THE tourist speeding along the Andalucian railways and surveying from his carriage-window the olive-clad and altogether mild-looking slopes of the Sierra MorÉna, will form no adequate, much less a romantic, conception of that great mountain-system of which he sees but the southern fringe. Yet, in fact, the train hurries him past within a few leagues of perhaps the finest big-game country in Spain—of mountain-solitudes and a thousand jungled corries, wherein lurk fierce wolves and giant boars, together with one of the grandest races of red deer yet extant in Europe.

True, the Sierra MorÉna lacks both the altitudes and the stupendous rock-ridges that characterise all other Spanish sierras—from NevÁda and GrÉdos to the Pyrenees. It consists rather of a congeries of jumbled mountain-ranges of no great elevations, but of infinite ramification, and lacking (save at two points only) those bolder features that most appeal to the eye. Were the Spanish ranges all of the contour of MorÉna, the name “Sierra” would not have applied. It is, moreover, a unilateral range—a buttress, banked up on its northern side by the high-lands of La Mancha, resembling in that respect the well-known Drakensberg of the Transvaal.

The Sierra MorÉna, typical yet apart, divides for upwards of 300 miles the sunny lowlands of Andalucia from the bare, bleak uplands of La Mancha on the north. And in vertical depth (if we may include the contiguous Montes de Toledo) the range extends but little short of 150 miles.

As a homogeneous mountain-system, MorÉna thus covers a space equal to the whole of England south of the Thames, with a central northern projection which would embrace all the Midland Counties as far as Nottingham!

[In any survey of the Sierra MorÉna, it is appropriate to include the adjoining Montes de Toledo. They, as just stated, form a north-trending pyramidal apex based on the main chain and presenting identical characteristics, both physical and faunal, though of lower general elevation. The Montes de Toledo, in short, are an intricate complication of low subrounded hills—rather than mountains—tacked on to the north of MorÉna, all scrub-clad and inhabited by the same wild beasts. Toledan stags exhibit the same magnificent cornual development, and there is evidence of seasonal intermigration as between two adjacent regions only divided by the valley of the Guadiana—a shortage in one area being sometimes found to be compensated by a corresponding increase in the other. Roe-deer are more abundant in the lower range; but the sole clean-cut faunal distinction lies in the presence of wild fallow-deer in the Montes de Toledo—these animals being quite unknown in MorÉna.[23]]

May we digress on a cognate subject? The Sierra NevÁda, though so near (at one point the two ranges are merely separated by a narrow gap yclept Los Llanos de JaÉn), yet presents totally divergent natural phenomena.

There are points in MorÉna—say from the heights above DespeÑaperros—whence the two systems can be surveyed at once. Behind you, on the north, roll away, ridge beyond ridge, the endless rounded skylines of MorÉna—colossal yet never abrupt. In front, to the south—apparently within stone’s-throw—rise the stupendous snow-peaks of NevÁda—jagged pinnacles piercing the heavens to nigh 12,000 feet.

These peaks may appear within stone’s-throw, or say an easy day’s ride, though that is an optical illusion. But narrow as it is, that gap of JaÉn divides two mountain-regions utterly dissimilar in every attribute, whether as to the manner of their birth in remote ages and the landscapes they present to-day.

Faunal distinctions are also conspicuous. In NevÁda there are found neither deer of any kind (whether red, roe, or fallow) nor wild-boar, whereas it forms the selected home of ibex and lammergeyer, both of which are conspicuous by their absence from MorÉna, save for a single segregated colony of wild-goats near Fuen-Caliente.

Although the Sierra MorÉna partakes rather of massive than of abrupt character, yet there occur at a couple of points outcrops of naked rock of real grandeur. Such, for example, is DespeÑaperros, through whose gorges the Andalucian railway threads a semi-subterranean course. The very name DespeÑaperros signifies in that wondrously adaptive Spanish tongue nothing less than that its living rocks threaten to hurl to death and destruction even dogs that venture thereon.

Another interpretation suggests that in olden days, such were the pleasantries of the Moors, it was not dogs, but Christians (since to a Moor the terms were synonymous) that were hurled to their death from the riscos of DespeÑaperros.

These rock-formations are superbly abrupt. Great detached crags, massive and moss-marbled, jut perpendicular from ragged steeps, or vast monoliths protrude, each in rectilineal outline so exact that one wonders if these are truly of nature’s handiwork, and not some fabled fortalice of old-time Goth or Moor. Despite its striking contour, however, its crags and precipices are too scattered and detached (with traversable intervals between) to attract such a rock-lover as the ibex, and no wild-goat has ever occupied the gorges of DespeÑaperros.

A similar rock-region, but more extensive and continuous, is found near Fuen-Caliente—by name the Sierra QuintÁna. This range, though its elevations barely exceed 7000 feet, forms the only spot in the Sierra MorÉna at which the Spanish ibex retains a foothold.

Thereat the writer in 1901 endured one of those evil experiences which from time to time befall those who seek hunting-grounds in the wilder corners of the earth. It was in mid-February that, forced by bitter extremity of weather, we fain sought refuge in the hamlet of Fuen-Caliente clinging at 5700 feet on the steep of the sierra, as crag-martins fix their clay-built nests on some rock-face. Fuen-Caliente dates back to Roman days. Warm springs, as its name implies, here burst from riven rock, and stone baths, built by no modern hand, attest a bygone enterprise. To this day, we are told, the baths of Fuen-Caliente attract summer-visitors; we trust their health benefits thereby. Surely some counter-irritation is needed to balance the perils of a sojourn within that unsavoury eyrie. We write feelingly, even after all these years, and after suffering assorted tribulations in many a rough spot—Fuen-Caliente is bad to beat.

Having tents and full camp-outfit, we had thought to live independent of the village posada. One night, however, as we climbed the rising ground that leads to the higher sierra there burst in our faces an easterly gale (levante), with driving snow-storms that even a mule could not withstand. Nothing remained but to seek shelter in the village below.

Here my bedroom measured twelve feet by four, with a door at each end. The door proper was reached by a vertical ladder; the second might perhaps be differentiated as a window, but could only be distinguished as such by its smaller size—both being made of solid wood. Thus, were the window open, snow swirled through as freely as on the open sierra; if shut, we lived in darkness dimly relieved by the flicker of a mariposa, that is, a cotton-wick reposing in a saucer of olive-oil. Under such conditions, with other nameless horrors, we passed three days and nights while gales blew and snow swirled by incessant.

On the fourth morning the wind fell, and snow had given place to fine rain. These levantes usually last either three or nine days; so, thinking this one had blown itself out, we packed the kit and set out in renewed search of ibex, Caraballo, with accustomed forethought, buying a bunch of live chickens, which hung by their legs from the after-pannier of the mule. On the limited area of QuintÁna, ibex offer the best chance of stalking.

Mules are marvellous mountaineers. The places that animal surmounted to-day passed belief. Two donkeys that belonged to the local hunters, Abad and Brijido, who accompanied us, soon got stuck, and had to be left below.

By three o’clock we, mule and all, had reached the highest ridge of QuintÁna, and encamped within a few hundred feet of its top-most riscos.

To set up a tent among rocks is never easy; even specially made iron tent-pegs find no hold, and guy-ropes have to be made fast, as securely as may be, to any projecting point.

Hardly had the sun gone down, than the easterly gale blew up again with redoubled force. All night it howled through our narrow gorge and around its pinnacled rock-minarets, with the result that at 11 P.M. the ill-secured guys gave way, and down came our tent with a crash. Two hours were spent (in drenching rain) remedying this; and when day broke, an icy neblina (fog) enveloped the sierra, shutting out all view beyond a few yards. The cold was intense, and a little dam we had engineered the night before was frozen thick. The fog held all that day and the next. Nothing could be done, though we persisted in going out each day, as in duty bound, for a few hours’ turn among the crags—how we prayed for one hour’s clear interval that might have given that glorious sight we sought! At dusk the second night snow fell heavily, and later on a thunderstorm added to our joys. Frequent and vivid flashes of lightning lit up the darkness, and caused the surviving chickens (which in common charity we had had tethered inside the tent) to crow so incessantly that sleep was impossible. Presently we noticed a sharp fall in temperature—the men had brought in a cube of ice, the solidified contents of one of our camp-buckets, which they proposed to melt at a little fire kept burning in the tent! But this was too much, even though it meant “no coffee for breakfast.”

The frost and fog continuing, on the third morning the men proposed we should move lower down the hill, to some cortijo they knew of, thereat to await milder weather.

By this time, however, the cold had penetrated deep into throat and chest, which felt raw and inflamed, leaving the writer almost speechless. We therefore decided to abandon the whole venture, and struck camp, still wrapt in that opaque shroud of driving sleet.

Crossing over the highest ridge of the sierra, between crags of which only the bases were visible, we descended on the south side; here we organised a “drive” amid the jungles that clothe the lower slopes. Two lynxes and three pigs were reported as seen by the beaters. Only one of the latter, however, came to the gun, and proved to be a sow, bigger by half than any wild-pig we had then seen in Spain. We regretted having no means of weighing this beast, which we estimated at well over 200 lbs. clean. A remarkable cast antler picked up at this spot carried four points on the main beam, as well as four on top—length 34? inches, by 5¾ inches basal circumference.

The “defences” of the ibex in the Sierra QuintÁna lie among some fairly big crags forming the eastern and southern faces of the range. The shooting at that time was free; hence the goats were never left in peace by the mountaineers, who all carried guns, and used them whenever a chance presented itself. The result was that the few surviving goats had become severely nocturnal in habit, spending the entire day in caves and crevices in the faces of sheer and naked precipices.

Some of their eyries appeared absolutely inaccessible to any creature unendowed with wings. One cave, though it had no visible approach, was situate only some eight or ten feet above a ledge in the perpendicular rock-face. One morning at dawn two ibex having been seen to enter this cave, at once a couple of the wiry goat-herds thought to reach them from the ledge below, one lad actually climbing on to the other’s shoulders as he stood on that narrow shelf. In its rush to escape, however, the leading ibex upset the precarious balance, and the poor lad was precipitated among the tumbled rocks in the abyss below.

Riding homewards through inhospitable brush-clad hills towards the railway (forty miles away), we put up one night at a village named, with unconscious irony, CardeÑa Real. In the small hours broke out another terrific disturbance—shrieks, squeals, barking—all the dogs gone mad. The night was pitch-dark with rain falling in torrents; but next morning we ascertained that a pack of wolves had carried off the landlord’s pigs from their stye, not fifteen yards away—indeed, three mangled porkers lay piled up against the wall of our hovel.

The contingency of pigs being worse off than ourselves had not previously occurred to us. Thus ended, in a cycle of catastrophe, our first wrestle with Capra hispÁnica in MorÉna; but initial failure only served to stimulate further efforts later on. Winter, moreover, is no season for camping in these high sierras; May is more favourable, but the early autumn is best of all.

At this period (1901) the surviving ibex had fallen to a mere handful. Fortunately here, as elsewhere in Spain, there was aroused, within the next five years, the tardy interest of Spanish landowners to save them.

(A) Sierra de GrÉdos—Madrigal de la Vera.
Length 26½ in. Circum. 10? in. Tips, 22? in.

(B) Sierra Nevada.
Length 29¾ in. Circum. 8? in. Tips, 20? in.

(C) Sierra de GrÉdos, Bohoyo. 29? in. (D) Valencia, Sierra Martes. 21¾ in.
HEADS OF SPANISH IBEX.

The owner of the sierras above mentioned (the Marquis del MÉrito) has favoured us with latest details respecting both the ibex and other wild beasts therein.

Thereupon at daybreak the hunters proceed to examine every bush and brake in the marked spot, which invariably consists either of strong brushwood or broken rocks. All around the actual lair for a hundred yards the ground is traced with footprints and scratchings, which usually lead to its discovery; but should it not be found that day, it is completely useless to seek for it on the following, since the moment that a she-wolf perceives that her whelps are being sought, she at once removes them far away. To exterminate wolves, strychnine is extensively used, giving positive results.[24] At the same time it is always better to supplement its use by searching out with practical men the broods of wolf-cubs at their proper season.

The photo facing p. 158 shows a magnificent old dog-wolf, scaling 93 lbs. dead-weight, which we obtained in the Sierra MorÉna, near CÓrdoba, in March 1909.

Lynx, or Gato Cerval

This animal breeds in April and May, and the number of young is generally two. If captured, the majority of the young lynxes die at the period when they change from a milk diet to solid food, and one may imagine that the same thing happens in the case of the wild lynxes, since otherwise it is difficult to explain why an animal, whose only enemy is mankind, should remain so scarce. Their food consists of partridges, rabbits, and other small game.

Red Deer

With the red deer of these mountains, as elsewhere in Spain, the rut (celo) depends upon the autumn, which season may be earlier or later; but the celo always takes place between mid-September and mid-October. The calves are born at end of May or early in June, and suckled by their mothers till the following autumn.

The casting of the horns, together with the change of hair, varies in date, depending on the state of health in each individual. It generally occurs in May, but in very robust animals we have seen cases in April, and in the barÉtos, or stags of one year, in March. The development of the new horn is complete by the end of July, and in August occurs the shedding of the velvet. The horn at first is of a white bone-colour, but gradually darkens, the final colour depending on the nature of the bush frequented, the blackest being found in those stags which inhabit the gum-cistus (jarales).

Although it is currently believed among country folk that the age of a stag can be determined by the number of his points, this is incorrect, the horn development depending solely on the robustness of the animal. It frequently happens that a stag carries fewer points than he did the year before.

When the hinds are about to bring forth, they isolate themselves, seeking spots where the brushwood is less dense, and leaving the calf concealed in some bush. The habits of a hind when giving her offspring its first lessons in the arts of concealment and caution are interesting to watch. Shortly after daybreak the mother suddenly performs a series of wild, convulsive bounds, leaping away over the bush as though in presence of visible peril, thus alarming the youngster and teaching it to seek cover for itself. This performance is repeated at intervals until the calf has learnt to lie-up, when the hind will do the same, but at some distance, although in view. She only allows her progeny to accompany her when it has acquired sufficient strength and agility to follow, which is the case some twenty or thirty days after birth.

Having noted the spoor of a single hind at the breeding-time, one may follow to the spot where she is suckling her young. But so soon as one observes the prints of these spasmodic jumps with which the mother instils into her offspring a sense of caution (as above described), one may then begin leisurely to examine every bush round about. In one of these the calf will be found lying curled up without a bed and with its nose resting on its hip.[25] It will at first offer some slight resistance, but once captured, may be set free with the certainty that it will not make any attempt to escape.

The only enemies the full-grown stag has to fear are mankind and the wolf, but chiefly the latter, since not only do single wolves destroy in this sierra large numbers of the newly born calves, but, worse still, when a troop of wolves have once tasted venison they commence habitually to hunt both hinds and even the younger stags, which they persistently follow day after day till the deer are absolutely worn out. They then pull them down, the final scene usually occurring in some deep ravine or mountain burn.

The calves of red deer, as happens with ibex kids, are also preyed upon by golden eagles.

Deer-Shooting

As regards sport, the best results are only attainable by monterÍas, or extended drives, assuming that the district is thickly jungled, and generally of elevated situation. There is also a system of shooting at the “roaring-time,” but that is uncertain owing to the rapidity of the stag’s movements, the thick bush, and the risk of his getting the wind. Practised trackers are in the habit of hunting Á la greÑa, which consists in observing the deer at daybreak, selecting a good stag, and afterwards following his spoor at midday (at which hour deer, while enjoying their siesta, are quite apt to lie close) and shooting as he springs from his lair (al arrancÁr).

RED DEER HEADS, SIERRA MORÉNA.