A TYPICAL SIGHT IN THE MARISMAA TYPICAL SIGHT IN THE MARISMA
THEflamingo stands in a class apart. Allied to no other bird-form—hardly so much as related—it may be regarded almost as a separate act of creation. Its nesting habits, and the method by which a bird of such abnormal build could incubate its eggs, formed for generations a “vexed question” in bird-life. The story of the efforts made by British naturalists to solve the problem ranks among the classics of ornithology. The marismas of Guadalquivir were early known to be one of the few Europeanincunabulaof the flamingo; but their vast extent—“as big as our eastern counties,” Howard Saunders wrote—and the irregularity of the seasons (since flamingoes only remain to nest in the wettest years) combined to frustrate exploration. First in the field was Lord Lilford—as early as 1856; and both during that and the two succeeding decades he and Saunders (who appeared on the scene in 1864) undertook repeated journeys—all in vain. The record of these makes splendid reading, and will be found as follows:—
Lord Lilford, “On the Breeding of the Flamingo in Spain,”Proceedings Zoological Society of London, 1880, pp. 446-50;Howard Saunders,ibid., 1869, and the same authority in theIbis, 1871, pp. 394et seq.
The late Crown Prince Rudolph of Austria, who visited Spain in May 1879, likewise failed to reach the nesting spot—apparently through the usual cause, not going far enough—though a few eggs were found scattered on the wet mud of the marisma. (Recorded by Lord Lilford as above.)
Thus the question remained unsettled till 1883, when a favouring season enabled the present authors to succeed where greater ornithologists had striven in vain.
A venerable apologue attaches to the nesting habit of the flamingo. Owing to the length of its legs, it was assumed that the bird could not incubate in the ordinary manner of birds, and that, therefore, it stood astraddle on a nest built up to the requisite height—a combination of unproved assumption with inconsequential deduction. ‘Twere ungracious to be wise after the event, yet, in fact, this fable passed current as “Natural History” for precisely two centuries—from 1683, when Dampier so described the nesting of flamingoes on the Cape de Verde Islands,[48]till 1883, when the present authors had opportunity of observing a flamingo-colony in southern Spain.
Flamingoes do not nest every year in the Spanish marismas. Their doing so depends on the season, and only in very wet years is the attempt made. Rarely, even then, are young hatched off, so persistently are the wastes raided by egg-lifters, who sweep up by wholesale every edible thing, and to whom a “FlamingoCity,” with its hundreds of big eggs all massed together—a boat-load for the gathering—represents an El Dorado. As early as 1872 eggs were brought to us—taken by our own marshmen on May 24—but it was not till 1883 that we enjoyed seeing an occupied nest-colony ourselves.
More than a quarter-century has sped since then, yet we cannot do better than substantially transcribe the narrative as recorded inWild Spain.
During the month of April we searched the marismas systematically for the nesting-places of flamingoes, but, though exploring large areas—riding many leagues in all directions through mud and water varying from a few inches to full three feet in depth—yet no sign of nests was then encountered. Flamingoes there were in thousands, together with a wealth of aquatic bird-life that we will not stop here to describe. But the water was still too deep, the mud-flats and new-born islets not yet sufficiently dried for purposes of nidification. The only species that actually commenced to lay in April were the coots, purple herons, peewits, Kentish plovers, stilts, redshanks, and a few more.
April was clearly too early, and the writer lost nearly a week through an attack of ague, brought on by constant splashing about in comparatively cold water while a fierce sun always beat down on one’s head. In May the luck improved. Far away to the eastward flamingoes had always been most numerous, and once or twice we observed (early in May) signs that resembled the first rude beginnings of architecture, and encouraged us to persevere in what had begun to appear an almost hopeless quest.
May 9(1883).—The effects of dawn over the vast desolations of the marisma were specially lovely this morning. Before sunrise the distant peaks of the Serranía de Ronda (seventy miles away) lay flooded in a blood-red light, and appearing quite twice their usual height. Half an hour later the mountains sank back in a golden glow, and long before noon had utterly vanished in quivering heat-haze and the atmospheric fantasies of infinite space. Amidst chaotic confusion of mirage effects we rode out across the wilderness: at first over dry mud-flats sparsely carpeted with dwarf scrub of marsh plants, or in places bare and naked, the sun-scorched surface cracked into rhomboids and parallelograms, and honeycombed with yawning cattle-tracks made long agowhen the mud was moist and plastic; then through shallow marsh and stagnant waters gradually deepening. Here from a patch of rush hard by sprang three hinds with their fawns and splashed away through the shallows, their russet pelts gleaming in the early sunlight. Gradually the water deepened; “mucha agua, mucho fango!” groaned our companion, Felipe; but this morning we meant to reach the very heart of the marisma, and before ten o’clock were cooking our breakfast on a far-away islet whereon never British foot had trod before, and which was literally strewn with avocets’ eggs, while nests of stilts, redshanks, pratincoles, and many more lay scattered around.
STILTS DISTURBED AT THEIR NESTING-PLACESTILTS DISTURBED AT THEIR NESTING-PLACE
During this day we discovered two nests of the slender-billed gull (Larus gelastes), not previously known to breed in Spain; also, we then believed, those of the Mediterranean black-headed gull (L. melanocephalus), though the latter were afterwards ascribed by oological experts (perhaps correctly) to the gull-billed tern (Sterna anglica), a species whose eggs we also found by the dozen.
The immense aggregations of flamingoes which, in wet seasons, throng the middle marismas can scarce be described. Our bird-islets lay so remote from the low-lying shores that no land whatever was in sight; but the desolate horizon that surrounded them was adorned by an almost unbroken line of pink and whitethat separated sea and sky over the greater part of the circle. On examining the different herds narrowly through binoculars, an obvious dissimilarity was discovered in the appearance of certain groups. One or two in particular seemed so much denser than the others; the narrow white line looked three times as thick, and in the centre gave the idea that the birds were literally piled upon each other. Felipe suggested that these flamingoes must be at theirpajeréra, or breeding-place, and after a long wet ride we found that this was the case. The water was very deep, the bottom clinging mud; at intervals the laboured plunging of the mule was exchanged for an easier, gliding motion—he was swimming. The change was a welcome relief to man and beast; but the labours undergone during these aquatic rides eventuated in the loss of one fine mule, a powerful beast worth £60.
FLAMINGOES AND THEIR NESTSFLAMINGOES AND THEIR NESTS
On approach, the cause of the peculiar appearance of the flamingo city from a distance became clearly discernible. Hundreds of birds were sitting down on a low mud-island, hundreds more were standing erect thereon, while others stood in the water alongside. Thus the different elevations of their bodies formed what had appeared a triple or quadruple line.
On reaching the spot, we found a perfect mass of nests. The low, flat mud-plateau was crowded with them as thickly as its space permitted. The nests had little or no height above the dead-level mud—some were raised an inch or two, a few might reach four or five inches in height, but the majority were merely circular bulwarks of mud barely raised above the generallevel, and bearing the impression of the bird’s legs distinctly marked upon the periphery. The general aspect of the plateau might be likened to a large table covered with plates. In the centre was a deep hole full of muddy water, which, from the gouged appearance of its sides, had probably supplied the birds with building material.
Scattered round the main colony were many single nests, rising out of the water and evidently built up from the bottom. Here and there two or three of these were joined together—“semi-detached,” so to speak. These isolated nests stood some eight inches above water-level, and as the depth exceeded a foot, their total height would be two feet or thereabouts, and their width across the hollowed top, some fifteen inches. None of the nests as yet contained eggs, and though we returned to thepajeréraon the latest day we were in its neighbourhood (May 11), they still remained empty. On both occasions many hundreds of flamingoes were sitting on the nests, and on the 11th we enjoyed excellent views at close quarters. Linked arm-in-arm with Felipe, and crouching low on the water to look as little human as possible, we had approached within seventy yards before the sentries first showed signs of alarm; and at that distance, with binoculars, observed the sitting flamingoes as distinctly as one need wish. The long red legs doubled under their bodies, the knees projecting slightly beyond the tail, and the graceful necks neatly curled away among their back featherslike a sitting swan, some heads resting on the breasts—all these points were unmistakable. Indeed, as regards the disposition of the legs in an incubating flamingo, no other attitude was possible since, in the great majority of cases, the nests were barely raised above the level of the mud-plateau. To sitastrideon aflatsurface is out of the question.
Inexplicable it seems that the flamingo, a bird that spends its life half knee-deep in water, should so long delay the period of incubation. For long ere eggs could be hatched, and young reared, the full summer heats of June and July would already have set in, water would have utterly disappeared, and the flamingoes be left stranded in a scorching desert of sun-baked mud.
Being unable ourselves to return to the marisma, we sent Felipe back on May 26, when he obtained eggs—long, white, and chalky, some specimens extremely rugged. Two is the number laid in each nest. In 1872 we had obtained six eggs taken on May 24, which may therefore, probably, be taken as the average date of laying. There remains, nevertheless, the bare possibility that eggs had been laid before our visit on May 9, but swept up meanwhile by egg-raiders.
The flamingo city “in being” above described was the first seen by ornithologists, and the observations we were enabled to make settled at last the position and mode of incubation of the flamingo.[49]
Science is impersonal, the impulsion of a naturalist springs from devotion to his subject, and from no extrinsic motive—such as personal kudos. Nevertheless, we make this categoric claim for ourselves simply because the credit,quantum valeat, has since been (not claimed straight away, but rather) insinuated on behalf of others who didn’t earn it—analogous with the case of Dr. Cook and the North Pole.
Where do these thousands of Spanish flamingoes breed, and how do they maintain their numbers, when Spain, three years out of five, istoo dryfor nesting purposes? The only obvious answer is, Africa. And, though incapable yet of direct proof, that answer is clearly correct. For flamingoes are essentially denizens of the tropic zone. The few that ever overlap into southern Europe are but a fraction of their swarming millions farther south. During our own expeditions into British East Africa, we found flamingoes in vast abundance on all the equatorial lakes we visited—Baringo, Nakuru, Elmenteita, Naivasha, and, especially, Lake Hannington, where, during past ages, they have so polluted the foreshores as to preclude human occupation. These were the same flamingoes, a few of which “slop over” into Europe; we shot two specimens with the rifle in Nakuru to prove that.[50]
Flamingoes are not migratory in an ordinary sense—birds born on the equator seldom are. Their movements have no seasonal character, but depend on the rainfall and the varying condition of the lagoons at different points within their range. Here, in Spain, we see them coming and going, to and fro, at all seasons according to the state of the marisma—and a striking colour-study they present when pink battalions contrast with dark-green pine beneath and set off by deepest azure above.
In 1907 flamingoes attempted to establish a nesting-colony at a spot called Las Albacias in the marisma of Hinojos. A mass of nests was already half built, then suddenly abandoned. “If the shadow of a cloud passes over them, they forsake,” say the herdsmen of the wilderness.
Flamingoes on their Nests.Flamingoes on their Nests.
Quantities of drift grass and weed are always found floating where a herd has been feeding, which at first led us to suppose that their food consisted of water-plants (as with geese), butthat is not the case. The floating grasses are only incidentally uprooted by the birds while delving in the mud. The Spanish marshmen say flamingoes “live on mud,” and truly an examination of their crops appears to confirm this. But the mud is only taken in because of the masses of minute creatures (animalculae) which it contains, and which form the food of the flamingo. What precisely these living atoms are would require both a microscopical examination and a knowledge of zoophites to determine. The tongue of a flamingo is a thick, fleshy organ filling the whole cavity of the mandibles, and furnished with a series of flexible bony spikes, or hooks, nearly half an inch long and curving inwards. Flamingoes’ tongues are said to have formed, an epicurean dish in Roman days. However that may be, we found them, on trial, quite uneatable—tough as india-rubber; even our dogs refused the “delicacy.” This bird’s flesh is dark-red and rank, quite uneatable.
In the New World the mystery of the nesting habits of the flamingo (Phoenicopterus ruber) was solved just three years later, and in a precisely similar sense.
HEAD OF FLAMINGO Showing the spikes on tongue and lamellae on mandibles. [The beak had to be forced open.HEAD OF FLAMINGOShowing the spikes on tongue and lamellae on mandibles.[The beak had to be forced open.]
We will close this chapter with a reference to a recent and most complete demonstration of our subject—that of our namesake, Mr. Frank M. Chapman, of the American Museum, New York, in hisCamps and Cruises of an Ornithologist. Therein is set forth, in Chapter IV., the last word on this topic. In America, as in Spain, the final solution of the problem was only attained after years of patient effort and many disappointments. With the thoroughness of thought and honesty of purpose that marks our transatlantic progeny while treating of natural phenomena, this book sets forth the life-history and domestic economy of the flamingo, from egg to maturity, illustrated by a series of photographs that are absolutely unique.[51]We conclude by quoting our bird-friend’s opening sentence: “There are larger birds than the flamingo, and birds with more brilliant plumage,but no other large bird is so brightly coloured, and no other brightly coloured bird is so large. In brief, size and beauty of plume united reach their maximum development in this remarkable bird, while the open nature of its haunts and its gregarious habit seem specially designed to display its marked characteristics of form and colour to the most striking advantage. When to these superficial attractions is added the fact that little or nothing has hitherto been known of its nesting habits, one may realise the intense longing of a naturalist, not only to behold a flamingo city—itself the most remarkable sight in the bird-world—but to lift the veil through which the flamingo’s home-life has been but dimly seen.”
ITwas during these aquatic rides in search of the nesting-places of the flamingo that we first fell in with wild camels.
Vague yarns, more or less circumstantial, that such animals wandered over the farther marismas, we remember as early as 1872. The thing, however, had appeared too incredible for consideration—at any rate, we gave it none. But in that spring of 1883 we one day found ourselves face to face with two unmistakable camels. They stood gazing intently about half a mile away—a huge, shaggy, hump-backed beast, accompanied by a second not half its size. The pair wheeled and made off ere we had approached within 400 yards, and something “game-like” in their style prompted our first and last attempt at pursuit. The camels simply ran away from us, splashing through slippery mud and water, two feet deep, at double our horses’ speed, and raising in their flight a tearing trail of foam as of twin torpedo-boats.
Since then we have fallen in with camels on very many occasions, singly, in twos and threes, or in herds of a dozen to twenty and upwards, old and young together. It is, in fact, only necessary to ride far enough into the marisma to make sure of seeing some of these extraordinary monsters startling the desolate horizon, and silhouetted in incongruous juxtaposition with ranks of rosy flamingoes and flotillas of swimming waterfowl.
The whole story of these wild camels and their origin has been narrated inWild Spain. Briefly summarised, the animals were introduced to Spain in 1829 by the Marquis de Villafranca (House of Medina-Sidonia) with the object of employing them in transport and agriculture, as they are so commonly used on the opposite shores of Africa. But local difficulties ensued—chiefly arising from the intense fear and repugnance of horses towards camels, which resulted in numerous accidents—and eventuallythe bactrians were set free in the marisma, wherein they have since lived at large and bred under wholly wild conditions for well-nigh a century.
We admit that a statement of the existence of wild camels in these watery wildernesses of Spain—flooded during great part of the year—is difficult to accept. The camel is inseparably associated with the most arid deserts of earth, with sun-scorched Sahara, Arabia Petraea, and waterless tropical regions. Its physical economy is expressly adapted for such habitats—the huge padded feet and seven-chambered stomach that will sustain it for days without drinking. Yet the reader was asked to believe that this specialised desert-dweller had calmly accepted a condition of life diametrically reversed, and not only lives, but breeds and flourishes amidst knee-deep swamp.
At the period of which we write the camel was not known to exist on earth in a wild state, and physical disabilities were alleged which would have precluded such a possibility. During historic times it had never been described save only as a beast of burden, the slave of man—and a savage, intractable slave at that. A little later, however, the Russian explorer, Préjevalsky, met with wild camels roaming over the Kumtagh deserts of Turkestan, and in Tibet Sven Hedin has since shown the two-humped camel to be one of the normal wild beasts of the Central Asian table-lands.
Wild camels in Europe represented a considerable draft upon the credulity of readers; and a chorus of ridicule was poured upon the statement. Men who had “lived in Spain for years”—a foreign consul at Seville, engineers employed in reclaiming marismas (somewhere else)—all rushed into print to attest the absurdity of the idea. Limited experience was mistaken for complete knowledge! Similar treatment was accorded to our observation of pelicans in Denmark. Ornithologists of Copenhagen insinuated we did not know pelicans from seagulls; yet the Danish pelicans are as well known to the Jutlander fisher-folk as are the Spanish camels to the herdsmen and fowlers of the marisma. Knowledge is no monopoly of high places.
Wild Camels.Wild Camels.
The Spanish camels spend their lives exclusively in the open marisma, pasturing on thevetas, or higher-lying areas, and passing from islet to islet, though the intervening water be three feet deep. We have watched them grazing on subaquaticherbage in the midst of what appeared miles of open water; and, in fact, during wet winters there is no dry land to be seen. Yet they never approach the adjacent dunes of Doñana, though these would appear so tempting. By night, however, the camels sometimes pass so near to our shooting-lodge that their scent, when borne down-wind, has created panic among the horses, though the stables are situate within an enclosed courtyard.
Antonio Trujillo, formerly head-keeper of the Coto Doñana, some years ago chanced on a camel that was “bogged” in a quicksand (nuclé). These places are dangerous, and it was not till six days later that he was enabled, by bringing planks and ropes, to drag the poor beast to firm land. All round the spot where the camel had laid he found every root, and even the very earth, eaten away. Yet the animal when set free appeared none the worse, for it strolled away quite unconcerned, and shortly commenced to browse while still close by.
Young camels are born early in the year, about February, though whether that is the exclusive period we have no means of knowing.
A curious incident occurred one winter day when we had ridden out into the marisma expressly in search of camels. It was an intensely cold and dry season, almost unprecedented for the severity of the frost. When several leagues from anywhere, a keen eye detected in the far distance a roving fox. All dismounted, and letting the horses graze, hid behind them and awaited his approach. Then with only a singlepodenco, orhunting-dog,Frascueloby name, after a straight-away run of five or six miles over the sun-dried plain, we fairly rode bold Reynard down and killed him.
Six months after the publication ofWild Spainwe received the following letter from H.R.H. the late Phillippe, Comte de Paris, the owner of the adjoining Coto del Rey:—
June 17, 1893.Having read with the greatest pleasure and interest your description of the wild camels, it struck me that you may appreciate a photograph taken from nature of one of these independent inhabitants of the shores of Guadalquivir. I found that one could only look at them from a distance, and therefore the enclosed photographs may be of interest. They were taken three months ago by my nephew, Prince Henry of Orleans. My keepers had in the early morning separated this single animal from the herd, but it escaped from them about Marilopez at noon, and when we met with him near the Laguna de la Madre, and about a mile from the Coto del Rey, we had only to give him a last gallop to catch him. These camels spend great part of the year on ground of which I am either the owner or the tenant, and I do my best to protect them from the terrible poachers coming from Trebujena. In order to be able to do this more effectually, I bought yesterday from the heirs of the landowners who turned them out some seventy years ago, I think, all the claims they can have on these animals.
June 17, 1893.
Having read with the greatest pleasure and interest your description of the wild camels, it struck me that you may appreciate a photograph taken from nature of one of these independent inhabitants of the shores of Guadalquivir. I found that one could only look at them from a distance, and therefore the enclosed photographs may be of interest. They were taken three months ago by my nephew, Prince Henry of Orleans. My keepers had in the early morning separated this single animal from the herd, but it escaped from them about Marilopez at noon, and when we met with him near the Laguna de la Madre, and about a mile from the Coto del Rey, we had only to give him a last gallop to catch him. These camels spend great part of the year on ground of which I am either the owner or the tenant, and I do my best to protect them from the terrible poachers coming from Trebujena. In order to be able to do this more effectually, I bought yesterday from the heirs of the landowners who turned them out some seventy years ago, I think, all the claims they can have on these animals.
We have recently been favoured by the present Comte de Paris with the latest details respecting the camels. In a note dated August 1910, H.R.H. writes:—
For some time their numbers have been decreasing, and we no longer see great troops of them as we used to do eighteen years ago. The cause of their diminution is certainly the bitter war waged against them by poachers. The parts of the marisma frequented by the wild camels lie between the Coto del Rey on the north, the Coto Doñana on the west, and the Guadalquivir on the south-east. The long deep channels of La Madre, however, interfere with their reaching the Coto Doñana, and they chiefly graze in the marismas of Hinojos and Almonte. The plan pursued by the poachers is as follows:—Coming down from some of the little villages, they cross the river in small flat-bottomed boats in which they can creep along the shores to points where they have seen either the spoor or the animals themselves during the day. Then drawing near to the camels, under cover of the waning light, they are able to kill one or sometimes two, which they skin and disembowel on the spot. The flesh is cut up into pieces, sewn up in the skin, and, on returning to the riverbank, secreted beneath the flat bottom-boards of the boat, thereby evadingdetection by Civil Guards and douaniers. The men then sail down the river and sell the meat at San Lucar as venison.When in the marisma in 1892 I met one day a troop of forty animals—some old males, their huge bodies covered with thick hair like blankets; there were also females followed by their young—fantastic of appearance, owing to the disproportionate length of their legs, but galloping and frisking around their mothers as they had done since birth.Next day my companion and I took lassoes; we encountered a huge old male, singly, which trotted and galloped round our horses, terrifying the poor beasts to such an extent that we could not come near the camel. At length after a fifty-minutes’ chase, in crossing a part where the mud was soft and the surface much broken up by cattle coming to drink, we overtook him. Thanks to my horse having less fear than the other, I was presently able to throw a lasso around the camel, my companion hauling taut the rope to hold the prisoner fast. The great brute proved very active, defending himself with his immense flat feet, which he used as clubs, and, moreover, he bit, and the bite of a camel is venomous. Ultimately I succeeded in getting a second rope around him and dragging him to the ground, where he lay like the domestic camel. The photographs illustrate this episode.Old males frequently have the hair very ragged and scant, especially on hind-quarters, and on their knees are great callosities. The truly wild camels of the marisma are fast disappearing. A friend has furnished me with the approximate number now remaining absolutely wild, viz. fifteen or sixteen near La Macha fronting the Palace of Tisana, besides five enclosed in the Cerrado de Matas Gordas, near the Palacio del Rey, and belonging to Madame La Condesa de Paris.It was owing to the rapid decrease in their numbers, and in order to save them from extinction, that the Condesa had these enclosures, known as Matas Gordas, prepared. They contain excellent pasturage, besides some extent of brushwood; yet the enclosed camels do not flourish, nor have they ever bred. Big as the enclosures are, yet the area may be too restricted for them; or it may be the disturbance due to the presence of cattle and herdsmen (since the cerrados are let for grazing) that explains this failure; or possibly the camels resent being enclosed at all. At any rate the spectacle of troops of camels rushing wildly forward in all directions is passing away all too quickly, and soon nothing but the legend will remain.Truly it is melancholy that the wild camels should be allowed utterly to disappear, representing, as they do, so extraordinary a fact in zoological science.
For some time their numbers have been decreasing, and we no longer see great troops of them as we used to do eighteen years ago. The cause of their diminution is certainly the bitter war waged against them by poachers. The parts of the marisma frequented by the wild camels lie between the Coto del Rey on the north, the Coto Doñana on the west, and the Guadalquivir on the south-east. The long deep channels of La Madre, however, interfere with their reaching the Coto Doñana, and they chiefly graze in the marismas of Hinojos and Almonte. The plan pursued by the poachers is as follows:—Coming down from some of the little villages, they cross the river in small flat-bottomed boats in which they can creep along the shores to points where they have seen either the spoor or the animals themselves during the day. Then drawing near to the camels, under cover of the waning light, they are able to kill one or sometimes two, which they skin and disembowel on the spot. The flesh is cut up into pieces, sewn up in the skin, and, on returning to the riverbank, secreted beneath the flat bottom-boards of the boat, thereby evadingdetection by Civil Guards and douaniers. The men then sail down the river and sell the meat at San Lucar as venison.
When in the marisma in 1892 I met one day a troop of forty animals—some old males, their huge bodies covered with thick hair like blankets; there were also females followed by their young—fantastic of appearance, owing to the disproportionate length of their legs, but galloping and frisking around their mothers as they had done since birth.
Next day my companion and I took lassoes; we encountered a huge old male, singly, which trotted and galloped round our horses, terrifying the poor beasts to such an extent that we could not come near the camel. At length after a fifty-minutes’ chase, in crossing a part where the mud was soft and the surface much broken up by cattle coming to drink, we overtook him. Thanks to my horse having less fear than the other, I was presently able to throw a lasso around the camel, my companion hauling taut the rope to hold the prisoner fast. The great brute proved very active, defending himself with his immense flat feet, which he used as clubs, and, moreover, he bit, and the bite of a camel is venomous. Ultimately I succeeded in getting a second rope around him and dragging him to the ground, where he lay like the domestic camel. The photographs illustrate this episode.
Old males frequently have the hair very ragged and scant, especially on hind-quarters, and on their knees are great callosities. The truly wild camels of the marisma are fast disappearing. A friend has furnished me with the approximate number now remaining absolutely wild, viz. fifteen or sixteen near La Macha fronting the Palace of Tisana, besides five enclosed in the Cerrado de Matas Gordas, near the Palacio del Rey, and belonging to Madame La Condesa de Paris.
It was owing to the rapid decrease in their numbers, and in order to save them from extinction, that the Condesa had these enclosures, known as Matas Gordas, prepared. They contain excellent pasturage, besides some extent of brushwood; yet the enclosed camels do not flourish, nor have they ever bred. Big as the enclosures are, yet the area may be too restricted for them; or it may be the disturbance due to the presence of cattle and herdsmen (since the cerrados are let for grazing) that explains this failure; or possibly the camels resent being enclosed at all. At any rate the spectacle of troops of camels rushing wildly forward in all directions is passing away all too quickly, and soon nothing but the legend will remain.
Truly it is melancholy that the wild camels should be allowed utterly to disappear, representing, as they do, so extraordinary a fact in zoological science.
Our friend Mr. William Garvey tells us that in the summer of 1907, while returning from Villamanrique, crossing the dry marisma in his automobile, he saw three camels. He drovetowards them, and when at 500 or 600 yards, they turned and fled, he put on full speed (sixty miles an hour), and within some ten minutes had all three camels completely beaten, tongues hanging out, unable to go another yard!
This will be the first occasion when wild camels have been run down, in an open desert, by a motor-car!
February 9, 1903.—This morning, shortly after daybreak, a big single bull camel passed my “hide” in the Lucio de las Nuevas within easy ball-shot. He was splashing through water about two feet deep overgrown with samphire bushes, and “roared” at intervals—a curious sort of ventriloquial “gurgle,” followed by a bellow which I could still distinguish when he had passed quite two miles away. With the binoculars I distinguished at vast distance five other camels in the direction the single bull was taking.
February 9, 1903.—This morning, shortly after daybreak, a big single bull camel passed my “hide” in the Lucio de las Nuevas within easy ball-shot. He was splashing through water about two feet deep overgrown with samphire bushes, and “roared” at intervals—a curious sort of ventriloquial “gurgle,” followed by a bellow which I could still distinguish when he had passed quite two miles away. With the binoculars I distinguished at vast distance five other camels in the direction the single bull was taking.
Here we insert a note received from the co-author’s brother, J. Crawhall Chapman:—
Oh, yes! I remember that camel-day—it’s never likely to die out of my memory, for never did I endure a worse experience nor a harder in all my sporting life. It promised to be a great duck-shoot on the famous “Laguna Grande”; but for me, at any rate, it began, continued, and ended in misery! At 3.30A.M., on opening my eyes, I saw Bertie already silently astir—probably seeking quinine or other febrifuge, for we were “housed” (save the mark) in Clarita’schoza, a lethal mud-and reed-thatched hut many a mile out in the marisma. Nothing whatever lies within sight—nothing bar desolation of mud and stagnant waters, reeds, samphire, and BIRDS, relieved at intervals by the occasional and far-away view of a steamer’s funnel, navigating the Guadalquivír Sevillewards.Well, we arose, looked at what was intended for breakfast, and groped for our steeds. I was to ride an old polo-pony namedBufalo, an evil-tempered veteran with a long-spoilt “mouth” that ever resented the Spanish curb. Cold and empty we rode for two long hours in the dark, always following the leader since otherwise inevitable loss must ensue—splosh, splosh, through deep mud and deeper water, never stopping, always stumbling, slipping, slithering onwards. I feared it would never end; and, in fact, it never did—that is, the bog. For when I was finally told “Abajo” (which I understood to mean “get down”), and to squat in a miry place so much like the rest of the swamp that it didn’t seem to matter much where it really was—well, it was then only 6A.M.and horribly cold and desolate.Wild Camels of the Marisma. PHOTOS BY H.R.H. PHILIPPE, DUKE OF ORLEANS. CAPTURING A WILD CAMEL. THE CAPTIVE.Capturing A Wild Camel.The Captive.Wild Camels of the Marisma.PHOTOS BY H.R.H. PHILIPPE, DUKE OF ORLEANS.An hour later the sun began to rise. I had not fired a shot—norhad any of us. As a duck-shoot it was a dismal failure. By eight o’clock the sun was quite hot, so I tried to find a stomach—for breakfast. Failed again; but drank some sherry, and then lay down till noon in decomposing and malodorous reed-mush and mud. Never a duck came near, so shifted my stye to an old dry ridge—apparently an antediluvian division between two equally noisome swamps. Here I tried to sleep, but that was no good, for a headache had set in—possibly the effects of sun and sherry combined! I felt the sweeping wind of a marsh-harrier who had found me too suddenly and was half a mile away ere I could get up to shoot.At four o’clock I signalled forBufaloto take me back to our hut, distant eight miles, the only guide being that morning’s outward tracks.It was on this ride that there occurred the incident of the day—thrilling indeed had it not been for the headache that left me cheaper than cheap. Having traversed some three miles of mud and water, suddenly I saw ahead the “camels a-coming!”—eleven of them in line, the last a calf, and what a splash they made! Knowing how horses hate the smell and sight of camels, andBufalobeing a rearing and uncomfortable beast at best, I felt perhaps unduly nervous. The camels were marching directly across my line of route and up-wind thereof. If only I could pass that intersecting point well before them,Bufalo, I hoped, might not catch the unwholesome scent. I tried all I could, but the mud was too sticky. The camel-corps came on, splashing, snorting, and striding at high speed.Bufalosaw them quick enough, I can tell you—he stopped dead, gazed and snorted in terror, spun round pirouetting half-a-dozen times, reared, and would certainly have bolted but that he stood well over his fetlocks in mud and nigh up to the girths in water. I could not induce him to face them anyhow; but remember, please, that I was handicapped by the mass of accoutrements and luggage slung around both me and my mount, to wit:—Several empty bottles and bags, remains of lunch, some 500 cartridges, three dozen ducks, a Paradox gun, waders, and brogues!Meantime the camels passed my front within 100 yards and then “rounded up.” Having loaded both barrels with ball, I felt safer, and pushedBufaloforwards—to fifty yards. Then the thought occurred to me, “Do camels charge?”Bufaloreared, twisted, and splashed about in sheer horror, and then—thank goodness—the corps, with a parting roar, or rather a chorus of vicious gurgling grunts, in clear resentment at mypresence on the face of the water at all, turned and bolted out west at full speed. I was left alone, and much relieved.The adult camels were of the most disreputable, not to say dissolute appearance, great ugly tangled mats of loose hair hanging from their shoulders, ribs, and flanks, their small ears laid viciously aback, and with utterly disagreeable countenances. I half wish now that I had shot that leading bull—he would never have been missed! I don’t suppose that any one has been nearer to these strange beasts than I was that day; certainly I trust never to see them so near again—never in this world!
Oh, yes! I remember that camel-day—it’s never likely to die out of my memory, for never did I endure a worse experience nor a harder in all my sporting life. It promised to be a great duck-shoot on the famous “Laguna Grande”; but for me, at any rate, it began, continued, and ended in misery! At 3.30A.M., on opening my eyes, I saw Bertie already silently astir—probably seeking quinine or other febrifuge, for we were “housed” (save the mark) in Clarita’schoza, a lethal mud-and reed-thatched hut many a mile out in the marisma. Nothing whatever lies within sight—nothing bar desolation of mud and stagnant waters, reeds, samphire, and BIRDS, relieved at intervals by the occasional and far-away view of a steamer’s funnel, navigating the Guadalquivír Sevillewards.
Well, we arose, looked at what was intended for breakfast, and groped for our steeds. I was to ride an old polo-pony namedBufalo, an evil-tempered veteran with a long-spoilt “mouth” that ever resented the Spanish curb. Cold and empty we rode for two long hours in the dark, always following the leader since otherwise inevitable loss must ensue—splosh, splosh, through deep mud and deeper water, never stopping, always stumbling, slipping, slithering onwards. I feared it would never end; and, in fact, it never did—that is, the bog. For when I was finally told “Abajo” (which I understood to mean “get down”), and to squat in a miry place so much like the rest of the swamp that it didn’t seem to matter much where it really was—well, it was then only 6A.M.and horribly cold and desolate.
Wild Camels of the Marisma. PHOTOS BY H.R.H. PHILIPPE, DUKE OF ORLEANS. CAPTURING A WILD CAMEL. THE CAPTIVE.Capturing A Wild Camel.
The Captive.Wild Camels of the Marisma.PHOTOS BY H.R.H. PHILIPPE, DUKE OF ORLEANS.
An hour later the sun began to rise. I had not fired a shot—norhad any of us. As a duck-shoot it was a dismal failure. By eight o’clock the sun was quite hot, so I tried to find a stomach—for breakfast. Failed again; but drank some sherry, and then lay down till noon in decomposing and malodorous reed-mush and mud. Never a duck came near, so shifted my stye to an old dry ridge—apparently an antediluvian division between two equally noisome swamps. Here I tried to sleep, but that was no good, for a headache had set in—possibly the effects of sun and sherry combined! I felt the sweeping wind of a marsh-harrier who had found me too suddenly and was half a mile away ere I could get up to shoot.
At four o’clock I signalled forBufaloto take me back to our hut, distant eight miles, the only guide being that morning’s outward tracks.
It was on this ride that there occurred the incident of the day—thrilling indeed had it not been for the headache that left me cheaper than cheap. Having traversed some three miles of mud and water, suddenly I saw ahead the “camels a-coming!”—eleven of them in line, the last a calf, and what a splash they made! Knowing how horses hate the smell and sight of camels, andBufalobeing a rearing and uncomfortable beast at best, I felt perhaps unduly nervous. The camels were marching directly across my line of route and up-wind thereof. If only I could pass that intersecting point well before them,Bufalo, I hoped, might not catch the unwholesome scent. I tried all I could, but the mud was too sticky. The camel-corps came on, splashing, snorting, and striding at high speed.Bufalosaw them quick enough, I can tell you—he stopped dead, gazed and snorted in terror, spun round pirouetting half-a-dozen times, reared, and would certainly have bolted but that he stood well over his fetlocks in mud and nigh up to the girths in water. I could not induce him to face them anyhow; but remember, please, that I was handicapped by the mass of accoutrements and luggage slung around both me and my mount, to wit:—Several empty bottles and bags, remains of lunch, some 500 cartridges, three dozen ducks, a Paradox gun, waders, and brogues!
Meantime the camels passed my front within 100 yards and then “rounded up.” Having loaded both barrels with ball, I felt safer, and pushedBufaloforwards—to fifty yards. Then the thought occurred to me, “Do camels charge?”Bufaloreared, twisted, and splashed about in sheer horror, and then—thank goodness—the corps, with a parting roar, or rather a chorus of vicious gurgling grunts, in clear resentment at mypresence on the face of the water at all, turned and bolted out west at full speed. I was left alone, and much relieved.
The adult camels were of the most disreputable, not to say dissolute appearance, great ugly tangled mats of loose hair hanging from their shoulders, ribs, and flanks, their small ears laid viciously aback, and with utterly disagreeable countenances. I half wish now that I had shot that leading bull—he would never have been missed! I don’t suppose that any one has been nearer to these strange beasts than I was that day; certainly I trust never to see them so near again—never in this world!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
While preparing these pages for press we are grieved to hear of the death of our friend Mr. William Garvey, whose adventure with the camels is narrated above (p. 279). Mr. Garvey, who was in his eightieth year, was aGentil Hombre de la Camarato King Alfonso and had on various occasions, with his nephew, Mr. Patrick Garvey, entertained the monarch on his splendid domain.
ATthe château of Nuévos, hidden away amidst Cantabrian hills, hard by where the “Picos de Europa” form the most prominent feature of that 100-mile range, we were welcomed by the Conde de la Vega de Sella, whom we had met the previous year in Norway, and his friend Bernaldo de Quirós. Our host was a bachelor and the menage curiously mixed; there was a wild Mexican-Indian servant, but more alarming still, a tame wolf prowled free about the house—none too tame either, as testified by a half-healed wound on his master’s arm. The bedrooms in the corridor which we occupied had no doors, merely curtains hanging across the doorway, and all night long that wolf pattered up and down the passage outside. My own feelings will not be described—there was an ominous mien in that wolf’s eye and in those immense jaws.
Beyond patches of maize and other minute crops grown in infinitesimal fields divided by stone walls and surrounded by woods of chestnut and hazel, the whole landscape surrounding the château was composed of towering grey mountains. It was from this point that with our kind host we had projected an expedition to form acquaintance with chamois, and to see the system of amonteríaas practised in the Biscayan mountains. The month was September.
The first stage—on wheels—brought us to the village of Arénas de Cabrales, where a gipsy fair orRomeríawas raging, affording striking display of local customs and fashion. The girls, handsome though somewhat stalwart, wearing on their heads bright-coloured kerchiefs (instead of, as in Andalucia, flowers in the hair), danced strange steps to the music of a drum and a sort of bagpipe called theGaita. Cider here replaced wine as a beverage, and wooden sabots are worn instead of the hempen sandals of the south.
Maize is the chief crop, and women work hard, doing, except the ploughing, most of the field labour.
The hill-country around belonged chiefly to our host, who was received with a sort of feudal respect. Ancient rights included (this we were told, but did not see enforced) the privilege of kissing all pretty daughters of the estate. The region is primitive enough even for the survival of so agreeable a custom. Such detail in a serious work must appear frivolous by comparison, yet it reflects thegenius loci.
This was the point at which we had to take the hill.
Our outfit was packed on ponies, and being joined by three of the chamois-hunters, we set out, following the course of the river Cares. This gorge of the Cares, along with its sister-valley the Desfiladero de la Deva, form two of the most magnificent canyons in all the Asturias, and perhaps have few equals in the wider world outside. The bridle-track led along rock-shelves on the hanging mountain-side, presently falling again till we rode close by the torrent of the Cares, here swirling in foaming rapids with alternations of deep pools of such crystalline water that trout could be discerned swimming twenty feet below the surface. The water varied between a diamond-white and an emerald-green, according as the stream flowed over the white limestone or rocks of darker shade.
Approaching Bulnes, the track became absolutely appalling, zigzagging to right and left up an almost perpendicular mountain. Riding was here out of the question. It was giddy work enough on foot, rounding corners where the outer rim overhung a sheer drop of hundreds of feet to the torrent below, and with no protection to save horse or man in the event of a slip or false step. Not without mental tremors we surmounted it and reached Bulnes, a dozen stone, windowless houses clustered on an escarpment. This is facetiously called the “Upper Town,” and wepresumed that another group of hovels hidden somewhere beneath our sight formed Lower Bulnes.
We entered the best looking of these stone-age abodes, and discovered that it formed the presbytery of the Cura of Bulnes, a strange mixture of alpine hut with Gothic hermitage. Slabs of rough stone projecting from unhewn walls served as tables, while rudely carved oak-chests did double duty as seats or wardrobes in turn. The Cura’s bed occupied one corner, and from the walls hung gun and rifle, together with accoutrements of the chase—satchels, belts, and pouches, all made of chamois-skin. At first sight indeed the whole presbytery reeked rather of hunting than of holiness—it is scarce too strong to say it smelt of game. An inner apartment, windowless and lit by the feeble flicker of amariposa, that recalled the reed-lights of mediaeval history (and to which, by the way, access was only gained past other cells which appeared to be the abode of cows and of the cook respectively), was assigned to us.
The Padre himself was away on the cliffs above cutting hay, for he combines agriculture with the care of souls, owns many cows, and makes the celebrated cheese known as “Cabrales.” Presently he joined us in his stone chamber, and at once showed himself to be, by his frank and genuine manner, what later experience proved him, a true sportsman and a most unselfish companion. His Reverence at once set about the details of organising our hunt, sent his nephew to round-up the mountain lads, some being sent off at once to spend that night, how, we know not, in crags of the Peña Vieja, while others were instructed to join us there in the morning.
While we dined on smoked chamois and rough red wine he busied himself arranging weapons, ammunition, and mocassins for a few days’ work on the crags. Our arrival having been prearranged, we were soon on our upward way, by sinous tracks which lead to the summits of the Picos de Europa, some altitudes of which are as follows: Peña Vieja, 10,046 feet; Picos de Hierro, 9610 feet; Pico de San Benigno, 9329 feet. All heavy baggage was left below; there only remained the tent, rugs, guns, and cartridges, and these were got up, heaven knows how, to about half the required height on the backs of two donkeys. For provisions we relied on the milk and bread of the cheese-makers who live up there, much in the style of the Norwegian peasantsat theirsaeters, or summer sheilings on the fjeld. Hard by thecabaña, or cabin, of these honest folks, our tent was pitched—altitude, 5800 feet.
With the first of the daylight, after a drink of milk, we started upwards, our host, the Cura, Bertie, and ourselves.
With us were ten goat-herds who had to flank the drive; the others would already be occupying allotted positions, we knew not where. Three hours’ climbing—the usual struggle, only worse—took us to the first line of “passes,” far above the last signs of vegetation and amidst what little snow remains here in summer. This “drive” had been reckoned a certainty, and four animals were reported seen in the mist, but no chamois came in to the guns, and yet another two-hours’ climb had to be faced ere the second set of posts was reached.
This bit, however, definitely stopped for the moment my career as a chamois-hunter, such was the slippery, perpendicular, and utterly dangerous nature of the rocks. A fortnight before I had climbed the Plaza de Almanzór in the Sierra de Grédos, but these pinnacles of the Picos proved beyond my powers. The admission, beyond any words of mine, bespeaks the character of these Cantabrian peaks. Here on a dizzy ledge at 8000 feet I remained behind, while the rest of the party, filing up a rock-stair, were lost to sight within fifteen yards.
Before me stretched away peak beyond peak in emulating altitudes the whole vast cordillera of Cantabria—a glory of mountain-forms.
...the things which tower, which shine,Whose smile makes glad, whose frown is terrible.
...the things which tower, which shine,Whose smile makes glad, whose frown is terrible.
In majestic array, pinnacles and crannied summits, flecked and streaked with glistening snows, enthral and subdue. The giants Peña Vieja, Urriales, Garnizo, lift their heads above the rest, piercing the blue ether—fancied spires in some celestial shrine.
This smiling noontide an all-pervading spirit of peace reigns; the sublimity of solitude generates reverence and awe, the voice of the Creator seems audible amidst encompassing silence.
Far away below, as in another world, lie outspread champaigns; sunlit stubbles, newly stripped of autumnal crops, form chequers of contrasted colour that set off with golden background the darkAsturian woods, while fresh green pastures blend in harmony with the riant foliage of the vine.
Presently, following my companion, a goat-herd, who had been left with me, by slow degrees we reached the spot appointed to await our party’s return.
CHAMOIS FROM LIFE ON LA LLOROSA, PEÑA VIEJA.CHAMOIS FROM LIFE ON LA LLOROSA, PEÑA VIEJA.
El Corroble, Picos De Europa, Asturias. The Home of the Chamois.El Corroble, Picos De Europa, Asturias.The Home of the Chamois.
Hours went by and six o’clock came before, on the skyline above, they appeared, five of themonteroseach bearing a chamois on his shoulder. Then, in the 2000-feet ravine towards the north, a third drive was attempted for my special benefit; but the day was far spent, and during the crucial half-hour snow-clouds skurrying along the crests shut out all chance of seeing game. The beaters reported enclosing quite forty chamois, some of which broke downwards through the flankers, the rest passing a trifle wide of the guns. This beat is termed “El Arbol.”
Long and weary was the descent, and fiendish places we had to pass ere the welcome camp-fires loomed up through gathering darkness. Those who wish to shoot chamois should commence the undertaking before they have passed the half-century.
The successful drive that was thus missed by No. 1 is hereunder described by No. 2. We give the narrative in detail, inasmuch as this day’s operation was typical of the system of chamois-shooting as practised in the Asturian mountains.
After leaving No. 1 as mentioned, and while proceeding to our next position, a number of chamois were viewed scattered in three groups on the hanging screes of a second gorge, a mile beyond that which we had intended to beat. After consultation held, it was decided to alter the plan and to send the guns completely round the outer periphery of encircling heights so as to command the passes immediately above the game. This involved two hours’ climbing and incidentally three detours, scrambling each time down the precipitous moraine to avoid showing in sight of the chamois.
Upon reaching the reverse point, the Conde and I were assigned the most likely posts; and these being also the highest, a final heart-breaking climb up a thousand feet of loose rocks succeeded. Chamois, like ibex, when disturbed instinctively make for the highest ground, hence our occupation of the topmost passes. Cheered on by the Conde, himself as hard as steel, the effort was accomplished, and I sank down, breathless, parched, and exhausted, behind a big rock that was indicated as my position.The lower passes had meanwhile been occupied by the Padre and by sundry shepherds armed with primitive-looking guns.
On recovering some degree of breath and strength, I surveyed my surroundings. We were both stationed on the topmost arête, in a nick that broke for 80 or 100 yards the rim of a knife-edged ridge that separated two stupendous gorges. On my right, while facing the beat, and not 30 yards away, the nick was terminated by a rock-mass perpendicular and four-square as a cathedral tower, that uprose some 100 feet sheer. On the left also rose cliffs though not quite so abrupt. The position was such that any game attempting to pass the nick must appear within 50 or 60 yards—so, in our simplicity, we thought.
A CHAMOIS DRIVE—PICOS DE EUROPA Diagram illustrative of text. Our positions on arête marked (1) and (2); “Cathedral” on right. Valley beyond full of driving mist (passing our power to depict).A CHAMOIS DRIVE—PICOS DE EUROPADiagram illustrative of text. Our positions on arête marked (1) and (2);“Cathedral” on right. Valley beyond full of driving mist (passing our power to depict).
Behind us dipped away the long moraine of loose rocks bywhich we had ascended; while in front, by stepping but a few paces across the narrow neck, we could look down into the depths of the gorge whence the quarry was to approach, as we feebly attempt to show in diagram annexed.
The panorama from these altitudes was superb beyond words. We were here far above the stratum of mist which enshrouded our camp and the sierra for some distance above it. We looked down upon a billowy sea of white clouds pierced here and there by the summits and ridges of outstanding crags like islands on a surf-swept coast.
Of bird-life there was no sign beyond choughs and a soaring eagle that our guides called aguila pintada (Aquila bonellii, immature). There are wild-boar in the forests far below, with occasional wolves and yet more occasional bear.
Hark! the distant cries of beaters break the solemn silence and announce that operations have begun. Almost instantly thereafter the rattle of loose stones dislodged by the feet of moving chamois came up from beneath our eyrie. So near was the sound that expectation waxed tense and eyes scanned each possible exit.
Then from the heights on the left, and already above us, sprang into view a band of five chamois lightly skipping from ledge to ledge with an agility that cannot be conveyed in words. The Conde and I fired simultaneously. The beast I had selected pulled himself convulsively together, sprang in air, and then fell backwards down the abyss whence he had just emerged. So abrupt was the skyline that no second barrel was possible; but while we yet gazed into space the rattle of falling stones rightbehindattracted attention in that direction, and a chamois was bounding across that loose moraine (or “canal” as it is here called) by which we had ascended. He flew those jumbled rocks as though they were a ballroom floor, offering at best but a snapshot, and the bullet found the beast already protected by a rock. Hardly, however, had cartridges been replaced than three moreRebecosfollowed along precisely the same track, and this time each gun secured one buck.
Note that all these last four animals had come in from ourright, that is, they had escaladed the “cathedral”; though by what earthly means they could surmount sheer rock-walls devoid of visible crack or crevice passes human comprehension. Formyself, having regarded the cathedral as impassable, I had kept no watch on that side.
For the next half-hour all was quiet. Then we heard again the rattle of hoofs somewhere down under, and on the sound ceasing, had gently raised ourselves to peer over into the eerie abyss in front, when a chamois suddenly poked his head over the rocks within fifteen yards, only to vanish like a flash.
From this advanced position, in the far distance we could now distinguish the beaters, looking like flies as they descended the opposite circle of crests, and could hear their cries and the reverberation of the rocks they dislodged to start the game. An extra burst of clamour denoted game afoot, and a few seconds later another chamois (having once more mocked the cathedral barrier) darted across the moraine behind and fell within a score of yards of the previous pair, though all three were finally recovered several hundred feet below, having rolled down these precipitous screes. The first chamois I had shot had fallen even farther—at one point over a sheer drop that could not be less than 100 feet. His body was smashed into pulp, every bone broken, but curiously the horns had escaped intact. We were much struck by the clear emerald-green light in the eyes of newly killed chamois.
The beaters being now close at hand, we scrambled down to rejoin the Padre who had occupied thepuestonext below ours. We found that worthy man very happy as he had succeeded in putting two slugs into a chamois-buck, to which thecoup de grâcehad been given by Don Serafin lower down.
A curious incident occurred as we made our way to the next beat where “No. 1”was to rejoin us. Suddenly the rugged stones that surrounded us were vivified by a herd of bouncing chamois—they had presumably been disturbed elsewhere and several came our way. A buck fell to a long shot of our host; while another suddenly sprang into view right under the Padre’s feet. This, he averred, he would certainly have killed had he been loaded with slugs (postas) instead of ball.
The six chamois brought into camp to-night included four bucks and two does. We had not ourselves found it possible to distinguish the sexes in life, though long practice enabled the Conde to do so when within moderate distance. All six were ofa foxy-red colour, and the horns measured from seven to eight inches over the bend.
Chamois are certainly very much easier to obtain than ibex. Not only are they tenfold more abundant, but, owing to their diurnal habits, they are easily seen while feeding in broad daylight (often in large herds) on the open hillsides. They never enter caves or crevices of the rocks as ibex habitually do.
Chamois might undoubtedly be obtained by stalking, though that art is not practised in Spain. The excessively rugged nature of the ground is rather against it; for one’s view being often so restricted, there is danger while stalking chamois, which have been espied from a distance, of “jumping” others previously unseen though much nearer. Driving, as above described, is the method usually adopted. Few beaters comparatively are required; the positions of flankers and stops are often clearly indicated by the natural configuration of the crests.
Dogs are occasionally employed. The game, in their terror of canine pursuers, will push forward into precipices whence there is no exit; and then, rather than attempt to turn, will spring down to certain death.
The best foot-gear is the Spanishalpargata, or hemp-soled sandal. They will withstand two or three days’ wear on the roughest of rocks and only cost some eighteenpence a pair. Nailed boots are useless and dangerous.
Similar days followed, some more successful, others less, but all laborious in the last degree. Both limbs and lungs had well-nigh given out ere the time arrived to strike camp and abandon our eyrie.
During the descent to Bulnes we noticed a goat which, in feeding along the crags, had reached a spot whence it could neither retreat nor escape, and by bleating cries distinctly displayed its fear. Now that goat was only worth one dollar, yet its owner spent a solid hour, risking his own life, in crawling along ledges and shelves of a fearful rock-wall (pared) to save the wretched animal. We looked on speechless, fascinated with horror—at times pulses well-nigh stood still; even our hunters recognised that this was a rash performance. Yet that goat was reached, a lasso attached to its neck, and it was drawn upwards to safety.
This incident occurred on the Naranjo de Bulnes, a dolomitemountain which stands out like a perpendicular and four-square tower, in the central group ormassifof the Picos—that known as Urriales. The actual height of the Naranjo is given as 9424 feet, which is exceeded by those of either of the other two groups to east and west respectively. But its abrupt configuration gives the Naranjo by far the most imposing, indeed appalling appearance, far surpassing all its rivals, while its lateral walls of sheer rock, some of which reach 1500 to 2000 feet vertically, long lent this peak the reputation of being absolutely unscalable. That feat has, however (after countless failures), been accomplished, in the first instance by Don Pedro Pidal, Marquis de Villaviciosa de Asturias, who was accompanied in the ascent by Gregorio Perez, a famous chamois-hunter of Caïn.
At Arénas de Cabrales we bade farewell to our kind host, despatched Caraballo with the baggage to Santandér, thence to find his way to Jerez as best he might, by sea; and ourselves drove off through the hills forty miles to the railway at Cabezón de la Sal, there to entrain for Bilbao, Paris, and London.
On August 19, 1881, at a royalmonteríaabove Aliva and Andara H.M. Don Alfonso XII. recovered the same evening (lying dead around his post) no less than twenty-one chamois. Thirteen more, which had fallen into the abyss beneath, were brought in next morning, and nine others later, making a total of forty-three chamois actually recovered, besides those that had lodged in such inaccessible spots that their bodies could not be reached.
At another royal shoot held 1st and 2nd September 1905 H.M. King Alfonso XIII. killed five chamois, the total bag on that occasion being twenty-three.
The Picos de Europa declared a Royal Preserve
In 1905 the freeholders of those villages in the three provinces of Santandér, León, and Asturias, which lie encircling the Picos de Europa, offered to H.M. King Alfonso XIII. the exclusive rights of hunting the chamois throughout the whole “Central Group.” His Majesty was pleased to accept the offer, and in the following year commissioned the Marquis of Villaviciosa de Asturias (the intrepid conqueror of the Naranjo) to appoint guards to preserve the game.
Five such guards were appointed in 1906, their chief being the aforementioned Gregorio Perez, representing the region of Caïn, the other four representing those of Bulnes, Sotres, Espiñama, and Valdeón.
The chamois in the four regions named can be counted in thousands.
Types of Spanish Bird-Life HOOPOE (Upupa epops) The crest normally folds flat, backwards (as shown at p. 69), but at intervals flashes upright like a halo.Types of Spanish Bird-Life HOOPOE (Upupa epops) The crest normally folds flat, backwards (as shown at p. 69), but at intervals flashes upright like a halo.
(1) THE TROUT IN SPAIN
THEAsturian Highlands—a maze of mist-wreathed mountains forested with birch and pine, the home of brown bear and capercaillie, and on whose towering peaks roam herds of chamois by hundreds—form a region distinct from the rest of Spain.
Rushing rivers and mountain-torrents coursing down each rent in those rock-ramparts attracted our earliest angling ambitions. Some of those efforts—with rod and gun—are recorded inWild Spain, and we purpose attempting no more—whether with pen or fly-rod. For the Spanish trout is given no sort of sporting chance, and lovely streams—a very epitome of trouting-water—that might make the world a pleasanter planet (and enrich their owners too) are abandoned to the assassin with dynamite and quicklime, or to villainous nets, cruives, and other engines of wholesale destruction with which we have no concern.
Never since the date ofWild Spainhave we cast line on Spanish waters, nor ever again will we attempt it. Spain which, from her French frontier in the Pyrenees right across to that of Portugal on the west, might rival any European country in this respect stands well-nigh at the foot of the list. Not in the most harassed streams of Norway, nor in her hardest-“ottered” lakes, have the trout so damnable a fate dealt out to them as in northern Spain, and for twenty years we have abandoned it as an angling potentiality—or, to put it mildly, there are countries infinitely more attractive to the wandering fisherman.
The case of the Spanish trout as it stands to-day is summed up in the following letter, dated April 1910, from our friend Capt. F. J. Mitchell:—