Hard by a winter-wandering hoopoe struts in an open glade, prodding the earth with curved bill and crest laid back like a “claw-hammer”; from a tall cistus-spray the southern grey shrike mumbles his harsh soliloquy, and chattering magpies everywhere surmount the evergreen bush. Where the warm sunshine induces untimely ripening of the tamarisk, some brightly coloured birds flicker around pecking at the buds. They appear to be chaffinches, but a glance through the glass identifies them as bramblings—arctic migrants that we have shot here in midwinter with full black heads—in “breeding-plumage” as some call it, though it is merely the result of the wearing-away of the original grey fringe to each feather, thus exposing the glossy violet-black bases.
Birds, as a broad rule, possess no “breeding-plumage.” They only renew their dress once a year, in the autumn, and breed the following spring in the worn and ragged plumes. It’s not poetic, but the fact.[11] This is not the place to enumerate all the characteristic forms of bird-life, and only one other shall be mentioned, chiefly because the incident occurred the day we drafted this chapter. One hears behind the rustle of strong wings, and there passes overhead in dipping, undulated flight a green woodpecker of the Spanish species, Gecinus sharpei. With a regular thud he alights on the rough bark of a cork-oak in front, clings in rigid aplomb while surveying the spot for any sign of danger, then projects upwards a snake-like neck and with vertical beak gives forth a series of maniacal shrieks that resound through the silences.[12] By all means watch and study every phase of wild-life around you—the habit will leave green memories when the keener zest for bigger game shall have dimmed—but never be caught napping, or let a silent stag pass by while your whole attention is concentrated on a tarantula!
By way of illustrating the practice of “driving,” we annex three or four typical instances:—
Las Angosturas, February 5, 1907.—The writer’s post was in a green glade surrounded by pine-forest. A heavy rush behind was succeeded (as anticipated) by the appearance of a big troop of hinds followed by two small staggies. A considerable distance behind these came a single good stag, and already the sights had covered his shoulder, when from the corner of an eye a second, with far finer head, flashed into the picture, going hard, and I decided to change beasts. It was, however, too late. Half automatically, while eyes wandered, fingers had closed on trigger. At the shot the better stag bounded off with great uneven strides through the timber, offering but an uncertain mark. Both animals, however, were recovered. The first, an eleven-pointer, lay dead at the exact spot; the second was brought to bay within 300 yards, a fine royal.
Los Novarbos, January 9, 1903.—My post was among a grove of pine-saplings in a lovely open plain surrounded by forest. Two good stags trotted past, full broadside, at 80 yards. The first dropped in a heap, as though pole-axed, the second receiving a ball that clearly indicated a kill. While reloading, noticed with surprise that No. 1 had regained his legs and was off at speed. A third bullet struck behind; but it was not till two hours later, after blood-spooring for half a league, that we recovered our game. The first shot had struck a horn (at junction of trez tine) cutting it clean in two. This had momentarily stunned the animal, but the effect had passed off within ten seconds. Both were ten-pointers, with strong black horns, ivory-tipped. During that afternoon I got & big boar at Maë-Corra; and B., who had set out at 4 A.M., twenty-three geese at the Cardo-Inchal.
Far North, January 31, 1907.—First beat by the “Eagles’ Nest” (in the biggest cork-oak we ever saw, the imperial bird soaring off as we rode up). Brushwood everywhere tall and dense, giving no view. On placing me the keeper remarked, “By this little glade (canuto) deer must break, but amidst such jungle will need un tiro de merito!” Four stags broke, two were missed, but one secured—seven points on one horn, the other broken. So dense is the bush here that a lynx ran almost over the writer’s post, yet had vanished from sight ere gun could be brought to shoulder. In the next beat, La Querencia del Macho (again all dense bush), B. shot two really grand companion stags, but again one of these had a broken horn. This animal while at bay so injured the spine of one of our dogs that it had to be killed two days later.[13] A third beat added one more big stag, and the day’s result—four stags with only two “heads”—is so curious that we give the detail:—
| Length. | Breadth. | Points. | |
| W. E. B.[14] | 23½ ” | (One horn) | 7 × 2 |
| W. J. B. (No. 1) | 28” | Do. | 6 × 2 |
| W. J. B. (No. 2) | 25”× 25” | 25” | 7 × 6 = 13 |
| A. C. | 26”× 24” | 20½ ” | 6 × 5 = 11 |