sunlight. Westward, beyond the pine-limit, stretch regions of Saharan
barrenness where miles of glistening sand-wastes devoid of any vestige
of vegetation dazzle one's sight--a glory of magnificent desolation, the
splendour of sterility. To home-naturalists the scene may recall St.
John's classic sandhills of Moray, but magnified out of recognition by
the vastly greater scale, as befits their respective creators--in the
one case the 100-league North Sea, here the 1000-league Atlantic. Rather
would we compare these marram-tufted, wind-sculptured sand-wastes with
the Red Sea litoral and the Egyptian Soudan, where Osman Digna led
British troops memorable dances in the 'nineties--alike both in their
physical aspect and in their climate, red-hot by day, yet apt to be
deadly chilly after sundown. Resonant with the weird cry of the
stone-curlew and the rhythmic roar of the Atlantic beyond, these seaward
dunes are everywhere traced with infinite spoor of wild beasts, and
dotted by the conical pitfalls dug by ant-lions (_Myrmeleon_).
[Illustration: IN DOÑANA.]
Between these extremes of deep forest and barren dune are interposed
intermediate regions partaking of the character of both. Here the
intrusive pine projects forest-strips, called _Corrales_, as it were
long oases of verdure, into the heart of the desert, hidden away between
impending dunes which rear themselves as a mural menace on either hand,
and towering above the summits of the tallest trees. Nor is the
menace wholly hypothetic; for not seldom has the unstable element
shifted bodily onwards to engulf in molecular ruin whole stretches of
these isolated and enclosed _corrales_. Noble pines, already half
submerged, struggle in death-grips with the treacherous foe; of others,
already dead, naught save the topmost summits, sere and shrunk, protrude
above that devouring smiling surface, beneath which, one assumes, there
lie the skeletons of buried forests of a bygone age.
All along these lonely dunes there stand at regular intervals the grim
old watch-towers of the Moors, reminiscent of half-forgotten times and
of a vanished race. Arab telegraphy was neither wireless nor fireless
when beacon-lights blazing out from tower to tower spread instant alarm
from sea to sierra, seventy miles away.
In contrast with the scenery of both these zones, shows up the landscape
of a third region, on the west--that of scrub. Here, one day later in
geological sense, the eye roams over endless horizons of rolling
grey-green brushwood, the chief component of which is cistus
(_Helianthemum_), but interspersed in its moister dells with denser
jungle of arbutus and lentisk, genista, tree-heath, and giant-heather,
with wondrous variety of other shrubs; the whole studded and ornamented
by groves of stately cork-oaks or single scattered trees. All these,
with the ilex, being evergreen, one misses those ever-changing autumnal
tints that glorify the "fall" in northern climes. Here only a sporadic
splash of sere or yellow relieves the uniform verdure.
Obviously regions of such physical character can ill subserve any human
purpose. As designed by nature, they afford but a home for wild beasts,
fowls of the air, and other _ferae_ which abound in striking and
charming variety. For centuries the Coto Doñana formed, as the name
imports, the hunting-ground of its lords, the Dukes of Medina Sidonia,
and to not a few of the Spanish kings--from Phillip IV. in the early
part of the seventeenth century (as recorded by the contemporary
chronicler, Pedro Espinosa) to Alfonso XII. in 1882, and quite recently
to H.M. Don Alfonso XIII. For five-and-twenty years the authors have
been co-tenants, previously under the aforesaid ducal house; latterly
under our old friend, the present owner.
The sparse population of Doñana includes a few herdsmen (_vaqueros_)
who tend the wild-bred cattle and horses that in semi-feral condition
wander both in the regions of scrub and out in the open marisma. Nomadic
charcoal-burners squat in the forests, shifting their reed-built wigwams
(_chozas_) as the exigencies of work require; while the gathering of
pine-cones yields a precarious living to a handful of _piñoneros_.
Lastly, but most important to us, there are the guardas or keepers,
keen-eyed, leather-clad, and sun-bronzed to the hue of Red Indians.
There are a dozen of these wild men distributed at salient points of the
Coto, most of them belonging to families which have held these posts,
sons succeeding fathers, for generations. Of three such cycles we have
ourselves already been witnesses.
Briefly to summarise a rich and heterogeneous fauna is not easy; a
volume might be devoted to this region alone. Elsewhere in this book
some few subjects are treated in detail. Here we merely attempt an
outline sketch.
[Illustration: MARSH-HARRIER (_Circus aeruginosus_)]
Throughout the winter (excepting only the wildfowl) there exists no such
conspicuous ornithic display as appeals to casual eye or ear--those,
say, of the average traveller. Ride far and wide through these wild
landscapes in December or January, and you may wonder if their
oft-boasted wealth of bird-life be not exaggerated. You see, perhaps,
little beyond the ubiquitous birds-of-prey. These are ever the first
feature to strike a stranger. Great eagles, soaring in eccentric
circles, hunt the cistus-clad plain; the wild scream of the kite rings
out above the pines, and shapely buzzards adorn some dead tree. Over
rush-girt bogs soar weird marsh-harriers--three flaps and a drift as,
with piercing sight, they scan each tuft and miss not so much as a frog
or a wounded wigeon. All these and others of their race are naturally
conspicuous. But, though unseen, there lurk all around other forms of
equal beauty and interest, abundant enough, but secretive and apt to be
overlooked save by closest scrutiny. That, however, is a characteristic
of winter in all temperate lands. Birds at that season are apt to be
silent and elusive, but their absence is apparent rather than real.
[Illustration: "SILENT SONGSTERS"]
All around you, in fact, forest and jungle, scrub, sallow, and
bramble-brake abound with minor bird-forms--with our British summer
visitors, here settled down in their winter quarters; with charming
exotic warblers and silent songsters--all off work for the season. Where
nodding bulrush fringes quaking bog, or miles of tasselled cane-brakes
border the marsh, there is the home of infinite feathered amphibians,
crakes and rails, of reed-climbers and bush-skulkers, all for the nonce
silent, shy, reclusive.
[Illustration: BLACKSTART (_Ruticilla titys_)
Abundant in winter; retires to the sierra to nest.]
Their portraits, roughly caught during hours of patient waiting, may be
found (some of them) scattered through these chapters. But the present
is not the place for detail.
The land-birds in winter you hardly see, for they "take cover."
Diametrically different--in cause and effect--is the case of wildfowl.
These, by the essence of their natures and by their economic
necessities, are always conspicuous, for they inhabit solely the open
spaces of earth--the "spaces" that no longer exist at home: shallows,
wastes, and tidal flats devoid of covert. Wildfowl, for that reason,
have long learnt to discard all attempt at concealment, to rely for
safety upon their own eyesight and incredible wildness. No illusory idea
that security may be sought in covert abuses their keen and receptive
instincts. Probably it never did. Nowadays, at any rate, they openly
defy the human race with all its brain-begotten devices. There, in
"waste places," wildfowl sit or fly--millions of them--conspicuous and
audible so far as human sense of sight and sound can reach, and there
bid defiance to us all. Much of these wastes are not (in the cant of a
hypocritical age) "undeveloped," but rather, as means exist, incapable
of development. Such spectacles of wild life as these Andalucian
marismas to-day present are probably unsurpassed elsewhere in Europe--or
possibly in the world. In foreground, background, and horizon both earth
and sky are filled with teeming, living multitudes; while the shimmering
grey monotony of the marisma, tessellated with its grey armies of the
_Anatidae_, is everywhere brightened and adorned by rosy battalions of
flamingoes. And out there, far beyond our visible horizon, there wander
in that watery wilderness the wild camels, to which we devote a separate
chapter.
Flamingoes ignore the limits of continents, and shift their mobile
headquarters between Europe and Africa as the respective rainfall in
either happens to suit their requirements. Hence, whether by day or
night, the sight or sound of gabbling columns of flamingoes passing
through the upper air is a characteristic of these lonely regions,
irrespective of season. Cranes also in marshalled ranks, and storks,
continually pass to and fro. The African coast, of course, lies well
within their range of vision from the start.
[Illustration: (1) SAHARAN SAND-DUNES.]
[Illustration: (2) TRANSPORT.]
[Illustration: (3) A CORRAL, OR PINE-WOOD ENCLOSED BY SAND.
THREE VIEWS IN COTO DOÑANA.]
Then as winter merges into spring--what time those clanging crowds of
wild-geese and myriad north-bound ducks depart--there pours into
Andalucia an inrush of African and subtropical bird-forms. The sunlit
woodland gleams with brilliant rollers and golden orioles, while
bee-eaters, rivalling the rainbow in gorgeous hues, poise and dart in
the sunshine, and their harsh "chack, chack," resounds on every side.
Woodchats, spotted cuckoos, hoopoes, and russet nightjars appear; lovely
wheatears in cream and black adorn the palm-clad plain. With them comes
the deluge--no epitomised summary is possible when, within brief limits,
the whole feathered population of southern Europe is metamorphosed. The
winter half has gone north; its place is filled by the tropical inrush
aforesaid. Warblers and waders, larks, finches, and fly-catchers,
herons, ibis, ducks, gulls, and terns--all orders and genera pour in
promiscuously, defying cursory analysis.
[Illustration: GREAT SPOTTED CUCKOO (_Oxylophus glandarius_)]
A single class only will here be specifically mentioned, and that
because it throws light on climatic conditions. Among these vernal
arrivals come certain raptores in countless numbers--all those which are
dependent on reptile and insect food. For even in sunny Andalucia the
larger reptiles and insects hibernate; hence their persecutors
(including various eagles, buzzards, and harriers, with kites and
kestrels in thousands) are driven to seek winter-quarters in Africa.
Another phenomenon deserves note. Weeks, nay months, after this great
vernal upturn in bird-life has completed its revolution, and when the
newcomers have already half finished the duties of incubation, then in
May suddenly occurs an utterly belated little migration quite
disconnected from all the rest. This is the passage, or rather
through-transit, of those far-flying cosmopolites of space that make the
whole world their home. They have been wintering in South Africa and
Madagascar, in Australia and New Zealand, and are now returning to
their summer breeding-grounds in farthest Siberia, beyond the Yenisei.
Thus some morning in early May one sees the marismas filled with godwits
and knots, curlew-sandpipers and grey plovers, all in their glorious
summer-plumage. But these only tarry here a few days. A short week
before they had thronged the shores of the southern hemisphere--far
beyond the zodiac of Capricorn. A week hence and they are at home in the
Arctic.
Andalucia possesses a feathered census that approaches 400 species; but
of these hardly a score are permanently resident throughout the year.
[Illustration: "GLOBE-SPANNERS"
Rest twelve hours in Spain on the journey--Australia to Siberia.]
Four-footed creatures are less difficult of diagnosis than are birds. By
nature less mobile, they are infinitely less numerous specifically.
Relatively the Spanish census is long, and includes, locally, quite a
number of interesting beasts that are "lumped together" as
_Alimañas_--to wit, lynxes, wild-cats, genets, mongoose, foxes, otters,
badgers, of which we treat separately. The two chief game-animals of the
Coto Doñana are the red deer and the wild-boar. These two we here
examine from the sportsman's point of view as much as from that of the
naturalist.
The Spanish red deer are specifically identical with those of Scotland
and the rest of Europe, and are distributed over the whole southern half
of the Iberian Peninsula--say south of a line drawn through Madrid.
Their haunts, as a rule, are restricted to the
mountain-ranges--especially the Sierra Moréna, where they attain their
highest development. That red deer should be found inhabiting lowlands
such as the Coto Doñana is wholly exceptional. In Estremadura, it is
true, there are wild regions (in Badajoz and Cáceres) where deer are
spread far and wide over wooded and scrub-clad plains, all these,
however, being subjacent to neighbouring sierras, which refuges are
available for retreat in case of need. Nowhere else in Spain, save here
in the Coto Doñana only, are red deer restricted exclusively to
lowlands.
[Illustration: CONFIDENCE]
This South-Spanish race (the southernmost of all if we except the
distinct but limited breed that yet maintains a foothold in North
Africa, the Barbary stag, which is white-spotted) differs from Scotch
types in their longer faces and slim necks unadorned with the hairy
"ruff" of harsher climes. Beyond a doubt, when our species-splitting
friends arrive in Spain, they will differentiate her red deer (and ibex
also) in various species or subspecies, each with a Latin trinomial.
Such energies, however, may easily be superfluous, even where not
actually mischievous. For practical purposes there exists but one
European species, though it has, even within Spain, its local varieties;
while, further afield, geographical and climatic divergencies naturally
tend to increase.[7]
We cannot claim for our lowland deer of Doñana a high standard of
comparative quality; they are, in fact, the smallest race in Spain,
almost puny as compared with her mountain breed--smaller also than the
Barbary stag. Clean weights here rarely exceed 200 lbs., while a 30-in.
head must be accounted beyond the average. The general type, both of
horn and body, is illustrated by various photos and drawings in this
book.
Deer-shooting in Spain takes place in the winter. The rutting season
commences at the end of August, terminating early in October, and stags
have recovered condition by the end of November.
The habits of red deer being, here as elsewhere, strictly nocturnal, and
the country densely clad with bush, it follows that these animals are
seldom seen amove during daylight. Hence deer-stalking, properly so
called, is not available, nor is the method much esteemed in Spain. In
Scotland one may detect deer, though it be but a tip of an antler, when
couched in the tallest heather or fern. Here, where heather grows six or
eight feet in height with a bewildering jumble of other shrubbery of
like proportions, no such view is possible. Hence "driving" is in Spain
the usual method of deer-shooting, whether in mountain or lowland.
[Illustration: ABNORMAL CAST ANTLER
(Picked up in Doñana.)]
[Illustration]
There is, nevertheless, one opportunity of stalking which (though not
regarded with favour) has yet afforded us delightful mornings, and to
which a few lines of description are due. The plan is based upon
cutting-out the deer as they return from their nocturnal pasturages at
daybreak. As the last watch of night wears on towards the dawn, the
deer, withdrawing from their feeding-grounds on open strath or marsh,
slowly direct a course covertwards, lingering here and there to nibble a
tempting genista, or to snatch up a bunch of red bog-grass on their
course. We have reached a favourite glade, often used by deer. It is not
yet light--rather it might be described as nearly dark--when the
splashing of light hoofs through water puts us on the alert. A few
moments suffice to gain a bushy point beyond; whence presently six or
eight nebulous forms emerge from deceitful gloom. Of course there is not
a horn among them, bar a little yearling, for good stags never come thus
in troops, and with all due caution, so as to avoid alarming these, we
hurry away to try another likely spot. Time is of the essence of this
business, for light is now strengthening, and in another half-hour the
deer will all have gained their coverts and the chance will be past.
Again groups of hinds and small beasties meet our gaze; but some
distance beyond are a couple of stags. It is light enough now, by aid of
the glass, to count their points--only eight apiece, no use. While yet
we watch, a pack of graceful white egrets alight close around the nearer
deer--some dart actively between the grazing animals picking flies and
insects from their legs and stomachs; two actually perching,
cavalier-like, on their withers to search for ticks--magpies, on
occasion, we have observed similarly employed. The sun's rim now peers
from out the watery wastes in front; nothing worth a bullet has
appeared, and our morning's work looks as good as lost when my
companion, Pepe, detects two really good stags which, though already
within the shelter of fringing pines, yet linger in a lovely glade,
tempted for fatal minutes by a clump of flowering rosemary. The wind
demands a considerable detour; yet the pair still dally while we gain
the deadly range, and a second later the better of the two drops amidst
the ensnaring blue blossoms. Pepe's half-soliloquising comment precisely
interprets the Spanish estimate of stalking:--"The first stag I ever
saw shot with his head down!" Other countries, other standards; but
there is a ring of sterling chivalry in it too. The idea conveyed is
that the noble stag should meet his death, only when duly forewarned of
danger and bounding in wild career o'er bush and brake.
Without unduly trespassing on our Spanish friends' susceptibilities, we
have nevertheless enjoyed such mornings as this. To begin with, that
hour of breaking day is ever delicious to spend afield. Therein one
observes to best advantage the wild beasts, undisturbed and following
their secret, solitary lives--one learns more in that hour than in all
the other twenty-three. One seems almost to associate with deer, so near
can the troops of hinds and small staggies be approached; and, moreover,
there may be afforded the advantage of selecting some splendid head
afar, and thus commencing a stalk which, believe me, does not always
prove easy. Yonder comes a fox, trotting straight in from his night's
hunting in the distant marisma. Let him come on within fifty yards, and
then give him a bit of a fright--it is a wild goose he drops as he turns
to fly! A single glint of something ruddy catches the eye; this the
glass shows to be a sunray playing on the pelt of a prowling lynx,
hateful of daylight and hurrying junglewards. Rarely are these
nocturnals seen thus, after sun-up, and not for many seconds will the
spectacle last; for no animal is more intensely habituated to
concealment, or hates so much to move even a few yards in the open.
Following are two or three incidents selected as illustrative of this
matutinal work:--
...A really fine stag--already against the glory of the eastern light, I
have counted thirteen points and there may be more. Half an hour later
we have gained a position--not without infinite manoeuvres, including
a crawl absolutely flat across forty yards of bog and black mire--a
position that in five more minutes should secure to us that trophy. The
five hinds that, before it was fully light, had been in the Royal
company, have already, long ago, passed away in the scrub on our right,
and give us now no further concern. Never should hinds be thus lightly
regarded! The slowly approaching stag stops to nibble a golden broom. He
is already almost within shot--seconds must decide his fate--when a
triple bark, petulant and defiant, breaks the silence behind. Those five
hinds, sauntering round, have gone under our wind, and now ... the
landscape is vacant.
[Illustration: APRIL.]
[Illustration: JUNE.]
"Hinds only bark at a _persona_," remarks Dominguez, as we turn
homewards, "never at any other _bicho_." The stag knew that too. But it
was a curious way of putting it.
...We are too early; it is still pitch-dark; no sign of dawn beyond a
slight opalescence low on the eastern horizon. Moreover, an icy wind
rustles across the waste, and for dreary minutes we seek shelter,
squatting beneath some friendly gorse. Presently a strange sound--a
distinct champing, and close by--strikes our ears. "Un javato comiendo"
= "a boar feeding," whispers Dominguez, and creeping a few yards towards
an open strath, we dimly descry a dusky monster. At the moment his snout
is buried deep in the soil, up to the eyes, and the tremendous muscular
power exerted in uprooting bulbs of palmetto arrests attention even in
the quarter-light. Now he stands quiescent, head up, and the champing is
resumed--a rare scene. The distance is a bare fifteen yards, and all the
while my companion insists on hissing in my ear, "tiré-lo, tiré-lo" =
"shoot, shoot." Presently up goes the boar's muzzle; straight and
steadfastly he gazes in our direction, but his glance seemed to pass
high over our heads. I don't think he saw us; yet a consciousness of
danger had got home--in two bounds he wheeled and disappeared, headlong,
amid the bush beyond.
...Far and wide the bosky glade is furrowed with sinuous trenches, and
infinite turrets stand erect as where children build sand-castles on the
beach. Last night a troop of wild-pig have sought here for
mole-crickets--small fry, one may think; yet even worms they don't
despise, for we have seen masses of these reptiles (some still alive) in
the stomach of a newly-shot boar. Follow the spoor onwards, and where it
enters a pine-grove, you notice splintered cones and scattered seed.
Thus wild-beasts are assisting to fulfil nature's plan, and if you care
to advance it another stage, turn some soil over those overlooked
pine-nuts, and some day forest-monarchs will result to reward another
generation.
* * * * *
Such matutinal forays are, however, but an incident. The main system of
dealing with the deer is by driving. For this purpose both the fragrant
solitudes of pine and far-stretched wilds of bending cistus are mentally
mapped out by the forest-guards into definite "beats," each of which
has its own name; though to a casual visitor (since guns are necessarily
placed differently day by day according to the wind) the actual
boundaries may appear indefinite enough.
On lowlands such as the Coto Doñana, which is more or less level and
open, the use of far-ranging rifles is necessarily restricted by
considerations of safety. Obviously no shot, on any pretext whatever,
may be fired either into the beat or until the game has passed clear of
and well outside the line of guns. In every instance, as a gun is
placed, the keeper in charge indicates by lines drawn in the sand or
other unmistakable means the limits within which shooting is absolutely
prohibited. The result, it follows, not only increases the prospective
difficulty of the shot, but gives fuller scope to the instinctive
intelligence of the game. For deer, unlike some winged game, do not,
when driven, dash precipitately straight for illusory safety, but retire
slowly and with extreme circumspection; all old stags, in particular,
fully anticipate hidden dangers to lie on their line of flight, and
narrowly scrutinise any suspicious feature ahead before taking risks.
The gunner will therefore be wise to occupy the few minutes that remain
available in so arranging both himself and his post as to be
inconspicuous; and also in an accurate survey of his environment with
its probable chances, thereby minimising the danger of being taken by
surprise. The cunning displayed by an old stag when endeavouring to
evade a line of guns at times approaches the marvellous. Thus, on one
occasion, the writer was warned of the near approach of game by a single
"clink"--a noise which deer sometimes make, probably unintentionally,
with the fore-hoof--yet seconds elapsed, and neither sight nor sound
were vouchsafed. Then the slightest quiver of a bough beneath caught my
eye. A big stag with antlers laid flat aback, and crouching to half his
usual height, though going fairly fast, was slipping, silent and
invisible, through thick but low brushwood immediately beneath the
little hillock whereon I lay. On examining the spot, the spoor showed
that he had passed thus through openings barely exceeding two feet in
height, though he stood himself forty-six inches at the withers. The
feat appeared impossible.[8]
[Illustration: SUSPICION]
In thick forest or brushwood that limits the view it may be advisable to
sit with back towards the beat, relying on ears to indicate the approach
or movements of game. While sitting thus, it will occur that you become
aware of the arrival of an animal, or of several animals, immediately
behind you. The natural inclination to look round is strong; but 'twere
folly to do so--fatal to success. This is the critical moment, when a
few seconds of rigid stillness will be rewarded by a shot in the open.
But that stillness must be statuesque, as of a stone god. For piercing
eyes are instantly studying each bush and bough, and analysing at close
quarters the least symptom of danger ahead.
Should a good stag break fairly near, it is advisable to allow it to
pass well away before moving a muscle. For should the game be
prematurely alarmed--say by your missing exactly upon the firing-line,
or otherwise by its detecting your movement of preparation--that stag
will instantly bounce back again into the beat. Then, assuming that the
sportsman is a tyro, or subject to "emotions" or buck-fever, there is
danger of his forgetting for one moment his precise permitted line of
fire; in which case a perilous shot must result. Once allowed to pass
_well outside_, the stag will usually continue on his course.
In this, as in every form of sport, "soft chances" occasionally occur.
More often, the rifle will be directed at a galloping stag crashing
through bush that conceals him up to the withers; or, it may be,
bounding over inequalities of broken ground or brushwood, or among
timber, at any distance up to 100 yards, sometimes 150, while, should he
have touched a taint in the wind, his pace will be tremendous.
Although to casual view a plain of level contours this country is
undulated to an extent that deceives a careless eye--the more
accentuated by the monotone of cistus-scrub that appears so uniform. In
reality there traverse the plain glens and gently graded hollows the
less apt to be noticed, inasmuch as the scrub in moister dell grows
higher.
Far through the marish green and still the watercourses sleep.
Inspiring moments are those when--before the beat has commenced--your
eye catches on some far-away skyline the broad antlers of a stag. This
animal has perhaps been on foot and alert, or maybe has taken the "wind"
from the group of beaters wending a way to their points far beyond. For
three seconds the antlers remain stationary, then vanish into some
intervening glen. A glance around shows your next neighbour still busy
completing his shelter--meritorious work if done in time--and you have
strong suspicion that the man beyond will just now be lighting a
cigarette! Such thoughts flash through one's mind; the dominant question
that fills it is: "Where will that great stag reappear?" But few seconds
are needed to solve it. Perhaps he dashes, harmless, upon the careless,
perhaps upon the slow--lucky for him should either such event befall! On
the other hand, those moments of glorious expectancy may resolve in a
crash of brushwood hard by, in a clinking of cloven hoofs, and a noble
hart with horns aback is bounding past your own ready post. What
proportion, we inwardly inquire, of the stags that are killed by
craftsmen has already, just before, offered first chance to the careless
or the slovenly?
[Illustration: "INSPIRING MOMENTS."
(NEITHER CAUGHT NAPPING.)]
We may conclude this chapter with an independent impression.
Lying hidden in one of these lonely _puestos_--writes J. C.
C.--ever induces in me a powerful and sedative sense of
contemplation and reflection, though fully alert all the time.
While thus waiting and watching, I can't but marvel, first at
nature's wondrous plan of waste--a scheme here without apparent
object or promise of fulfilment. Where I lie the prospect comprises
nothing but melancholy and unutterably silent solitudes of sand,
droughty wastes with but at rare intervals some starveling patch of
scant weird shrub destined either to shrivel in summer's sun or
shiver in winter's winds. But, lying in that environment, one
marvels yet more at the extreme caution displayed by wild animals;
one has exceptional opportunity of admiring the exquisitive gifts
bestowed by nature upon her _ferae_. Here is a young stag coming
straight along, down-wind, ere yet the beat has begun, and in a
desolate spot which to human sense could betray absolutely no
feature or taint of danger. Suddenly he becomes rigid, arrested in
mid-career--sniffing at a pure untainted air, yet conscious somehow
of something wrong somewhere! It is a miraculous gift, though one
cannot but feel grateful that we humans are devoid of senses that
ever keep nerves in highest tension. Here is a sketch of a
non-shootable stag thus suddenly statuetted thirty yards from me
snugly hidden well down-wind, and so intensely interested that
_something else_ (a very old pal) well-nigh escaped notice.
[Illustration: ALTABACA (_Scrofularia_)
The starveling shrub that grows in sand.]
[Illustration: TOMILLO DE ARENA
Another sand-plant (in spring has a lovely pink bloom like
sea-thrift).]
That something was our good friend Reynard--_Zorro_ they style him
out here--whose proverbial cunning exceeds all other cunnings. He
has come down to my track and there stopped dead, expressing in
every detail the very essence of doubly-distilled subtlety and
craft. At those footprints he halts, sniffs the wind, curls his
brush dubiously--as a cat will do when pleased--but not sure yet of
his next move. One second's consideration decides him and it is
executed at once--he is off like a gust of wind. But a Paradox ball
at easy range in the open broke a hind-leg, and it was curious to
note his evolutions--he, poor fellow, not realising what had
occurred, flung himself round and round in rapid gyrations, the
while biting at his own hind-leg. Needless to say not an instant
passed ere a second ball terminated his sufferings. To observe the
beautiful traits in the habits of wild beasts is to me quite as
great a joy as adding them to my score and immensely augments the
enjoyment of a big-game drive.
[Illustration: "WHAT'S THIS?"]
RED DEER HEADS--_COTO DOÑANA_.
This list is neither comprehensive nor consecutive, but merely a record
of such good and typical heads as we happened to have within reach.
_For Table of Heads of Mountain-Deer see Chapter on Sierra Moréna._
---------------+---------------+--------------+--------+-------+--------------
| | Widest. | | |
| Length. |--------------|Circum- |Points.| Remarks.
| (Inches.) |Tips. |Inside.|ference.| |
---------------+---------------+------+-------+--------+-------+--------------
W. I. B. |32-1/4 |30 |... | ... | 13 |
Do. |31 + 30-1/4 |32-5/8|... | ... | 10 |No bez.
P. Garvey | 31 |28 |... | 4-5/8 | 15 |
Col. Brymer |30-1/2 + 28 |27 |23 | 4-1/4 | 10 |No bez.
Col. Echagüe |30-1/8 + 28-1/2|20 |18 | 4-1/2 | 14 |4 on each top.
Villa-Marta, |29-3/4 + 29-1/2|31-1/4|... | 4-1/2 | 13 |4 on each top,
Marquis | | | | | | but 1 bez
| | | | | | wanting.
Segovia, | | | | | |
Gonzalo[9] |29-3/4 + 29-1/2|39-1/2|... | 5-1/4 | 10 |No bez.
Arión, Duke of |29 + 28 |30 |... | ... | 14 |
A. C. |29 + 28-1/4 |25 |... | 5 | 12 |
Do. |28-1/2 |26-1/2|... | 5-1/8 | 13 |
P. N. Gonzalez |28-1/2 |25 |22 | 5 | 12 |
Arión, Duke of |28-1/4 |23 |21-1/2 | 4-1/8 | 10 |No bez.
F. J. Mitchell |28 + 27 |30-1/2|... | ... | 14 |4 on each top.
A. C. |27 + 26-3/4 |24 |24 | 4-1/4 | 10 |
Do. |25-1/2 |28-1/4|24 | 4-1/5 | 11 |At British
| | | | | | Museum.
Williams, Alex.|25-1/2 |27-3/4|23-1/4 | 4-1/4 | 12 |
B. F. B. |25-3/4 + 24 |27-1/4|22-3/4 | 4-1/4 | 12 |
De Bunsen, | | | | | |
Sir M. |25-1/2 + 25 |27 |... | 4-1/2 | 11 |
B. F. B. |24-1/2 + 24-1/2|27-1/2|... | 4-1/2 | 12 |
J. C. C. | 23 |29-1/2|22-1/2 | 4-1/8 | 12 |
B. F. B. |22-1/2 |21-1/2|19 | 4-1/4 | 12 |
---------------+---------------+------+-------+--------+-------+-------------
Ordinary Royals (by which we mean full-grown stags in their first prime)
average 24 or 25 inches in length of horn. Heads of 26 to 28 inches
belong to rather older beasts which have continued to improve. Anything
beyond the latter measurement is quite exceptional, and is often due,
not so much to fair straight length of the main beam as to an abnormal
development of one of the top tines--usually directed backwards. There
are, however, included in our records two or three examples of long
straight heads which fairly exceed the 30-inch length.