CHAPTER XIII. IBEX-SHOOTING IN SPAIN--( Continued ). III.--Sierra Bermeja (Mediterranean).

In the last chapter are described some experiences with ibex in the distant cordilleras of Castile: but we have the wild cabra montÉs much nearer—indeed within sight of our Andalucian home. The Sierra Nevada is one of their chief abodes, and herds of goats roam the still nearer heights of Ubrique, Bermeja, and the Palmitera. As the circumstances of the ibex here vary from those already described, we now add some details of campaigns on these Mediterranean ranges.

We pitched our tents one March evening on a narrow flat plateau, barely over 2,000 feet, at a point in the Bermeja range, where our pioneer—we had employed a native cazador to "prospect" for five or six weeks—had localized two or three small herds of ibex. The steep mountain-sides around were clad to their utmost summits with strong brushwood and with scattered patches of pine and a species of fir (pinsapo)—admirable-looking ground for pig, but not at all so, according to preconceived ideas, for the wild-goat. It was, therefore, an agreeable surprise when, early next morning, there were descried three ibex, quietly grazing on the bloom of the abolÁga brush beyond a deep ravine, and only about 1,000 feet above the camp. These three, while we watched, were joined by another two, when some make-believe "sparring" ensued between a pair of rams: but at this season (March) there was obviously no great development of the combative instinct.

The next spectacle was less welcome. On the height of the ridge, high above us, we descried against the sky-line the crouching figure of a man, stealthily advancing as though in touch of game. This ill-omened apparition, as the sequel proved, was the key-note of this campaign: the semana santa of Easter-tide had commenced, we were forestalled by native cazadoras, and a carefully-planned and well-organized exhibition resulted in comparative failure. Nor had the danger of this been entirely unforeseen, but adverse circumstances had delayed our movements.

IBEX (FEMALE)—BERMEJA.
IBEX (FEMALE)—BERMEJA.

Despite our local competitors, luck at first seemed inclined to be propitious. While going to our positions, along the knife-edged spur that enclosed our glen, an ibex fell to the rifle of one of our party, who had come suddenly on five (four good males) quietly feeding in a pine-clad corrie, and a standing shot, at 70 yards, secured one—unfortunately the only cabra; for, their heads being concealed among the scrub, the sex was not distinguished. This female (shot March 26th) was found, on being gralloched, to contain a pair of kids, which would not have seen the light under three weeks. Another female, followed by her chivata, was shot on this beat, though eventually lost, by one of our Spanish cazadores, Juan MarquÉz.

The field of our operations was all scrub—strong thorny bushes clothing the steep and rock-strewn slopes, amidst which we subsequently found many "lairs" of the ibex—regular seats, like those of a hare or fox. Hidden in these strongholds, the ibex, our men asserted, would deliberately allow the beaters to pass them by: but we have strong grounds for the opinion that this only applied to the females—all ages or sexes, be it repeated, are alike to a cazador—and never to the males, which, always wild and crafty, rely for safety on far bolder tactics and modes of escape.

Pines and fir interspersed the scrub to the very reales or utmost heights of Bermeja—4,800 feet by aneroid: and Palmitera, though the snow lies longer there, is of a trifle less altitude. Though, on this occasion, our sport was marred and exuberance of spirit tempered by the constant competition of local hunters—by those visions of the hated "gente de Enalguacil" scampering like the goats themselves up the rocks before us—yet, at least, we enjoyed, from the crest of Bermeja, a spectacle which is probably without rival in Europe, and the like of which we have not gazed upon in our lives. Looking down from near 5,000 feet altitude, we had portions of two continents spread out as a map at out feet. The vast expanse of deep blue Mediterranean visible from such elevations is hard to picture—the level sea appears to tower up, regardless of physical laws, among the clouds themselves: yet, far beyond its southern shores, we could look right into the dark continent, across range beyond range of African mountains, terminating only in the glittering snow-peaks of the Atlas, on the verge of Saharan deserts. Gibraltar looked like a tiny islet in the Straits, midway between Jebel Moosa's cloud-wreathed mass, and the loftier Spanish sierras beyond Algesiraz. Tangier, Ceuta, and Melilla, on the African shore, were faintly discernible; and, on the Spanish side, the unbroken snows of Nevada, fifty miles away, glistened in the sunshine as though within rifle-shot, with all the swelling vegas of Western Andalucia; while, right beneath us, lay the rich Ensenada de Marbella, the fertile fringe that borders the Mediterranean, white with waving fields of sugar-cane, cotton, and carob, prolific of date-palm and fig-tree, of corn, oil, and wine—one of earth's most fruitful gardens.

From our posts, at the head of a dizzy tumble of rocks and screes, no fewer than five distinct mountain-ranges were in sight, one-rising beyond the other, the last and loftiest clad in snow. To and fro in mid-air, far beneath, sailed a superb pair of lammergeyers, their expanded pinions gleaming almost white in the sunlight. These giant birds had their eyry in a series of granite canchos near the apex of the gorge; but, at intervals, also entered a cave in another crag which, we subsequently ascertained, had formed their home in a previous year.

Amongst the birds observed here, which may be mentioned as typical of the Mediterranean sierras, were golden, booted, and Bonelli's eagles, a single griffon-vulture, peregrine and goshawk, a pair of sparrow-hawks, busy carrying sticks, ravens, jays, great spotted woodpecker, wrens, crag-martins (Cotile rupestris), the usual chats, and a few cushats. Hawfinches and great tits were abundant among the pines, and in the early dawn the melodious song of the blue-thrush reminded one of Scandinavian springs and the redwing's note. Another small bird causes recurrent annoyance to the ibex-shooter. With a loud "rat-tat-tat," closely resembling the patter of horny hoofs on rock, its song commences; then follows a curious hissing note, not unlike the passing of a heavy body through brushwood—for a moment one hopes that the coveted and long-awaited game at length is coming. No! confound that bird; it's only a redstart!

Plate XXIII. Page 161. IBEX-HUNTING—A SKETCH IN THE SIERRA BERMEJA.
Plate XXIII. Page 161. IBEX-HUNTING—A SKETCH IN THE SIERRA BERMEJA.

No ibex, however, appeared here to us expectant. The natives, tiradores of Enalguacil, of CÖin and other hamlets of the sierra, sleeping on the open hill, and possessing twice our speed of foot on their native rocks, were always on our front; and in order to get clear of competition, we moved our camp across the ridge to the north. This operation involved sending forward at daybreak a dozen men with hatchets to clear a way for the laden mules, some fifty or sixty well-grown pines, with hundreds of lesser growth, perishing before a passage was practicable. We encamped on a forest-opening at a spot called the MajÁda del Alcornoque, altitude 3,400 feet, the same evening—first having to remove several hundred stones from the camping-ground, for almost each afforded shelter to a scorpion or gigantic centipede.

Here, during the next few days, we had the (to us) singular experience of ibex-driving in thick pine-forest and deep wooded ravines, with generally a strong undergrowth of bushes and scrub—the beau idÉal of a roe-deer country, but the last place in the world in which we should have expected wild-goat. The goats were there, nevertheless, for females and young males were seen on different occasions by guns or beaters. In one tremendous clam-shaped gorge, an ibex and a wild pig were both on foot at once! The only ibex the present writer had the luck to see in this part of the sierra—which seemed to be composed almost entirely of ironstone and other mineral ores—was by a purely fortuitous encounter. On the sudden lifting of a dense cloud-bank which rested on the mountain-side, I descried, right above me, four ibex—including two fair-sized rams—all standing on a projecting rock, in bold relief against the sky, and not above 400 yards away. The intervening ground was rugged—rocks and brushwood with scattered pines—and, except for the first fifty yards, the stalk seemed to offer no great difficulty. Already I had passed the dangerous bit, and had crawled near 200 yards, when, alas! in a moment the wet mist settled down again, and I saw no more of the game.

Curiously, on the fog first lifting, a large eagle sat, all bedraggled and woe-begone, on a rock-point not forty yards from my shelter, his feathers all fluffed out, and a great yellow talon protruding, as it seemed, from the very centre of his chest. Then a faint sun-ray played on his tawny plumage; he shook himself together, and launched out in air to renew his hunt, sweeping downwards close past me—luckily without disturbing the ibex, though I saw them take note of the circumstance.

To our other misfortunes was now superadded the discomfort of bad weather. Here is an extract from diary:—March 31st.—Glass fell last night four-tenths to 25' 85", and the morning broke with a whole gale from W., bitterly cold, with driving masses of cloud, gradually changing to rain and sleet—a bad prospect.

SOARING VULTURE.
SOARING VULTURE.

The rain, fog, and gale continuing, sporting operations were interrupted, and a fine male ibex, shot the night before, was lost, it being no longer possible to follow the trail. We endured a pretty bad time of it, under canvas, in our mountain-perch; but for our poor beaters it was ten-fold worse—sleeping on the bare ground beneath torrential rains, or under such scant shelter of pine-branches as they could rig up.

We had about a score of these mountaineers in our employ—a wild-looking lot, who, when not otherwise engaged, were chiefly contrabandistas. Many of these serranos had joined our party purely for the love of sport, and for no pay beyond such frugal fare as our camp might afford—scanty enough some days, though good red wine and cigarettes were never wanting. The previous week a somewhat serious affray, we now heard, had taken place close by. A gang of 100 smugglers convoying thirty horse-loads of tobacco, &c., were attacked at the passage of the Guadiarro by a force of fifty carabineers. Many shots were exchanged, the smugglers being armed with Remingtons, with the result that seven men were killed and many others wounded. The whole of the thirty cargoes were eventually captured, but the horses escaped, the smugglers cutting the girth-ropes; nor were any prisoners made. This information was given us by the Colonel of carabineers commanding the district, whom we met a few days later in Estepona.

Here is another reflex of local character—a cutting from a Malaga paper of April 1st, 1891, among the ordinary items of local news:—

"Bandido.—The Civil Guard of Malaga encountered on Wednesday, near CÖin, the celebrated bandit Mena, who has long held the whole of that district in terror. The individuals of the Civil Guard demanded his surrender, to which summons he replied with the discharge of his weapon. This brought on a ferocious struggle, resulting in the death of the freebooter, who received two bullet-wounds from his aggressors."

Such tendencies become infectious, and, as a relief to the tedium of forced inactivity, and wet days under canvas—for the flooded gargantas made sport impossible—it occurred to one restless spirit that we might ourselves embark in this popular business of bandolerismo. Had we not a score of bold brigands ready at our hand? And, besides, there was not wanting eminently suitable material for "sequestration"—what a subject for a chapter! But ... well, the opportunity was thrown away, and, the deluge still continuing, in the morning our smuggler-chief, old MarquÉz, came in to say that the people, like the Israelites of old, wished to depart, each man to his own house—"cada uno a su casa."

FOREST-IBEX—BERMEJA. (Showing narrower sweep of horn.)
FOREST-IBEX—BERMEJA. (Showing narrower sweep of horn.)

Though we did not succeed in obtaining a really first-rate ibex-head during this campaign in the southern sierras, yet, judging from two machos subsequently secured on an adjacent range (three and five-year-old males respectively), the difference in the form of horn in these forest-haunting goats from those of the Alpine sierras is only trifling. Compared with circumference, the horns are of lesser length, and hardly, perhaps, branch out so widely; but that may, after all, be only a question of age.

Ibex-stalking.—It may occur to the sportsman-reader to observe that we have said very little of ibex-stalking. The reason is that, as before mentioned, we have little but negative experiences to relate, having met with no success ourselves in that sport. Both in Andalucia and the Castiles we have followed some of the longest and most severe days' work in search of ibex, but without success. The ibex are relatively very scarce, scattered sparsely over vast areas, and rarely to be seen on the move during daylight. It is, of course, in all stalking a first essential that a great extent of country be brought under survey. This implies covering long distances; and the extreme difficulties of locomotion on the Spanish cordilleras forbid this. We do not speak without a basis of comparative experience, having seen something of mountain-game in various lands. It may be that we lack speed of foot in traversing those rugged rock-peaks—we are far from denying this, let those smile who may. Few will do so who have once attempted to seek out and stalk the wild ibex—or it may be only bad luck. At any rate, our hardest days on Nevada or Gredos have not, so far, been rewarded by a single shot, or even by the sight of an ibex in a position where a stalk might be dreamt of.

The grandeur of the Sierra Nevada, with its lofty sky-lines, all white and clean-cut against an azure background, majestic Mulahacen and the Picachos de la Veleta, are familiar objects to most visitors to Southern Spain. The majority, however, are content with the distant view from the palace-fortresses of the Alhambra or the turrets of the Generalife. Few dream of penetrating those alpine solitudes or scaling their peaks, which look so near, yet cost such toil and labour to gain. Yet the labour is repaid, if the traveller has an eye for what is wildest and grandest in nature.

For ourselves, we are not ashamed to admit that these snow-clad sierras possess attractions that transcend in interest even the accumulated art-treasures and wealth of historic and legendary lore that surround the shattered relics of Moslem rule—of an empire-city where for seven centuries the power and faith of the crescent dominated the south-west of Europe, and which formed the home and the centre of mediÆval chivalry and culture. These subjects and sentiments, moreover, stand in no need of a historian: they have engaged the sympathy of legion pens, many directed by a grace, a power and a knowledge to which we dream not of aspiring. To us Granada has rather been merely a "base of operations" whence the ibex and lammergeyer might conveniently be studied or pursued.

Of our own experiences amidst the twin heights of Nevada and the Alpujarras we might write: but, in this case, we have preferred to avail ourselves of certain notes for which we are indebted to two good friends and thorough sportsmen, in the hope that the change may be to the reader a pleasing contrast from the semper ego otherwise inevitable.

On a bitterly cold March morning we found ourself, as day slowly broke, traversing the outspurs of the sierra—on the scene of the great earthquake of 1884, evidences of which were plentiful enough among the scattered hill-villages. Already many mule-teams, heavily laden with merchandise from the coast-town of Motril, were wending their laborious way inland. It is worth noting that in front of five or six laden mules it is customary to harness a single donkey. This animal does little work: but always passes approaching teams on the proper side, and, moreover, picks out the best parts of the road. This enables the driver to go to sleep, and the plan, we were told, is a good one.

At Lanjaron we breakfasted at the ancient fonda of San Rafael, where the bright and beautifully polished brass and copper cooking utensils hanging on the walls were a sight to make a careful housewife envious. We watched our breakfast cooked over the charcoal-fire, and learned a good deal thereby. We were delayed here a whole day by snow-storms. There is stabling under the fonda for 500 pack-animals, for Lanjaron in its "season" is an important place, frequented by invalids from far and near. Its mineral-springs are reputed efficacious: but the drainage arrangements are villainous in the extreme, and altogether it seemed a village to be avoided. Sad traces of the cholera were everywhere visible, many doors and lintels bearing the ominous sign: it was curious that in so few cases had it been erased.

We left before daybreak, and a few leagues further on the ascent became very steep and abrupt, the hill-crests whither we were bound within view, but wreathed in mist. Only one traveller did we meet in the long climb from Orjiva to Capileira, and he bringing two mule-loads of dead and dying sheep, worried by wolves just outside Capileira the night before. Expecting that the wolves would certainly return, we prepared to wait up that night for them: but were dissuaded, the argument being "that is exactly what they will expect! No, those wolves will probably not come back this winter." But return they did, both that night and several following. The night before we left Capileira on the return journey (a fortnight later), they came in greater numbers than ever and killed over twenty sheep.

Capileira is the highest hamlet in the sierra, and is celebrated for its hams, which are cured in the snow. Here we put up for the night, sleeping as best we could amidst fowls and fleas, after an amusing evening spent around the fire, where one pot cooked for forty people besides ourselves. The cold was intense, streams of fine snow whirling in at pleasure through the crazy shutters: so we were glad to go to bed—indeed I was chased thither by a hungry sow on the prowl, seeking something to eat, apparently in my portmanteau.

Heavy snow-falls that night and all next day prevented our advance: but at an early hour on the following morning we were under way—six of us—on mules, though I would have preferred to walk, the snow being so deep one could not see where the edges of the precipices were. No sooner had I mounted than the mule fell down, while crossing a hill-torrent, and I was glad to find the water no deeper. After climbing steadily upwards all the morning, the last two hours on foot, the snow knee-deep, we at length sighted the cairn on the height to which we were bound. Before nightfall we had reached the point, but few of the mules accomplished the last few hundred yards. After bravely trying again and again, the poor beasts sank exhausted in the snow, and we had to carry up the impedimenta ourselves in repeated journeys. The deep snow, the tremendous ascent, and impossibility of seeing a foothold made this porterage most laborious: but we had all safely stowed in our cave before sundown.

The overhanging rock, which for the next ten or twelve days was to serve as our abode, we found a mass of icicles. These we proceeded to clear away, and then by a good fire to melt our ice-enamelled rock-ceiling, fancying that the constant drip on our noses all night might be unpleasant. The altitude of our ledge above sea-level was about 8,500 feet, and our plateau of rest—our home, so to speak—measured just seven yards by two.

Early next morning we proceeded to erect snow-screens at favourable passes, wherein to await the wild-goats as they moved up or down the mountain-side at dawn and dusk respectively, their favourite food being the rye-grass which the peasants from the villages below contrive to grow in tiny patches—two or three square yards scattered here and there amidst the crags. It is only by rare industry that even so paltry a crop can be snatched at such altitudes, and during the short period when the snow is absent from the southern aspects. At present it enveloped everything—not a blade of vegetation, nor a mouthful for a wild-goat could be seen.

Although in going to our puestos during the day the snow was generally soft—the sun being very hot—yet in returning after dark we found the way most dangerous, traversing a sloping, slippery ice-surface like a huge glacier, where a slip or false step would send one down half a mile with nothing to clutch at or to save oneself. Such a slide meant death, for it could only terminate in an awful precipice or in one of those horrible holes with a raging torrent to receive one in its dark abyss, and convey the fragments beneath the snow—where to appear next? Each step had to be cut with a hatchet, or hollowed—the butt of a rifle is not intended for such work, but has had to perform it.

Every day here we saw goats on or about the snow-fields and towering rocks above our cave. They were of a light fawn colour, very shaggy in appearance, some males carrying magnificent long horns. One old ram seemed to be always on the watch, kneeling down on the very verge of a crag 500 or 600 yards above us, and which commanded a view for miles—miles, did we say? paltry words! From where that goat was, he could survey half-a-dozen provinces.

These ibex were quite inaccessible, and though daily seen, nearly a week had passed away ere a wild-goat gave us a chance. One night shortly after quitting my post, little better than a human icicle, and not without fear of the dangers of scrambling cave-wards, in absolute darkness along the ice-slope, a little herd of goats passed—mere shadows—within easy shot of where, five minutes before, I had been lying in wait. On another morning at dawn the tracks of a big male showed that he, too, must have passed at some hour of the night within five-and-twenty yards of the snow-screen.

But it was not till a whole week had elapsed that we had the ibex really in our power. Just as day broke a herd of eight—two males and six females—stood not forty yards from our cave-dwelling. The fact was ascertained by one Esteban, a Spanish sportsman whom we had taken with us. Silently he stole back into the cave, and without a word, or disturbing the dreams of his still sleeping employers, picked up an "express" and went forth. Then the loud double report at our very doors—that is, had there been a door—aroused us, only to find ... the spoor of that enormous ram, the spot where he had halted, listening, close above the cave, and the splash of the lead on the rock beyond—eighteen inches too low! an impossible miss for any one used to the "express." Oh, Esteban, Esteban! what were our feelings towards you on that fateful morn!

Life in a mountain-cave high above the level of perpetual snow—six men huddled together in the narrow space, two English and four Spaniards—has its weird and picturesque, but it has also its harder side. Yet those days and nights, passed amidst majestic scenes and strange wild beasts, have left nothing but pleasant memories, nor have their hardships deterred one of us from repeating the experiment. Probably both these campaigns were too early in the season (March and April).

The only birds seen in the high sierra were choughs and ravens: ring-ouzels a little lower down. There were plenty of trout, though small, in the hill-burns. On one occasion we witnessed an extraordinary circular rainbow across a deep gorge, with our own figures perfectly reflected in the centre on passing a given point.

The ice-going abilities of the mountaineers were something marvellous—incredible save to an eye-witness. Across even a north drift, hard and "slape" as steel, and hundreds of yards in extent, these men would steer a sliding, slithering course at top speed, directed towards some single projecting rock. To miss that refuge might mean death: but they did not miss it, ever, in their perilous course, making good a certain amount of forward movement. At that rock they would settle in their minds the next point to be reached, quietly smoking a cigarette meanwhile before making a fresh start. How such performances diminish one's own self-esteem! How weak are our efforts! Even on the softer southern drifts, what balancing, what scrambling and crawling on hands and knees one finds necessary, and what a "cropper" one would have come but for the friendly arm of Enrique, who, as he arrests one's perilous slide, merely mutters "Ave Maria purissima!"

* * * * *

Now we have left the ice and snow and the ibex to wander in peace over their lonely domains. To-night we have dined at a table: there is a cheery fire in the rude little posada and merry voices, contrasting with the silence of our cave, where no one spoke above a whisper, and where no fire was permissible save once a day to heat the olla. Now all we need is a song from the Murillo-faced little girl who is fanning the charcoal-embers. "Sing us a couplet, Dolores, to welcome us back from the snows of Alpujarras!"

Dolores: With the greatest pleasure, Caballero, if JosÉ will play the guitar. No one plays like JosÉ, but he is tired, having travelled all day with his mules from Lanjaron.

JosÉ: No, seÑor, not tired, but I have no soul to-night to play. This morning they asked me to bring medicine from the town for Carmen: but when I reached the house she was dead. I find myself very sad.

Dolores: "Pero, si ya tiene su palma y su corona?" ...but as she already has her palm and her crown?

JosÉ: That is true! Bring the guitar and I will see if it will quit me of this tristeza!

Next morning the snow prevented our leaving: and the day after, while riding away, we met some of the villagers carrying poor Carmen to the burial-ground on the mountain-side. The body, plainly robed in white, was borne on an open bier, the hands crossed and head supported on pillows, thus allowing the long unfettered hair to hang down loose below. It was an impressive and a picturesque scene; and as I rode on, the rejoinder of Dolores came to my mind—"Ya tiene su palma y su corona."