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.
CHAPTER XXXVII
A SPANISH SYSTEM OF FOWLING
THE “CABRESTO” OR STALKING-HORSE
SPAIN is a land of flocks and herds, of breeders and graziers. At the head of the scale stands the fighting-bull, monarch of the richest vegas; at the opposite extreme come the shaggy little ponies and brood-mares that eke out a feral and precarious subsistence in the wildest regions. Throughout the marismas hardy beasts with wild-bred progeny on which no human hand has ever laid, abound, grazing knee-deep in watery wildernesses where tasteless reed or wiry spear-grass afford a bare subsistence.
There they live, splashing in the shadows, heads half-immersed as they pull up subaquatic herbage; on the back of one rides perched a snow-white egret, on another a couple of magpies, preying on ticks or warbles, while all around swim wildfowl that scarce deign to move aside.