Ducks and geese are not the only denizens of the wilderness. The genus of wading birds is a natural complement, and their beauty and variety almost always lend an additional charm to shooting-days by marsh, mere, and coast; but this winter they disappointed us. The simple fact was that the whole of their wonted haunts were submerged, and they had sought their desiderata elsewhere. Whether they had passed on southward through the tropics or eastward towards Egyptian lagoons, or returned whence they had come—at any rate, in Spain they were not. During the days spent behind our cabrestos we saw hardly any of these birds.
Another loss caused by the adverse season was the absence of snipe; they had arrived as usual, in October and November, but during the rains of the following month had disappeared—and not without reason, since nearly the whole of their favourite haunts now lay submerged. Among the birds which remained may be mentioned curlews, and peewits in large numbers, a few golden plovers, redshanks, dunlins and Kentish plovers; on several occasions, chattering packs of stilts were met with, and on January 30th a large flock of avocets were feeding on the slobby mud-flats—these the pateros assured us had just arrived, which probably was the case. Once, by night, we recognized the well-known note of the green-shank, and at intervals a green sandpiper would spring from some muddy pool. Beyond the fringe of rushes stood sedate herons; here and there a party of storks, and further out still, the flamingoes, whose rosy ranks impart a thoroughly southern character to the scene.
There was, therefore, no lack of bird-life, though many of the more interesting species were gone. Amidst the feathered population, apparently unnoticing and unnoticed by all, the Marsh-Harriers ceaselessly wheel and drift. After watching them for hours we have never seen them take a bird on the wing, or pursue anything at all, unless wounded. Now and then a harrier would pounce fiercely upon some object—we could not see what—among the rushes, and remain poised on outstretched wings for some minutes, evidently struggling with some victim—perhaps a frog or wounded bird—and then quietly resume his hunting. The Hen-Harrier in dry seasons we frequently observe while snipe-shooting—now, the few seen were all on the dry plains, and not on the marisma.
One day, towards the end of January, while endeavouring to circumvent the greylags, we fell in with a pack of some forty Sand-Grouse—the Pintailed species—Pterocles alchata. They were intensely wild, and at the end of two hours' stalking, the end of the operation seemed as far off as ever. One point in our favour was that the Gangas had a strong haunt at that flat, sandy spit—perhaps it was the only ground suitable to their habits that remained uncovered by water. At any rate, they refused to leave it entirely, and though at times the pack would soar away up into the blue heavens till lost to sight, and we could only follow their course by the harsh croaking notes, yet they invariably returned, descending direct to earth with superb abruptnesses, headlong as a shower of falling stars. At length patience and perseverance prevailed, and a couple of raking shots produced just half a score, seven males and three females. Some of the former were already assuming the black throat of spring-time, but otherwise they were all in full winter-dress, the males having few, or none, of the large pale yellow spots that, later on, adorn their backs and scapulars, and both sexes being paler and less vivid in colouring than at the vernal season.
The carriage of these birds when on the ground is very game-like and sprightly; they sit half-upright, like a pigeon, and on our final (successful) approach we observed several of them lying down on their sides nestling in the warm sand. Their flight resembles that of golden plover, but is bolder, and the narrow black bordering to the under-wing is conspicuous when passing near. At times, when high in air, they might be mistaken for teal. We found them excellent eating; their crops contained small seeds and shoots of the samphire and other bog-plants; their flesh is dark brown throughout (that of Syrrhaptes paradoxus is half white, like a blackcock), and was as tender and well-flavoured as that of a grouse. The Spanish name of "ganga," signifying a bargain, goes to corroborate this opinion.
At length our sojourn amidst these desolate scenes came to its close. The pack-mules set out, literally, by the way of the wilderness, while we took a longer route by the shore for a final attempt on the ducks, and had a pretty finale to our sport. A pack of forty mallards were descried, and as the cabrestos drew up to the deadly range, there caught the writer's eye what might have been a bed of stones amongst some rushes, but which were in fact a fine spring of teal huddled together as close as they could sit. Towards these, when the signal to open fire was given, one gun directed his cartridges, while the other remained faithful to the patos reales. The result, seven mallards and eleven teal, was a satisfactory climax to a pleasant campaign under adverse conditions. For if heavy shots were scarce, the scenes and sounds we have feebly endeavoured to describe—the clouds of ducks and geese, the soaring flight of the harriers, or graceful forms of a passing trip of pintails, the stately flamingoes, or the bark of an eagle overhead—all these are essentially exotic—they breathe the spirit of wild Spain, and are full of fascination to a naturalist.
