THE SIERRA NEVÁDA
The Sierra Neváda with its striking skylines, crisp and clean-cut
against an azure background, is yearly surveyed by thousands of tourists
in southern Spain. The majority content themselves with the distant view
from the battlements of Alhambra or from the summer-palace of
Generalife. Few penetrate the alpine solitude or scale peaks that look
so near yet cost some toil to gain.
We are not ashamed to admit that these glorious sierras have in
themselves possessed for us attractions that transcend in interest the
accumulated art-treasures, the store of historic and legendary lore that
illumine the shattered relics of Moslem rule--of an Empire City where
during seven centuries the power and faith of the Crescent dominated
south-western Europe and the focal point of mediaeval culture and
chivalry. None, nevertheless, can long sojourn in Granada wholly
uninfluenced by its stirring past, by the pathetic story of the fall of
Moorish dominion, and the words graven on countless stones till they
seem to represent the very spirit of this land, the words of the
founder, King Alhama: LA GALIB ILLA ALLAH = Only God is Victor.
Abler pens have portrayed these things, and we will only pause to touch
on one dramatic episode--since its scene lies on our course to the "high
tops"--when Boabdil, last of the Caliphs, paused in his flight across
the _vega_ to cast back a final glance at the scene of his former
greatness and lost empire. "You do well," snarled Axia, his mother, "to
weep over your kingdom like a woman since you could not defend it like a
man." That the maternal reproach was undeserved was proved by Boabdil's
heroic death in battle, thirty years later, near Fez.[54]
From this spot--still poetically called El Ultimo Suspiro del Moro--the
Sierra Neváda stretches away some forty miles to the eastward with an
average depth of ten miles, and includes within that area the four
loftiest altitudes in all this mountain-spangled Peninsula of Spain. The
chief points in the Pyrenees, nevertheless, run them fairly close, as
shown in the following table:--
GREATEST ALTITUDES IN FEET
_Sierra Neváda._
Mulahacen 11,781
Picacho de la Veleta 11,597
Alcazába 11,356
Cerro de los Machos 11,205
Col de la Veleta 10,826
_Pyrenees._
Pico de Nethou 11,168
Monte de Posets 11,046
Monte Perdido 10,994
By way of comparison it may be added that the next greatest elevations
in Spain are:--
Picos de Europa (described in Chap. XXVIII.) 10,046 feet
Sierra de Grédos (already described) 8,700 "
Curiously all the loftiest elevations occur outside the great central
table-lands of Spain, the highest point of which latter is the
last-quoted Sierra de Grédos.
Adjoining the Sierra Neváda on the south, and practically filling the
entire space between it and the Mediterranean, lie the Alpuxarras,
covering some fourteen miles by ten. The Alpuxarras are of no great
elevation (4000 to 5000 feet), and are separated from their giant
neighbours by the Valle de Lecrin, the entrance to which bears the
poetic name of El Ultimo Suspiro del Moro, as just described.
Here is a Spanish appreciation of Neváda:--
Compare this with northern mountains--Alps or Pyrenees: the tone,
the colours, the ambient air differentiate this southern range.
Snow, it is true, surmounts all alike, but here the very sky
flashes radiant (_rutilante_) in its azure intensity contrasted
with the cold blue of glacier-ice. Here, in lower latitude, the
rocks appear rather scorched by a torrid sun than lashed by winter
rain and hibernal furies. The valleys present a semi-tropical
aspect, resulting from the industry of old-time Moors, who, ever
faithful to the precepts of the Koran, introduced every such
species of exotic fruit or herb as was calculated to flourish and
enrich the land.[55]
The main chain of the Sierra Neváda constitutes one of the strongholds
of the Spanish ibex; and, curiously, the ibex is the solitary example of
big game that these mountains can boast. Differing in geological
formation from other mountain-systems of southern Spain, the Sierra
Neváda shelters neither deer of any kind--red, fallow, or roe--nor
wild-boar. The ibex, on the other hand, must be counted as no mean
asset, and though totally unprotected, they yet hold their own--a fair
average stock survives along the line of the Veleta, Alcazába, and
Mulahacen. This survival is due to the vast area and rugged regions over
which (in relatively small numbers) the wild-goats are scattered; but
even more so to the antiquated muzzle-loading smooth-bores hitherto
employed against them. That moment when cheap, repeating cordite rifles
shall have fallen into the hands of the mountain-peasantry will sound
the death-knell of the ibex.
[Illustration: LAMMERGEYER (_Gypallus barbatus_)
A glorious denizen of Sierra Neváda.]
While writing the above we hear (from two sources) that the "Mauser" has
at last got into the hands of at least one local goat-herd, who last
summer killed four out of a band of five ibex--all sexes and sizes.
There is no mistaking the import of this. It signifies that the end is
in view unless prompt measures are taken to save the ibex of Neváda from
extirpation.
So long as local hunters were restricted to their old ball-guns, the
contest was fairly equal and the game could hold its own. But neither
ibex nor any other wild beast on earth can withstand _FREE_ shooting
(unlicensed and unlimited) with 1000-yard "repeaters." Personally the
writer regards the use of repeating-rifles on game as sheer barbarism.
These are military weapons, and should be excluded from every field of
sport.
A precisely analogous case is afforded by Norway and her reindeer. The
Mauser first appeared there in 1894. Three years later we pointed out,
both to the Norwegian Government and also in _Wild Norway_, that unless
steps were taken to regulate and limit the resultant massacre, the wild
reindeer would be extinct within five years. Our warnings passed
unheeded; but the prediction erred only on the side of moderation. For
only four years later (in 1901) the Norsk Government was forced to
_prohibit absolutely_ all shooting for a period of seven years, and to
impose, on the expiry of that time, both licence-duties and limits,
alike on native as well as on foreign sportsmen.
Free shooting, unregulated and unlimited, means with modern weapons
instant extermination--a matter of a few years. Then, after some
creature has perished off the face of the earth, we read a gush of
maudlin regret and vain disgust. It is too late; why do not these good
folk bestir themselves while there is time to safeguard creatures that
yet survive, though menaced with deadly danger? Warnings such as ours
pass unnoticed, and platonic tears are bottled-up for posthumous
exhibition.
* * * * *
In winter the ibex are driven downwards by the snow. They first descend
southwards to the Trevenque--one of those abruptly peaked mountains that
"stretch out" even skilled climbers to conquer. A long knife-edged ridge
is Trevenque, culminating in a sheer pyramidal aiguille, its flanks
scarred by ravines with complication of scarp and counter-scarp,
upstanding crags and steep shale-shoots that defy definition by pen or
pencil.
A main winter resort is supplied by the Alpuxarras, and, beyond the
dividing Valle de Lecrin, ibex are distributed along the whole series of
mountain-ranges that lie along the Mediterranean as far as the Sierras
Bermeja and Ronda.
Among those subsidiary ranges, the following may here be specified as
ibex-frequented, to wit: the Sierras de Nerja and Lujar near Motril,
Sierra Tejáda lying south of the Vega de Granada (especially the part
called Cásulas, which, with most of the range, is private property and
preserved), Sierras de Competa and Alhama, and, nearer the sea, the
Sierra Frigiliana belonging to the late Duke of Fernan Nunez, who
secured trophies thereon exceeding thirty inches in length.
Westward, in the Province of Malaga, lie the Sierra de Ojen, Sierra
Blanca, and Palmitera (a great area of these being now preserved by Mr.
Pablo Larios), and last the Sierra Bermeja, described in _Wild Spain_.
Several of these ranges are of bare rock, while others are covered to
their summits with gorse and other brushwood.
* * * * *
The most enjoyable season for ibex-shooting (and on preserved ground the
most favourable) is during August and September, when the snow has
practically disappeared, except the permanent glaciers and stray patches
in some northern ravines. Camp-life is then delightful and exhilarating
and, given sound lungs and limbs, the game may be fairly stalked and
shot. The photo shows a typical trophy--a grand ibex ram shot years ago
on the Alcazába, horns 28-1/4 inches--another specimen measuring 29
inches is figured in _Wild Spain_. Our own experiences with ibex,
however, are now rather remote and might appear out-of-date. We
therefore content ourselves with the following extract from our work
quoted.
On a bitterly cold March morning we found ourselves, as day slowly
broke, traversing the outspurs of the sierra--on the scene of the great
earthquake of 1884, evidences of which were plentiful enough among the
scattered hill-villages. Already many mule-teams, heavily laden with
merchandise from the coast town of Motril, were wending their laborious
way inland. It is worth noting that in front of five or six laden mules
it is customary to harness a single donkey. This animal does little
work; but always passes approaching teams on the proper side, and,
moreover, picks out the best parts of the road. This enables the driver
to go to sleep, and the plan, we were told, is a good one.
At Lanjarón (2284 feet) we breakfasted at the ancient _fonda_ of San
Rafael, where the bright and beautifully polished brass and copper
cooking utensils hanging on the walls were a sight to make a careful
housewife envious. We watched our breakfast cooked over the
charcoal-fire, and learned a good deal thereby. We were delayed here a
whole day by snow-storms. There is stabling under the _fonda_ for 500
pack-animals, for Lanjarón in its "season" is an important place,
frequented by invalids from far and near. Its mineral springs are
reputed efficacious; but the drainage arrangements are villainous in the
extreme, and altogether it seemed a village to be avoided. Sad traces of
the cholera were everywhere visible, many doors and lintels bearing the
ominous sign: it was curious that in so few cases had it been erased.
We left before daybreak, and a few leagues farther on the ascent became
very steep and abrupt, the hill-crests whither we were bound within view
but wreathed in mist. Only one traveller did we meet in the long climb
from Orjiva to Capileira, and he bringing two mule-loads of dead and
dying sheep, worried by wolves just outside Capileira the night before.
Expecting that the wolves would certainly return, we prepared to wait up
that night for them; but were dissuaded, the argument being "that is
exactly what they will expect! No, those wolves will probably not come
back this winter." But return they did, both that night and several
following. The night before we left Capileira on the return journey (a
fortnight later) they came in greater numbers than ever and killed over
twenty sheep.
Capileira is the highest hamlet in the sierra and is celebrated for its
hams, which are cured in the snow. Here we put up for the night,
sleeping as best we could amidst fowls and fleas, after an amusing
evening spent around the fire, when one pot cooked for forty people
besides ourselves. The cold was intense, streams of fine snow whirling
in at pleasure through the crazy shutters, so we were glad to go to
bed--indeed I was chased thither by a hungry sow on the prowl, seeking
something to eat, apparently in my portmanteau.
[Illustration: THE PEAKS OF SIERRA NEVADA.
ALCAZÁBA. MULAHACEN.
]
[Illustration: NEST OF GRIFFON.]
Heavy snow-falls that night and all next day prevented our advance; but
at an early hour on the following morning we were under way--six of
us--on mules, though I would have preferred to walk, the snow being so
deep one could not see where the edges of the precipices were. No sooner
had I mounted than the mule fell down while crossing a hill-torrent, and
I was glad to find the water no deeper.
After climbing steadily upward all the morning, the last two hours on
foot, the snow knee-deep, we at length sighted the cairn on the height
to which we were bound. Before nightfall we had reached the point, but
few of the mules accomplished the last few hundred yards. After bravely
trying again and again, the poor beasts sank exhausted in the snow, and
we had to carry up the impedimenta ourselves in repeated journeys. The
deep snow, the tremendous ascent, and impossibility of seeing a foothold
made this porterage most laborious, but we had all safely stowed in our
cave before sundown.
The overhanging rock, which for the next ten or twelve days was to serve
as our abode, we found a mass of icicles. These we proceeded to clear
away, and then by a good fire to melt our ice-enamelled ceiling,
fancying that the constant drip on our noses all night might be
unpleasant. The altitude of our ledge above sea-level was about 8500
feet, and our plateau of rest--our home, so to speak--measured just
seven yards by two.
Early next morning we proceeded to erect snow-screens at favourable
"passes," wherein to await the wild-goats as they moved up or down the
mountain-side at dawn and dusk respectively, their favourite food being
the rye-grass which the peasants from the villages below contrive to
grow in tiny patches--two or three square yards scattered here and there
amidst the crags. It is only by rare industry that even so paltry a crop
can be snatched at such altitudes, and during the short period when the
snow is absent from the southern aspects. At present it enveloped
everything--not a blade of vegetation nor a mouthful for a wild-goat
could be seen.
Although during the day the snow was generally soft--the sun being very
hot--yet after dark we found the way dangerous, traversing a sloping,
slippery ice-surface like a huge glacier, where a slip or false step
would send one down half a mile with nothing to clutch at, or to save
oneself. Such a slide meant death, for it could only terminate in a
precipice or in one of those horrible holes with a raging torrent to
receive one in its dark abyss, and convey the fragments beneath the
snow--where to appear next? Each step had to be cut with a hatchet, or
hollowed--the butt of a rifle is not intended for such work, but has had
to perform it.
Every day we saw ibex on the snow-fields and towering rocks above our
cave. They were now of a light fawn-colour, very shaggy in appearance,
some males carrying magnificent horns. One old ram seemed to be always
on the watch, kneeling down on the very verge of a crag 500 or 600 yards
above us, and which commanded a view for miles--though _miles_ read but
paltry words! From where that goat was he could survey half a dozen
provinces.
These ibex proved quite inaccessible, and nearly a week had passed away
ere a wild-goat gave us a chance. One night shortly after quitting my
post, little better than a human icicle, and not without fear of
scrambling caveward in absolute darkness along the ice-slope, a little
herd of goats passed--mere shadows--within easy shot of where, five
minutes before, I had been lying in wait. On another morning at dawn the
tracks of a big male showed that he, too, must have passed at some hour
of the night within five-and-twenty yards of the snow-screen.
But it was not till a week had elapsed that we had the ibex really in
our power. Just as day broke a herd of eight--two males and six
females--stood not forty yards from our cave-dwelling. The fact was
ascertained by one Estéban, a Spanish sportsman whom we had taken with
us. Silently he stole back to the cave, and without a word, or
disturbing the dreams of his still sleeping employers, picked up an
"Express" and went forth. Then the loud double report at our very
doors--that is, had there been a door--aroused us, only to find ... the
spoor of that enormous ram, the spot where he had halted, listening,
above the cave, and the splash of the lead on the rock beyond--_eighteen
inches_ too low! an impossible miss for one used to the "Express." Oh,
Estéban, Estéban! what were our feelings towards you on that fateful
morn!
Life in a mountain-cave high above snow-level--six men huddled together,
two English and four Spaniards--has its weird and picturesque, but it
has also its harder side. Yet those days and nights, passed amidst
majestic scenes and strange wild beasts, have left nothing but pleasant
memories, nor have their hardships deterred us from repeating the
experiment. These initial campaigns were too early in the season (March
and April).
The only birds seen were choughs and ravens; ring-ouzels lower down.
There were plenty of trout, though small, in the hill-burns. On one
occasion a circular rainbow across a deep gorge perfectly reflected in
the centre our own figures on passing a given point. The ice-going
abilities of the mountaineers were marvellous--incredible save to an
eye-witness. Across even a north-drift, hard and "slape" as steel and
hundreds of yards in extent, these men would steer a sliding, slithering
course at top speed, directed towards some single projecting rock. To
miss that refuge might mean death; but they did not miss it, ever, in
their perilous course, making good a certain amount of forward movement.
At that rock they would settle in their minds the next point to be
reached, quietly smoking a cigarette meanwhile. How such performances
diminish one's self-esteem! How weak are our efforts! Even on the softer
southern drifts, what balancing, what scrambling and crawling on hands
and knees are necessary, and what a "cropper" one would have come but
for the friendly arm of Enrique, who, as he arrests one's perilous
slide, merely mutters, "Ave Maria purissima!"
* * * * *
Now we have left the ice and snow and the ibex to wander in peace over
their lonely domains. To-night we have dined at a _table_; there is a
cheery fire in the rude _posada_ and merry voices, contrasting with the
silence of our cave, where no one spoke above a whisper, and where no
fire was permissible save once a day to heat the _olla_. Now all we need
is a song from the Murillo-faced little girl who is fanning the charcoal
embers. "Sing us a couplet, Dolóres, to welcome us back from the snows
of Alpuxarras!"
_Dolóres._ "With the greatest pleasure, _Caballero_, if José will play
the guitar. No one plays like José, but he is tired, having travelled
all day with his mules from Lanjarón."
_José._ "No, señor, not tired, but I have no soul to-night to play. This
morning they asked me to bring medicine from the town for Carmen, but
when I reached the house she was dead. I find myself very sad."
_Dolóres._ "Pero, si ya tiene su palma y su corona?" ... = but as she
already has her palm and her crown?
_José._ "That is true! Bring the guitar and I will see if it will quit
me of this _tristeza_!"
Next morning the snow prevented our leaving; and the day after, while
riding away, we met some of the villagers carrying poor Carmen to the
burial-ground on the mountain-side. The body, plainly robed in white,
was borne on an open bier, the hands crossed and head supported on
pillows, thus allowing the long unfettered hair to hang down loose
below. It was an impressive and a picturesque scene, and as I rode on,
the rejoinder of Dolóres came to my mind, "Ya tiene su palma y su
corona."