LA MANCHA
THE LAGOONS OF DAIMIEL
Immediately to the north of our "Home-Province" of Andalucia, but
separated therefrom by the Sierra Moréna, stretch away the uplands of La
Mancha--the country of Don Quixote. The north-bound traveller, ascending
through the rock-gorges of Despeñaperros, thereat quits the mountains
and enters on the Manchegan plateau. A more dreary waste, ugly and
desolate, can scarce be imagined. Were testimony wanting to the
compelling genius of Cervantes, in very truth La Mancha itself would
yield it.
[Illustration]
Yet it is wrong to describe La Mancha as barren. Rather its central
highlands present a monotony of endless uninteresting cultivation.
League-long furrows traverse the landscape, running in parallel lines to
utmost horizon, or weary the eye by radiating from the focal point as
spokes in a wheel. But never a break or a bush relieves one's sight,
never a hedge or a hill, not a pool, stream, or tree in a long day's
journey. Oh, it is distressing, wherever seen--in Old World or New--that
everlasting cultivation on the flat. True, it produces the necessary
fruits of the earth--here (to wit) corn and wine.
Farther north, where the Toledan mountains loom blue over the western
horizon, La Mancha refuses to produce anything.
The unsympathetic earth, for 100 miles a sterile hungry crust, stony and
sun-scorched, obtrudes an almost hideous nakedness, its dry bones
declining to be clad, save in flints or fragments of lava and splintered
granite. Wherever nature is a trifle less austere, a low growth of dwarf
broom and helianthemum at least serves to vary the dreariness of dry
prairie-grass. There, beneath the foothills of the wild Montes de
Toledo, stretch whole regions where thorn-scrub and broken belts of open
wood vividly recall the scenery of equatorial Africa--we might be
traversing the "Athi Plains" instead of European lands. Evergreen oak
and wild-olive replace mimosa and thorny acacia--one almost expects to
see the towering heads of giraffes projecting above the grey-green bush.
In both cases there is driven home that living sense of arid sterility,
the same sense of desolation--nay, here even more so--since there is
lacking that wondrous wild fauna of the other. No troops of graceful
gazelles bound aside before one's approach; no herds of zebra or
antelope adorn the farther veld; no galloping files of shaggy gnus spurn
the plain. A chance covey of redlegs, a hoopoe or two, the desert-loving
wheatears--birds whose presence ever attests sterility--a company of
azure-winged magpies chattering among the stunted ilex, or a
woodchat--that is all one may see in a long day's ride.
[Illustration: WOODCHAT SHRIKE AND ITS "SHAMBLES" (Sketched in La
Mancha)]
Another feature common to both lands--and one abhorrent to northern
eye--is the absence of water, stagnant or current. Never the glint of
lake or lagoon, far less the joyous murmur of rippling burn, rejoice eye
or ear in La Mancha.
Alas, that to us is denied the synthetic sense! In vain we scan
Manchegan thicket for compensating beauties, for the Naiads and Dryads
with which Cervantes' creative spirit peopled the wilderness; no vision
of lovely Dorotheas laving ivory limbs of exquisite mould in sylvan
fountain rewards our searching (but too prosaic) gaze--that may perhaps
be explained by the contemporary absence of any such fountains. Nor have
other lost or love-lorn maidens, Lucindas or Altisidoras from enchanted
castle, aided us to add one element of romance to purely faunal studies.
Castles, it is true, adorn the heights or crown a distant skyline; nor
are Dulcineas of Toboso extinct or even in the _posada_ at Daimiel,
while excellent specimens graced the twilight _paséo_ of Ciudad Real or
reclined beneath the orange-groves of its _alameda_.
[Illustration: DESERT-LOVING WHEATEARS]
We have animadverted upon the absence of water in La Mancha. Yet there
is no rule but has its exception, and it is, in fact, to the existence
of a series of most singular Manchegan lagoons, abounding in bird-life,
that this venturesome literary excursion owes its genesis.
In the midst of tawny table-lands, well-nigh 200 miles from the sea and
upwards of 2000 feet above its level, nestle the sequestered Lagunas de
Daimiel extending to many miles of mere and marsh-land. These lakes are,
in fact, the birthplace of the great river Guadiana, the head-waters
being formed by the junction of its nascent streams with its lesser
tributary the Ciguela.
In the confluence of the two rivers mentioned it is the Guadiana that
chiefly lends its serpentine course to the formation of a vast series of
lagoons, with islands and islets, cane-brakes and shallows overgrown by
reeds, sedge, and marsh-plants, all traversed in every direction by open
channels (called _trochas_), the whole constituting a complication so
extensive that none save experienced boatmen can thread a way through
its labyrinths.
Isolated thus, a mere speck of water in the midst of the arid
table-lands of central Spain, yet these lagoons of Daimiel constitute
not only one of the chief wildfowl resorts of Spain, but possibly of all
Europe. Upon these waters there occur from time to time every species of
aquatic game that is known in this Peninsula, while in autumn the
duck-tribe in countless hosts congregate in nearly all their European
varieties. Those which are found in the greatest numbers include the
mallard, pintail, shoveler, wigeon, gargany, common and marbled teal,
ferruginous duck, tufted duck, pochard, and (in great abundance) the
red-crested pochard or _Pato colorado_. Coots also frequent the lagoons,
but in smaller numbers. There also appear at frequent intervals
flamingoes and black geese (_Ganzos negros_), whose species we have not
been able to identify, sand-grouse of both kinds, sea-gulls, duck-hawks,
grebes, and occasionally some wandering cormorants. Herons and egrets in
their different varieties haunt the shores and the shallows.
[Illustration: RED-CRESTED POCHARD (_Fuligula rufila_)]
Lest any far-venturing fowler be induced by this chapter to pack his
12-bore and seek the nearest Cook's office, it should at once be stated
that the rights-of-chase (as are all worth having, alike in Spain,
Scotland, or England) are in private hands--those of the Sociedad de las
Lagunas de Daimiel, a society which at present numbers five members, all
of ducal rank, and to one of whom we are indebted for excellent
descriptive notes. The lakes are guarded by keepers who have held their
posts for generations--the family of the Escudéros.
To claim for these far-inland lagoons a premier place among the great
wildfowl resorts of Europe may seem extravagant--albeit confirmed by
facts and figures that follow. But the lakes, be it remembered, are
surrounded by that cultivation afore described--100 mile stubbles and so
on. Another fact that well-nigh struck dumb the authors (long accustomed
to study and preach the incredible mobility of bird-life) was that ducks
shot at dawn at Daimiel are found to be cropful of _rice_. Now the
nearest rice-grounds are at Valencia, distant 180 miles; hence these
ducks, not as a migratory effort, but merely as incidental to each
night's food-supply, have sped at least 360 miles between dusk and dawn.
As autumn approaches (we quote from notes kindly given us by the
Duke of Arión), so soon as the keepers note the arrival of incoming
migrants, their first business consists in observing the points
which these select for their assemblage. Then with infinite
patience, tact, and skill, the utmost advantage is seized of those
earlier groups which have chosen haunts nearest to points where
guns may be placed most effectively. These favoured groups are left
rigorously alone to act as decoys, while by gentleness and least
provocative methods, the keepers induce other bands which have
settled in less appropriate positions to unite their forces with
the elect. Thus within a few days vast multitudes, scattered over
wide areas, have been unconsciously concentrated within that
"sphere of influence" where four or five guns may act most
efficaciously.
The supreme test of the keepers' efficiency is demonstrated when
this concentration is limited to some particular area designated
for a single day's shooting.
The night preceding the day fixed for shooting, so soon as the
ducks have already quitted the lagoons and spread themselves afar
over the surrounding cornlands on their accustomed nocturnal
excursions in search of food, the posts of the various gunners are
prepared. This work involves cutting a channel through some
islanded patch of reeds situate in the centre of open water. The
channel is merely wide enough to admit the entrance of the punt
from which the gunner shoots, the cut reeds being left to remask
the opening so soon as the punt has entered.
Somewhere between three and four o'clock in the morning the
sportsmen sally forth from the shooting-lodge (situate on the Isla
de los Asnos), each in his punt directing a course to the position
he has drawn by lot. In the boat, besides guns, cartridges, and
loader (should one be taken), are carried thirty or forty
decoy-ducks fashioned of wood or cork and painted to resemble in
form and colour the various species of duck expected at that
particular season.
Each of these decoys is furnished with a string and leaden weight
to act as an anchor. A fixed plummet directly beneath the floating
decoy prevents its being blown over or upset.
Generally speaking, the sportsman awaits the dawn in the same boat
in which he has reached his position, but should shallow water
prevent this, either a lighter punt, capable of being carried by
hand, or some wooden boards are substituted as a seat. Having set
out his decoys, and arranged his ammunition, each gunner awaits in
glorious expectancy the moment when the first light of dawn shall
set the aquatic world amove.
Singly they may come, or in bands and battalions--soon the whole
arc of heaven is serried with moving masses. Should the day prove
favourable, firing continues practically incessant till towards ten
o'clock. From that hour onwards it slackens perceptibly, ducks
flying fewer and fewer and at increasing intervals up to noon or
thereby, when spoils are collected and the day's sport is over.
There are at most but four or five _puestos_, or gun-posts, at
Daimiel, and that only when ducks are in their fullest numbers.
Under such conditions, and when all incidental conditions are
favourable, a bag of over 1000 ducks in the day has not
infrequently been registered. On such occasions it follows that
individual guns must gather from 200 to 300 ducks apiece.
Almost incredible as are the results occasionally obtained under
favouring conditions, yet the duck-shooting at Daimiel is
nevertheless subject to considerable variation in accordance with
the sequence of the season. The biggest totals are usually recorded
during the months of September, October, and November in dry years.
The bags secured at such periods are apt to run into extraordinary
numbers, but with this proviso, that quality is then sometimes
inferior to quantity. For the chief item at these earlier shoots
consists of teal, with only a sprinkling of mallard, wigeon, and
shoveler, and, in some years, a few coots. But at the later
_tiradas_ (shootings), although game is usually rather less
abundant, it is then entirely composed of the bigger ducks--beyond
all in numbers being the mallard, pintail, wigeon, and red-crested
pochard, while an almost equal number of shovelers and common
pochards are also bagged.
At these earlier _tiradas_ a good gun should be able, with ease, to
bring down, say, 400 ducks, although this number dwindles sadly in
the pick-up, since but few of those birds will be recovered that
fall outside the narrow space of open water around each "hide." One
may say roughly that at least one-fourth are lost. For, although
each post be surrounded by open water, yet many ducks must fall
within the encircling canes, while even those that fall in the
open, if winged and beyond the reach of a second barrel, will
inevitably gain the shelter of the covert, and all these are
irrecoverable. Others, again, carrying on a few yards, may fall
dead in open water, but at a distance the precise position of which
is difficult to fix by reason of intervening cane-brakes. Thus
between those that are lost in the above ways and others that may
be carried away by the wind or the current (besides many that are
devoured by hawks and eagles under the fowler's eye but beyond the
range of his piece) it is no exaggerated estimate that barely
three-fourths of the fallen are ever recovered.
To the above description another Spanish friend, Don Isidoro Urzáiz,
adds the following:--
In the year 1892 I fired at ducks in a single morning at Daimiel
one thousand and ten cartridges. This was between 6.30 and 10.30
A.M. I gathered rather over two hundred, losing upwards of a
hundred more. I shot badly; it being my first experience with duck,
I had not learnt to let them come well in, and often fired too
soon.
In subsequent _tiradas_ I have never enjoyed quite so much luck,
although never firing less than 400 to 500 cartridges. In spite of
the difficulty of recovering dead game, I have always on these
occasions gathered from one hundred upwards--the precise numbers I
have not recorded. Some of the _puestos_ have a very small extent
of open water around them, and in these a greater proportion of the
game is necessarily lost. For example, in a single quite small
clump of reeds I remember marking not less than thirty ducks fall
dead, yet of these I recovered not one. The sharp-edged leaves of
the sedge (_masiega_) cut like a knife, and the boatman who entered
the reeds to collect the game returned a few minutes later without
a bird, but with hands, arms, and legs bleeding from innumerable
cuts and scratches, which obliged him to desist from further
search. This is but one example of the difficulty of recovering
fallen game.
As examples of the totals secured individually in a day may be quoted
the following. At the first shooting in 1908 the Duke of Arión gathered
251 ducks, and at the second shoot, 245, the Duke of Prim, 197. The
record bag was made some ten or twelve years ago by a Valencian
sportsman, Don Juan Cistel, who brought in no less than 393 ducks in
one day! His late Majesty, King Alfonso XII., comes second with 381
ducks shot in three hours and a half. On his second visit, on hearing
that he had secured his century, His Majesty stopped shooting, being
more interested to watch the fowl passing overhead. His total was 127.
King Alfonso XIII. had an unlucky day here--rain and storm--hence he
only totalled ninety odd. Many years ago, our late friend, Santiago
Udaëta, was credited with 270 ducks to his own gun in one day.
These bags are truly enormous, for, big as it is, Daimiel is not a patch
in size as compared with our own marismas of the Guadalquivir. There is
here, on the other hand, abundant cover to conceal the guns, which is
not the case with us.
[Illustration: RED-CRESTED POCHARD--AN IMPRESSION AT DAIMIEL]
It was at Daimiel that we first made acquaintance with the red-crested
pochard--a handsome and truly striking species, smart in build, colour,
action, and every attribute. A bushy red head outstretched on a very
long neck contrasts with the jet-black breast, while the white
"speculum" on the wings shows up conspicuous as a transparency,
especially when a band passes over-head in the azure vault, or splashes
down on reed-girt shallow--one actually seems to see through the gauzy
texture of their quills. These ducks breed in numbers at Daimiel, as do
also mallards, garganey, and ferruginous ducks, together with stilts,
grebes, and herons of all denominations. Greatly do we regret that our
experience at Daimiel does not include the spring-season with all its
unknown ornithological possibilities. An unfortunate accident prevented
our spending a week or two at Daimiel in May of the present year.
Ospreys visit the lakes in autumn, preying on the abundant carp and
tench; and wild-boars, some of great size, coming from the bush-clad
Sierra de Villarubia on the south, frequent the cane-brakes. Shelducks
of either species appear unknown; but grey geese (as well as flamingoes)
make passing calls at intervals, a small dark-coloured goose (possibly
the bernicle) is recorded to have been shot on two or three occasions,
and wild swans once.
The little country-town of Daimiel, situate six or eight miles from the
lakes, was recently the scene of an extraordinary tragedy. We copy the
account from the Madrid newspaper, _El Liberal_, February 20, 1908:--
Telegraphing from Daimiel, it is announced that yesterday a gang of
masked men forced their entrance into the Council-Chamber while the
Council were holding a meeting under the presidency of the Mayor.
The masked men, who numbered six or eight, came fully armed with
guns and rifles which they discharged in the very face of the
Mayor, who fell dead, riddled with bullets.
The assembled Councillors, seized with panic, fled.
The murdered Mayor was a Conservative, and the only member of that
party who held a seat in the Corporation. It is believed that the
assassination was perpetrated in obedience to political motives.