FLANKING the marisma and separating it from the dry lands of DoÑana, there rises rampart-like a swelling range of dunes—the biggest thing in the sand line we have seen on earth. For miles extend these mountains of sand, unbroken by vestige of vegetation or any object to relieve one’s eyesight, dazzled—aye, blinded—by that brilliantly scintillating surface, set off in vivid contrast by the azure vault above. Should a stranger, on first seeing those buttressed dunes, be seriously informed that their naked summits constitute a favourite resort of wild-geese, he might reasonably suspect his informant’s sanity, or at least wonder whether his own credulity were not being tested. Yet such is the fact—one of the surprises that befall in Spain, the pays de l’imprÉvu. The paradox is explained by the stated necessity in wild-geese to furnish their gizzards with store of grit or sand for digestive purposes. This supply, so long as the marisma is dry, they are able to obtain from those raised ridges of calcareous debris (already described, and known locally as vetas) which here and there outcrop from the alluvial wastes. But when winter rains and floods have submerged the whole region and thus deprived the fowl of that local resource, they are forced to rely upon the sand-dunes aforesaid and to substitute pure sea-sand for their former specific of calcareous grit or disintegrated shells. To the sand-dunes, therefore, in the cold bright mornings between October and February, the skeins of greylag geese may be seen directing their course in successive files, in order, as the Spanish put it, “to sand themselves” (arenÁrse). A notable fact (and one favourable to the fowler) is that, though these dunes extend for miles, yet the geese select With the first sign of dawn the earlier arrivals will be heard approaching; but the bulk of the geese come in about sun-up and onwards till 9 A.M. Geese arriving high (having come presumably from a distance) will sometimes, after a preliminary wheel, suddenly collapse in mid-air, diving and shooting earthwards in a score of curving lines—as teal do, or tumbler-pigeons; but with these heavy fowl the manoeuvre is executed with surprising grace and command of wing. Their numbers vary on different mornings without any apparent cause; but it may be laid down as a general rule that more will come on clear bright mornings than when the dawn is overcast, while rain proves (as in all wildfowling) an upsetting factor. Sometimes, even on favourable mornings, no geese appear. Occasionally, in small numbers, they may visit the sand in afternoon. To exploit the advantage afforded by this habit of the geese, it is necessary that the fowler be concealed before dawn in a hole dug for the purpose in the sand—care being taken to utilise any natural concealment, such as a depression flanked by a steep sand-revetment; so that, at least from one quarter, the geese may perceive no danger till right over the gun. The hole (or holes, but one is best) must be dug at least twelve hours before, or the newly turned sand will show up dark. Were it not for the risk of wind filling them up with driving sand (a matter of an hour or two), the holes might well be prepared two or even three days beforehand. The excavated material is piled up around the periphery and flattened down smooth, thus forming a raised rampart which screens the suspicious darkness of the interior. Needless to say, the fewer human footprints around the spot, the better. Such is the inability exhibited by many sportsmen (not being wildfowlers) to conceal their persons—or even to recognise the virtue of concealment—that, for such, the holes are apt to be made too big, and the geese swerve off at sight of those gaping pits. This indeed is a form of sport that none save wildfowlers need essay—others merely succeed in thwarting the whole enterprise. However carefully prepared and skilfully occupied, these holes It is essential to bear in mind the fact that the geese have come with the intention (unless prematurely alarmed) of alighting. Hence, as they often circle two or three times around before finally deciding, a judicious refusal of all uncertain chances has a concrete reward when, a few seconds later, the pack sweep overhead at half gunshot. The first element of success lies in concealment; the second in ever allowing the geese to come in to such close quarters as renders the shot a certainty. Greylag geese are, of course, huge birds, very strong, and impenetrable as ironclads. But to tyros (and many others) in the early light they are apt to appear much larger, and consequently much nearer, than is actually the case. All this has, the night before, been impressed upon our friend, the tyro, in solemn, even tragic tones. The urgency of the thing seems to have been graven deep on the very tissues of his brain, and he promises with earnest humility to bear the lesson in mind when the vital moment shall arrive; to deny himself all but point-blank shots well within thirty yards, whereby he will not only himself assist to swell the score, but enable his companion to do likewise. Words fail to describe that companion’s frame of mind at the dawn, when, despite over-night exhortations and assurances, he sees to his horror pack after pack of incoming geese (some of which he has himself let pass within forty yards) “blazed at” at mad and reckless ranges by that wretched scarecrow who never ruffles a feather and afterwards tries to excuse his failure by enlarging on “the extreme height the geese came in at!” These goose-hills, it may here appropriately be stated, lie A word now as to the “decoys.” These, in design, are American—first observed and brought across from Chicago—cut out of block-tin, formed and painted to resemble a grey-goose. Geese being gregarious by nature are peculiarly susceptible to the attractions of decoys. Hence these tin geese have a marvellous effect when silhouetted on the skyline of a sand-ridge, being conspicuous for enormous distances and the only “living” objects on miles of desert. They are most deadly before sunrise, after which they are apt to glint too much despite a coating of dried mud. As daylight broadens, incoming geese are apt to be disconcerted at losing sight of their supposed friends, which event must occur as each decoy falls end-on—one can interpret the hurried queries and expletives of the puzzled phalanx at that mysterious disappearance! For these reasons it is desirable as soon as possible to supplement the decoys with, and finally to substitute for them, the real article, that is, the newly shot geese, set up in life-like attitudes by aid of twigs brought for the purpose. Fallen birds must, in any case, be set up as fast as gathered; if left spread-eagled as they fell, inevitably the next comers are scared. The more numerous and life-like the decoys, the more certain are the geese to come in with confidence and security. Naturally great care must be used in getting into and out of one’s hide to avoid breaking down its loose and crumbling substance. But it is of first importance quickly to gather and prop up the dead. A winged goose walking away should be stopped with a charge of No. 6 in the head. As illustrating the life-like effect produced by our tin decoys, on one occasion a friend, after firing both barrels, was watching Strange indeed are the sensations evoked by that silent watch before day-dawn, in expectation of what truly appears incredible! Buried virtually in a desert of sand the fowler has nothing in sight beyond the dark dunes and a star-spangled sky overhead. For his hide is cunningly hidden in a slight depression with a hanging buttress on two sides. WILD-GEESE ALIGHTING ON THE SAND-HILLS Several hundred yards away, concealed under stunted pines, stand our horses, while the men cower round a small fire, for we have had a biting cold two-hours’ ride, and freezing to boot. Half-a-mile away on the other side—the east—begins the marisma, though hidden from view by the waves of rolling sand that intervene. Now a faint glint of light gleams on the tin decoys and foretells the It is 8 A.M., and the tin decoys are now entirely replaced by geese of flesh and feather, with the fatal result that each successive pack now enters with fullest confidence, so that by doubles and trebles the score mounts fast during the fleeting minutes that yet remain. Before nine o’clock the flight has ceased. It only remains to gather those birds which have fallen afar—and which have been marked by the keepers from their points of vantage—and to follow by their spoor on the sand such winged geese as may have departed on foot. Some of these will be overtaken, those that have concealed themselves in the nearest rush-beds; but should any have passed on and gained the stronghold of the marisma, they are lost. Such is an ideal morning’s work, one of those rare rewards of patience and skill that occur from time to time. Far differently may the event fall out. There are mornings when scarce once will that weird forewarning note, “Gagga, gagga,” rejoice the expectant ear with harsh music, when no chain-like skeins dot and serry the eastern skies, or ever a greylag appears Roughly speaking, from a dozen to a score of geese may be reckoned as a fair average morning’s work for one gun. The following figures, selected from our game-books, indicate the degree of success that rewards exceptional skill. In each instance they apply to but one fowler, though two guns (12-bores) may have been employed.
Possibly the larger totals are unsurpassed in the world’s records. By way of contrast we append what may perchance be discovered in the note-book of the veracious tyro:— Went out three mornings at three, emptied three cartridge-bags at ridiculous ranges, fluked three geese, and scared three thousand. Instructions in shooting Wild-Geese Where the main object is close quarters, ordinary 12-bore guns suffice. But since geese are very strong and heavily clad, large shot is a necessity, say No. 1. Thirty to thirty-five yards should be regarded as the outside range, with forty yards as an extreme limit. The latter, however, Should two guns be employed, the case of the second is, of course, different. It may be loaded with larger shot—say AAA—which is effective up to fifty yards. The speed of geese (like that of bustards) is extremely deceptive—as much so as their apparent nearness when really far out of shot. When in full flight geese travel as fast as ducks or as driven grouse, though their relatively slow wing-beats give a totally false impression thereof. It is a safe rule for beginners to allow double that forward swing of the gun that may appear needful to inexpert eyes. Even when geese are slowing down to alight, the impetus of their flight is still far greater than it appears. It is a mistake to suppose (as many urge) that geese cannot be killed coming in, that the shot then “glances off their steely plumage,” or that you “must let them pass over and shoot from behind,” etc., etc. The cause of all these frequent misapprehensions is—the old, old story—too far back! Hold another foot ahead—or a yard, according to circumstance—and this dictum will be handsomely proved. Never deliberately try to kill two at one shot; it results in killing neither. But by shooting well ahead of one goose that is seen to be aligned with another beyond, both may thus be secured. |