Pochards and a few Tufted ducks are almost the only members of the diver-tribe that we have met with in the marisma during wet winters, though, by February, some of the Ferruginous ducks (Fuligula nyroca) are beginning to return, and probably a few White-fronted ducks (Erismatura leucocephala) will also, by then, be found on the deeper waters. Of the Red-crested duck (F. rufina), which is fairly common near Valencia, we have never seen a single example in the Andalucian marismas; nor were any Gadwalls included in the bag this season, though in other winters, not entirely dissimilar, we have secured several.
The distribution of the Anatidæ is, in fact, somewhat puzzling. Some species are very regular; others, without apparent cause, are just the reverse. The movements of Pintail, as just stated, are clearly regulated by the state of water in the marshes. Those of Gadwall and Garganey, on the other hand, bear no visible relation to these or other external conditions, but neither of the two last-named are ever abundant. The Garganey, a bird of infinite speed of wing, the first to come in autumn, the last to depart in spring, spends the mid-winter months in Africa; though one morning at dawn (January 31st) four drakes fell to a double shot, and during February we secured many more; but this does not occur every year. The Marbled duck (Q. marmorata), a first cousin of the teal, seldom arrives in time to take part in the wildfowl-shooting; though we have notes of an occasional straggler being recognized amidst the slain as early as February.
Sheld-ducks of both kinds are found at all seasons in the Guadalquivir district, where they remain to breed in spring; the common species in rabbit-or disused badger-holes among the sandhills, the large Ruddy Sheld-duck in low cliffs or barrancos. A few of either species usually fall to our guns while flight-shooting during the winter months.
Next to ducks, the most important wildfowl of the marisma are the Grey Geese, which resort thither from November till February. Their habit is to spend the night on the open water and to fly up in successive parties about daybreak to the grassy shores, where, if unmolested, they spend the day feeding, preening, and washing in the shallow water. In these situations, we frequently fell in with them while fowling with the cabrestos. "Anseres son!"—"geese they are"—was Vasquez's verdict, as he slowly shut up the glass after a long and particular survey of the distant foreshore. The words were spoken sadly, as though soliloquizing, for the Grey Lag is altogether too wary and suspicious a bird to fall readily into the snare of the fowler. Barely indeed is it possible, by this stratagem,[69] to approach within the short range which alone is fatal—forty yards is the maximum for these ironclads, and twenty-five much more desirable. Except when in very small numbers—twos and threes together—it is barely worth while to attempt a stalk; our friends only undertook the operation under protest, saying it was a compromiso—a thing calculated to compromise their aucipial repute. Anseres son! there, sure enough, on the utmost verge of the plain, sits a straggling line with detached groups of big, blue-grey forms, some slowly moving about, others squatted on the ground or resting in various attitudes of repose. Such big packs are inaccessible; only once, that winter, did we seem to be really on the road to success. The bulk of the geese—some seventy in number—appeared to be peacefully sleeping away the mid-day hours, some sitting on the grass, others standing on one leg with heads snugly tucked away under their back feathers. We had already reached the critical point, and the ponies well know now the importance of caution—step by step, with a halt at every fourth or fifth to crop a mouthful of grass, they slowly advance. We had proceeded thus to within a shot and a half of the still silent geese, when from an intervening belt of rush there sprang a couple of the half-wild, black pigs of the wilderness. Away they scampered, jostling and fighting with each other in their fright, and squealing as only pigs can squeal. In an instant the geese were on the alert—every neck at full stretch, every eye seeking keenly the cause of the unwonted uproar. From the sentinel gander came the low, clear alarm-note—Honk! honk! The rest were still silent, but they knew full well the significance of those low warning notes. A few seconds more and, despite our utmost care, the whole pack rose on wing, amid deep Spanish execrations on the mothers and female relatives of those malditos cochinos.
The geese have particular spots along the shore to which they show a predilection—usually the point of some flat promontory or tongue of land, to which they daily resort. By placing a few decoys before dawn, and lying in wait at these querencias, several shots may be obtained at the "morning flight." The difficulties of wild-goose shooting are, however, proverbial, and these big Grey Lags are, moreover, the hardest and most invulnerable fowl. Yet if the bag is sometimes light, those mornings spent in the marisma will never be regretted, nor the sights and sounds heard during the lonely hours of vigil be forgotten. Within one hundred yards of the damp hole where we lie hidden are three or four separate packs of Grey Lags swimming on the silvery water, while fresh parties constantly keep arriving to join the assemblage, sailing with lowered pinions and cautious croaks towards the fatal decoy.
The geese of the Spanish marismas are principally the Grey Lag (Anser ferus) and the Bean-goose (Anser segetum) in much less numbers. The latter usually flight singly or in small trips; their note is also different—like that of a large gull. The Lesser White-fronted Goose (Anser erythropus of Linnæus), appears also to occur in the marisma. Lord Lilford mentions having observed a single example in company with Grey Lags, and has skins of this small species obtained at Seville. As regards the other European species, there is no evidence of their winter range extending to Southern Spain, though it is possible that stragglers of both the Pink-footed and White-fronted Geese may occasionally do so. Of wild Swans we have only once met with a bunch of four, as elsewhere related, and one of our pateros told us he had killed two or three during an exceptionally severe winter several years ago. He regarded them as extremely unusual, and in fact did not know what they were till he took them to San Lucar for sale.