SERRANÍA DE RONDA (_Continued_)
II. THE SIERRA BERMEJA
The Sierra Bermeja, standing on Mediterranean shore, demands a page or
two if only because it affords a home to three of Spain's peculiar and
rarer guests--the pinsápo, the ibex, and the lammergeyer.
Our earlier experience in Bermeja, our efforts to study its ibex--and to
secure a specimen or two--are told in _Wild Spain_. Suffice it here to
say that the characteristic of these Mediterranean mountains is that
here the ibex habitually live, and even lie-up (as hares do), among the
scrubby brushwood of the hills--a remarkable deviation from their
observed habits elsewhere, whether in Spain, the Caucasus and Himalayas,
or wherever ibex are found. But since brushwood clothes Bermeja and
other Mediterranean hills to their topmost heights, the local wild-goats
have literally no choice in the matter. Still, such a habitat must
strike a hunter's eye as abnormal, and is, in fact, a curious instance
of "adaptation to environment."[62]
During December 1907 we spent some days in Bermeja in an attempt to
stalk the ibex--a difficult undertaking when game is always three-parts
hidden by scrub. On former occasions we had secured a specimen or two by
stalking (here called _raspagéo_) and "driving"; but whatever chance
there might have been was this time annihilated by incessant mists
enshrouding the heights in opaque screen. Thus another carefully
organised expedition and unstinted labour were once more thrown away!
[Illustration: LAMMERGEYER
[Drawn from life in Sierra Bermeja, March 1891.]]
On December 19 we drove the "Pinsapal." This, commencing near the
highest tops, 5000 feet, extends down a tremendous conch-shaped ravine,
merging at the base into pine-forests--chiefly, we believe, _Pinus
pinaster_. This "drive" lasted two hours, mist sometimes densely thick,
at others clearing a little; but only allowing a view varying from
twenty to eighty yards. This, coupled with constant drip from the
gigantic pinsápos and a bitter wind blowing through clothes already
soaked, was ... well, comfortless and pretty hopeless to boot. Twice the
dogs gave tongue--and it could be nothing but ibex here; while D., who
was posted on the left, heard the rattling of hoofs as a herd passed
within, as he reckoned, 200 yards. A second lot, followed by dogs, was
heard though not seen on the extreme right. The pinsápos at this season,
and in such weather, form a favourite resort, for we saw more sign
hereabouts than on the high tops. A _levante_ wind in winter always
means mist--and failure.
The ibex in winter hold the high ground unless driven down by snow. In
spring and summer they come lower--even to cork-oak levels--presumably
to avoid contact with tame goats, then pasturing on the tops.
The east wind and fog continuing a whole week, though we tried all we
knew, every effort was frustrated by atmospheric obstruction. To drive
ibex successfully, the skilled training of the dogs is essential.
Formerly there were goat-herds who possessed clever dogs of great local
repute. But these days of "free-shooting" have passed away, and the ibex
of Bermeja with those of other Spanish sierras have recently fallen
under the beneficent ægis of "protection."
Bird-life in winter is scarce. We noticed a few redwings feeding on
berries; jays, partridges, and many wood-pigeons picking up acorns.
Vultures rarely appear here, but both golden and Bonelli's eagles were
observed, and in one mountain-gorge a pair of lammergeyers have their
stronghold, where in 1891 we examined both their eyries, one containing
a young _Gypaëtus_ as big as a turkey. That was in March, at which
season hawfinches abounded in the pines, and at dawn the melody of the
blue thrush recalled Scandinavian springs and the redwing's song.
Another small bird caused recurrent annoyance while ibex-driving. With a
loud "Rat, tat, tat," resembling the patter of horny hoofs on rock, its
song commences; then follows a hissing note as of a heavy body passing
through brushwood--for an instant one expects the coveted game to
appear. No, confound that bird! it's only a blackstart.
We extract the following scene from _Wild Spain_:--
On the lifting of a cloud-bank which rested on the mountain-side, I
descried four ibex standing on a projecting rock in bold relief
about 400 yards away. The intervening ground was rugged--rocks and
brush-wood with scattered pines--and except the first 50 yards, the
stalk offered no difficulty. I had passed the dangerous bit, and
was already within 200 yards, when in a moment the wet mist settled
down again and I saw the game no more. Curiously, on the fog first
lifting, an eagle sat all bedraggled and woe-begone on a rock-point
hard by, his feathers fluffed out and a great yellow talon
protruding, as it seemed, from the centre of his chest. Then a
faint sun-ray played on his bronzed plumage: he shook himself and
launched forth in air, sweeping downwards--luckily without moving
the ibex, though they took note of the circumstance.
In the lower forests here are some pig and roe-deer. A far greater
stronghold, however, for both these game-animals is at Almoraima,
belonging to the Duke of Medinaceli, some six or eight leagues to the
westward. Almoraima covers a vast extent of wild mountainous land of no
great elevations generally, but all wooded and jungle-clad. On the lower
levels grow immense cork-forests. Here, during a series of _monterías_
in February 1910, in which the writer, to his lasting regret, was
prevented from taking part, a total of 19 roe-deer and 52 boars was
secured. The two best roebuck heads measured as follows:--
Length
(outside curve). Circumference. Tip to Tip.
No. 1 9-1/2" 3-1/2" 3-5/8"
No. 2 9-1/4" 4-3/8" 3"
III. SIERRA DE JEREZ
These mountains (being within sight of our home) formed the scene of our
earliest sporting ventures in Spain. It is forty years ago now, yet do
we not forget that first day and its anxieties, as we rode by crevices
that serve for bridle-paths, along with a too jovial hill-farmer, Barréa
by name, who persisted in carrying a loaded gun swinging haphazard and
full-cock in the saddle-slings--that it was loaded we saw by the shiny
copper cap on each nipple! Our objects that day were boar and roe-deer;
but presently a partridge was descried sprinting up the rugged screes
above. Out came the ready gun, and next moment all that remained of that
partridge was a cloud of feathers and scattered anatomy. The ball had
gone true. Barréa casually shouted to a lad to pick up the pieces,
himself riding on as though such practice was an everyday affair. My own
experience of ball-shooting being then limited, I reflected that if
such were Spanish marksmanship, I might be left behind! On assembling
for lunch, however, some vultures were wheeling high overhead, and it
occurred to me to try my luck. By precisely a similar fluke, one huge
griffon collapsed to the shot, and swirling round and round like a
parachute, occupied (it seemed) five minutes in reaching the
ground--1000 feet below us.
That afternoon the antics of two strange beasties attracted my attention
and again my ball went straight. The victim was a mongoose, and with
some pride I had the specimen carefully stowed in the
mule-panniers--never to see it more! The mongoose, we now know, owing to
its habit of eating snakes, has acquired a personal aroma surpassing in
pungency that of any other beast of the field, and our men, so soon as
my back was turned, had discreetly thrown out the malodorous trophy.
A boar-shooting trip to the Sierra de Jerez formed the first sporting
venture in which the authors were jointly engaged; for which reason
(though the memory dates back to March 1872) we may be forgiven for
extracting a brief summary from _Wild Spain_:--
Our quarters were a little white rancho perched amid deep bush and
oak-woods on the slope of the Sierra del Valle. A mile farther up
the valley was closed by the dark transverse mass of the Sierra de
las Cabras, the two ranges being separated by an abrupt chasm
called the Boca de la Foz, which was to be the scene of this day's
operations.
A pitiable episode occurred. While preparing to mount, there
resounded from behind a peal of strange inhuman laughter, followed
by incoherent words; and through an iron-barred window we discerned
the emaciated figure of a man, wild and unkempt, whose eagle-like
claws grasped the barriers of his cell--a poor lunatic. No
connected replies could we get, nothing beyond vacuous laughter and
gibbering chatter. Now he was at the theatre and quoted magic
jargon; anon supplicating the mercy of a judge; then singing a
stanza of some old song, to break off abruptly into fierce
denunciation of one of us as the cause of his troubles. Poor
wretch! he had once been a successful advocate; but signs of
madness having developed, which increased with years, the once
popular lawyer was reduced to the durance of this iron-girt cell,
his only share and view of God's earth just so much of sombre
everlasting sierra as the narrow opening allowed. We were warned
that any effort to ameliorate his lot was hopeless, his case being
desperate. What hidden wrongs may exist in a land where no judicial
intervention is obligatory between the "rights of families" and
their insane relations (or those whom they may consider such) are
easy to conceive.
The first covert tried was a strong jungle flanking the main gorge,
but this and a second beat proved blank, though two roebuck broke
back. The third drive comprised the main _manchas_, or thickets, of
the Boca de la Foz, and to this we ascended on foot, leaving the
horses picketed behind. Our four guns occupied the rim of a natural
amphitheatre which dipped sharply away some 1500 feet beneath us,
the centre choked with brushwood--lentisk, arbutus, and thorn--20
feet deep. On our left towered a perpendicular block of limestone
cliffs, the right flank of the jungle being bordered by a series of
up-tilted rock-strata, white as marble and resembling a ruined
street.
Ten minutes of profound silence, not a sound save the distant
tinkle of a goat-bell, or the song of that feathered recluse, the
blue rock-thrush (in Spanish, _Solitario_), then the distant cries
of the beaters in the depths below told us the fray had begun.
Another ten minutes' suspense. Then a crash of hound-music
proclaimed that the quarry was at home. This boar proved to be one
of certain grizzly monsters of which we were specially in search,
his lair a jumble of boulders islanded amid thickest jungle. Here
he held his ground, declining to recognise in canine aggressors a
superior force. Two boar-hounds reinforced the skirmishers of the
pack, yet the old tusker stood firm. For minutes that seemed like
hours the conflict raged stationary: the sonorous baying of the
boar-hounds, the "yapping" of the smaller dogs, and shouts of
mountaineers blended with the howl of an incautious _podenco_ as he
received a death-rip--all formed a chorus of sounds that carried
their exciting story to the sentinel guns above.
The seat of war being near half-a-mile away, no immediate issue was
expected. Then there occurred one crash of bush, and a second boar
dashed straight for the pass where the writer barred the way. The
suddenness of the encounter disconcerted, and the first shot
missed--the bullet splashing on a grey rock just above--time barely
remained to jump aside and avoid collision. The left barrel got
home: a stumble and a savage grunt as an ounce of lead penetrated
his vitals, and the boar plunged headlong, his life-blood dyeing
the weather-blanched rocks and green palmetto. For a moment he lay,
but ere cold steel could administer a quietus, he had regained his
feet and dashed back. Whether revenge prompted that move or it was
merely an effort to regain the covert he had just left, we know
not--a third bullet laid him lifeless.
During this interlude (though it only occupied five seconds) the
main combat below reached its climax. The old boar had left his
stronghold, and after sundry sullen stands and promiscuous
skirmishes (during which a second _podenco_ died), he made for the
heights. Showing first on the centre, he was covered for a moment
by a ·450 Express; but, not breaking covert, no shot could be
fired, and when next viewed the boar was trotting up a stone-slide
on the extreme left. Here a rifle-shot broke a foreleg, and the
disabled beast, unable to face the hill, retreated to the thicket
below, scattering dogs and beaters in headlong flight. And now
commenced the hue and cry--the real hard work for those who meant
to see the end and earn the spoils of war. Presently _Moro's_ deep
voice told us of the boar at bay, far away down in the depths of
the defile. What followed in that hurly-burly--that mad scramble
through brake and thicket, down crag and scree--cannot be written.
Each man only knows what he did himself, or did not do. We can
answer for three. One of these seated himself on a rock and lit a
cigarette. The others, ten minutes later, arrived on the final
scene, one minus his nether garments and sundry patches of skin,
but in time to take part in the death of as grand a boar as roams
the Spanish sierras.
This last spring (1910), after thirty-eight years, we revisited the Boca
de la Foz, partly to reassure ourselves that the above description was
not overdrawn. No! 'Tis a terrible wild gorge, the Foz, but the days
when we can follow a wounded boar through obstacles such as those have
passed away. The boars, we were told, are still there, and so are the
vultures in those magnificent crags. We climbed along the ledges and
there were the great stick-built nests, each in its ancestral site. In
March each contains a single egg; now (April) that is replaced by a
leaden-hued chick. These cliffs are also tenanted by ravens and a single
pair of choughs. Neophrons occupied the same cavern whence I shot a
female in 1872, and crag-martins held their old abodes, plastered on to
the roofs of the caves.
As April advances a new and striking bird-form arrives to adorn the
higher sierras--the least observant can scarce miss this, the
rock-thrush (_Monticola saxatilis_), conspicuous alike in plumage and
actions; with clear blue head and chestnut breast, its colour-scheme
includes a broad patch of white set in the centre of a dark back. The
contrast is most effective, and, so far as we know, this "fashion" of a
white back is unique among birds, unless indeed it be shared by
Bonelli's eagle. The rock-thrush is also endowed with a lovely wild
song, quite low and simple, but replete with a fine "high-tops" quality.
By April 20 he yields to vernal impulses, and his courting is pretty to
see; wheeling around on transparent pinions, he soars and sings the
livelong day; at intervals, with collapsed wing, he drops like a stone
to join his sober-hued mate among the rocks; a few picturesque poses,
displaying all those flashing tints of orange and opal, and off he goes
again to soar and sing once more. His cousin, the blue-thrush, has also
a sweet song and a similar hovering flight, ending in a "drop act"; but
the ascent is more vertical, while frequently he varies the descent and
comes fluttering down in tree-pipit or butterfly-like style. Even the
sober little blackchat now "shows off," perched on some boulder with
quivering wings and tail spread fan-like over his back. Both these two
last, being resident, nest much earlier than the migratory rock-thrush:
the latter was building (in crevices of the rocks) by mid-April, but
hardly lays before May.
These sierras being only 3000 to 4000 feet, one misses here some of the
alpine forms observed at higher altitudes. The tawny pipit, for example,
a sandy-hued bird with dark eye-stripe and active wagtail-like gait,
which was common on San Cristobal at 4500 feet in April, never showed up
here at all; nor did any of the following species, all so characteristic
of the higher ground: Blackstarts, woodlarks, rock-buntings, cole-and
longtail-tits, and tree-creepers. The choughs, spotted woodpeckers,
rock-thrushes, crag-martins, and wood-pigeons, though observed, were
here very much scarcer. The lammergeyer, too, rarely descends here, and
then only while in his smoke-black uniform of immaturity.
THE PUERTA DE PALOMAS
In May 1883, while returning from Ubrique, our horses fell lame owing to
loss of shoes, and for four days and nights we were encamped in the pass
known as the Puerta de Palomas. There is a tiny _ventorillo_, or wayside
wine-shop, at the foot of the pass; but nights are warm in May, and we
preferred the freedom of the open hill, where the strange growls made by
the griffons at dawn, together with the awakening carol of the
rock-thrush, formed our reveille each morning in that roofless bedroom
amidst the boulders.
The opposite side of the pass is dominated by the picturesque pile
called the Picacho del Aljibe, a conical peak that towers in tiers of
crags above the adjoining sierras not unlike a gigantic Arthur's Seat
over the Salisbury Crags. Our own side was rather a chaotic jumble of
detached monoliths than cliffs proper, and by clambering over these we
reached in one morning sixteen vultures' nests, the easiest of access we
ever struck. They were mostly very slight affairs, bare rock often
protruding through the scanty structure; though, where necessary, a
broad platform of sticks was provided--as sketched. The poults (only one
in each nest) were now as big as guinea-fowls, with brown feathers
sprouting through the white down. These eyries, albeit slightly
malodorous, are always strictly clean, since vultures feed their young
by disgorging half-digested food from their own crops, and we watched
this not-pleasing operation being performed within some eighty yards'
distance; hence there is no carrion or putrefying matter lying about, as
is the case with the neophron and lammergeyer.
[Illustration: GRIFFON VULTURE FEEDING YOUNG--PUERTA DE PALOMAS, APRIL
10, 1910.]
These eyries were situate on three great outstanding stacks of rock, and
during the scramble we came face to face with a pair of eagle-owls
solemnly dreaming away the hours in the recesses of a cavern, though no
sign of a nest was discovered. The caves were shared by crag-martins,
whose swallow-like nests were fixed under the roof, usually just beyond
reach. Their eggs are white, flecked with grey. On May 18 we obtained
here a nest of the rock-thrush with five beautiful greenish-blue eggs.
It was built in a cranny of the crags.
This year (1910) found us once more in the Puerta de Palomas, the date
April 8. On rounding the Sierra de las Cabras, as L. was already far up
the hillside, I rode forward intending to ascend at the north end and
work back, thus meeting in centre. A succession of mischances, however,
upset that plan. A small clump of ilex clung to the steep above the
point whereat I had left the horses, and in traversing this, I walked
right into a calf concealed beneath a lentiscus. Knowing that this might
involve trouble should its half-wild mother be within hearing, I gently
retreated, but, hard by, stumbled on a second calf, even smaller, in
another bush. No. 1 meanwhile had gained its legs and bleated softly.
There followed a crash among the bush above, and as fierce-looking a
wild beast as ever I saw (and I have seen some) came hurtling down those
rugged rocks at amazing speed. On seeing me (luckily some little
distance from her own offspring) the infuriated mother pulled up,
full-face--a pretty picture, but rather menacing, especially as she kept
up a muttered bellowing, horribly eloquent. I had sidled alongside a
tree; but Paco, who carried my gun, with the reckless spirit begotten of
the bull-fight, boldly addressed the enemy in opprobrious terms. The
only result was that she came still nearer, and I swung to a lower
branch. Paco, nothing daunted, now tried stones (in addition to
expletives), and it was, to me at least, a relief when that cow at
length retired. The half-wild savage may easily be more dangerous than
the truly wild. The former have lost some of their pristine respect for
man, and of course one has less means of defence.
This incident over, we commenced the climb. The rock-stack rose
vertically above us, but we diverged to the right as affording an easier
route. On reaching the desired level, however, I found it impossible to
make good that interval on our left--a smooth rock-face devoid of
handhold, and too upright to traverse, forbade all lateral movement. Up
we went another twenty yards, then another; but always to find that
slithery rock-face mocking our efforts to outflank it. We were now well
above the rock-stack overlooking the eyries, and I could see two
griffons brooding, another feeding a poult close by. But between us was
a great gulf fixed, and that gulf stopped us. The obvious alternative
was to descend and try again from a fresh point. But here a new
difficulty faced us: we could not descend. We had come up by following a
series of vertical fissures, or "chimnies," none too easy, since every
crevice sheltered some vicious vegetation, each more spikey and thorny
than the last. Still from _below_ one can always select a handhold
somewhere, and then defy the thorn; whereas on looking _backwards_,
nothing is visible but a vanishing outline of rock and gorse, porcupine
broom, or palmetto--beyond is vacant space, and a sheer drop at that. In
a word, we could neither descend nor move laterally. It was
humiliating--even more so than the antecedent incident with a _COW_!
One resource remained--to climb on to the top; and even in that
direction a single bad rock might cut off escape. No such crowning
catastrophe befell, but it was tooth-and-claw work, every yard of it,
and the vertical height could not have been less than 1000 feet.
While thus "clawing up" I recollect passing a perfect glory in
orchids--great twin purple blooms, golden-tipped and quite amorphous in
outline. They grew just beyond my reach. Curious recumbent ferns clung
to the rocks; anemones and violet-like bouquets peered from each cranny.
Meanwhile L., approaching from the other side, had examined the
rock-stacks and succeeded in attaining one main objective--the nest of
the eagle-owl. This was in a rock-cavern, close by that of '83, easy of
access--indeed the great owl flew out in his face as he passed below.
The cave (four feet high by two wide) was at the foot of a vertical
limestone cliff, its floor level with a goat-track that skirted the
crag, and fully exposed to view; there was no nest nor any debris. Two
young owls in white down, with one egg actually "chipping," lay on the
bare earth.
* * * * *
One of the griffon's nests still contained (on April 8) a fresh egg,
which is now in the writer's collection as a memorial of that day. We
had secured all we had expected in the Puerta de Palomas--and something
more besides.