Wolves are Bustards in Northern Spain (2 Viewers)

[Farnboro John]

When Steve Babbs suggested an excursion to North-west Spain in search of Wolves I was immediately interested. From Kipling's Jungle Books (not the Disney nonsense) at five, to Dave Mech's fantastic tome at ten and onward into increasingly well shot wildlife films, the Wolf has been my number one must see almost throughout my life.

Marion and I had teamed with Steve and Jeff Higgott for Iberian Lynx a couple of years back and knew that regardless of wildlife success we would have a laugh. There were other lesser targets available on the trip so it wasn't quite wholly dependent on the main quarry.

With Paul Holmes added to the team we all met up at Stansted on Tuesday 19th February for a Ryanair flight to Valladolid. Even the easy part wasn't without incident as I cocked up getting from the services to the airport and took a 32 mile detour up and back down the M11. Security searched 3 of the 5 bags - mind you, Paul's decision to put his mobile phone and a load of wires in a sandwich box was, in retrospect, ill thought-out. Marion being searched was, of course, my fault.

An uneventful flight ended with me ticking Iberian Hare from the aircraft as it taxied in at Valladolid. The others on the port side made do with Red Kite. This was followed by the car hire company giving us a hatchback instead of an estate, which with four burly blokes and Marion, plus bags, plus wildlife watching kit, proved challenging. However, we were anxious to get a wolf-watch out of the first evening so rather than waste time arguing we shoe-horned ourselves in and departed.

On the way we found a flock of 74 Great Bustards that we had to stop for, and also noted the first White Storks of the trip. As we trsvelled across the plain and towards our destination the sky became more overcast and the cloud-base gradually lowered towards us. Great.

After some debate en-route about whether to book into the hotel or go straight to the watchpoint for which we had directions, we decided it would be better to offload the big bags and actually have room to breathe in the car. Accordingly we arrived at the Posada Rural El Tejar, booked in, dumped the bags, I added Spotless Starling to the trip list amid some muttering from the rest of the crew who hadn't seen them as well as I had, and we legged it for the viewpoint, buoyed by a view of the map of wolf-watch sites in the Posada.

The watchpoint was close to the village but we nonetheless had to have a few debates about what constituted a block of pine forest, which was the first track on the right, and where exactly to park the car, before walking a couple of hundred yards to a spot in which turning tyre tracks, booted footprints and helpfully trimmed trees abounded.

Casting about on the track also provided us with Wolf paw-prints and me with a decision to put the trailcam up covering the track. We then embarked on our first concentrated watch. The viewpoint had a decent field of view downhill over an area strongly reminiscent of the Surrey Commons, lower slopes of the Cairngorms or the Brecks. Areas of heather moor were divided by pine plantations, steep ravines with oaks, thorns and birches, and criss-crossed with yellow sandy vehicle tracks.

The bird life reinforced the impression of familiarity, with Woodlarks at plague proportions, Crossbills overhead (some debate over whther the calls were type, A, K or indeed double-D), Dartford Warblers and the odd Raven. Groups of Red Deer emerged from the forested areas as dusk approached but were conspicuously not harried by packs of howling Wolves.

The lowering cloud led to an early dusk and we gave up when we could no longer discern deer against the heather background.

Back at the El Tejar we were greeted by Monica with beers and tapas and a suggestion of dinner at 2100 to which we happily acquiesced. Unwisely we indulged in a considerable quantity of alcohol before, during and after our delightful but very substantial meal. This resulted in a performance from the British Olympic snoring team that gave us sore throats that lasted through our stay.

Despite radiators the rooms were cold and the floors more so. All too soon alarms were sounding and it was time for the shock awakening of swinging feet onto the pack-ice to start day two heavily hung over.

John

 

[ClarkWGriswold]

Enjoying this so far John. Looking forward to the next instalments. We were lucky enough to spot a wolf on the road from Maligne Lake in 2003. I would say it was the highlight of our honeymoon but in case my wife reads this it definitely was not

Rich

 

[Farnboro John]

Cheers Rich!

To this point we had been able to sort things out in advance and at leisure. Our logistics, transport, communications and initial intelligence gathering had all gone smoothly and according to the overall plan.

However, having only had the chance to check one of the three sites available to us, what you might call minor tactics could not be planned in advance and we were also at the mercy of the weather. Operating in an area of Spain that would have been familiar to Wellington, like him we had perforce to make our campaign of ropes and tie a knot if one broke.

Clearly our first move of the new day had to be to return to the viewpoint and do our first morning watch from there. Breakfast at 0700 consisted of a very filling potato omelette confusingly reeferred to as a tortilla, followed by apple pastries and all washed down with coffee. Marion began the process of educating Monica in the English method of making tea, which does not involve lemon teabags as weak as dishwater or hot milk instead of water. By the end of our stay both Monica and her brother were fully capable of looking after fanatical British tea addicts, though the concept of the huge mug hasn't yet caught on.

Incidentally (and I may recur to this) you could not wish for a more helpful, generous and energetic hostess than Monica. I hope all British and other BF visitors to El Tejar will cherish her as she deserves. Her English is good enough for me to converse with her (my Spanish is limited to "cerveza por favor" and "muchas gracias") and she will also quiz the locals who pop in and out of the bar on recent news. On the subject of cerveza, the local Estrella is perfectly drinkable even for a Camra man like me.

It was barely light as we arrived at the viewpoint, this time parking our car right where we wanted to stand. I put the trailcam on a tree a few yards away, set back a little from the track and obscured except from directly opposite.

We started grilling the landscape. With little light and a touch of morning mist it was hard work demanding a lot of concentration. We broke off occasionally to walk back to the middle of the track and check there were no wolves trotting towards us. Eventually a green 4WD approached. We waved to the driver who stopped and got out. We asked if he had seen wolves recently and he told us he had seen them from the viewpoint the previous day, though distantly. Encouraging. He then asked us to move the car back round the corner and we complied immediately. He watched with us for a while and then left with a friendly wave.

The cloud gradually sank towards us and obscured the landscape completely, so we returned to Villanueva de Valrojo where the hotel was situated.

I'll put the first evening's pix up in a bit.

John

 

[Farnboro John]

Day 1 pix:

Great Bustards X2

Wolf paw print

Marion

Red Deer at Dusk

John

 

[Farnboro John]

Back at base we decided to check out the track (Roman Road number XVII) that led from next to the Posada off into the heathland towards our viewpoint. Before we even set off the boys found an Iberian Green Woodpecker in a tree about two hundred yards away. I initially thought it was a tick but both Steve and Jeff were sure we'd had one on the Lynx trip and my Spain notebook confirmed it.

Our stroll produced Cirl and Rock Buntings, Serins, a cracking male Black Redstart, flybys from the local White Storks, a Short-toed Treecreeper and a fairly showy Dartford Warbler that Jeff pished into photographic co-operation. We found Red Deer slots and dottles up to the edge of the village, presumably due ot overnight travels. The wet sandy track also produced a trail of Wolf paw prints that led down to within a hundred yards of the village, which accounted for the cautious mien of the local cats. Light drizzle started to thicken and we retreated.

A discussion over coffee produced a plan to investigate one of the other sites, at a place called Flechas. We intended to investigate a shop en route as well, to obtain rations for in the field: it was a long time since breakfast and after the previous night's late finish Monica was resting.

Wedged into the car we set off, to find that Spain was shut. Far be it from me to suggest that there is a reason for failing economies but the contrast between Monica's desire to provide service at all hours of the day and the locals' late start, siesta and apparent routine of opening only on alternate February 29ths was fairly profound.

Having dipped on lunch we tried one site on the list and found not only that the rain was still falling but the view at least from the roadside was poor. Accordingly we moved swiftly on to site number three at Flechas - or rather not quite......

Following the dead-end road up to Flechas the surface got worse and worse and the road narrower and narrower. The village/hamlet at the end was at least half composed (decomposed?) of ruined, abandoned buildings. Those still in serviceable repair were grim, forbidding edifices crowding close in upon us. Dogs barked angrily, aged peasants watched us impassively. I don't think the Spanish do banjos so that must have been a guitar I could just hear strumming..... we left.

Back at the main road we went to see if there was another side road but there wasn't, so we reinterpreted the map and readdressed ourselves to the Flechas road, eventually stopping opposite an old slate quarry. From here we could see a long way in all directions, onto nearby ridges, across open moors, and up and down more vehicle tracks.

We found Wolf paw prints everywhere...... just like everywhere else we had been. Then we looked round and Paul hadn't exactly disappeared, but he was already out of earshot and striding jauntily off into the distance. There is no I in team and it appeared no P, a, u or l either. We continued scanning and suddenly I blinked several times rapidly, shook my head and stared once again through my bins. The unmistakable grey-brown outline of a Wolf was standing near a rocky outcrop! I called the available others over: Steve had a scope which of course Jeff and I, wielding 500mm Canon cannons, didn't. I did think the beast was a bit still so I wasn't totally astonished when Steve confirmed it was a rock. For some time it tended to draw the eye as you scanned around. Surveying the rocky outcrops lining the ridge with the natural wolf sculpture, Jeff found a Golden Eagle on a different rock. This turned out to be real.

Eventually Strider reappeared from behind a pine plantation and headed back towards us. An evil idea took shape in our minds, and of course when he asked if he'd missed anything we said "Only a Wolf." Through gritted teeth he congratulated us and asked if we had got any pictures. Of course I had photographed the rock so I showed it to him: he fell for it hook, line and sinker and I'm not sure he didn't nibble the end of the rod as well.

John

 

[Farnboro John]

Day Two pix up to Flechas:

Dartford Warbler
White Stork
Southern Grey Shrike
Big Wolf paw print
Wolf Rock - oh no, that's on Scilly....

John

 

[paul Robinson]

I've seen some dodgy rocks but that one's a treat!
Paul

 

[rosbifs]

Definately would have got the heart racing...

 

[Farnboro John]

It nearly gave me a heart attack!

A few of the team in action:

Jeff
Sunny Spain ha ha
Strider

John

 

[punta]

Loving this write up and that wolf rock is awesome :-O

Thanks for taking the time to post.

 

[Steve Babbs]

Saves me typing up my notes: I can just copy and paste.

 

[Ian Bell]

Great reading and I have to admit,I also have mistaken a rock for something else..........but never a Wolf,I have to say..!

 

[Farnboro John]

With the day drawing on we headed back towards home, finding a close White Stork in a field on the way for more pix and then taking up position once again at the viewpoint, observed on our way past by the trailcam, which had not detected any other visitors during the day.

The weather was as good as we had seen it so far, and we took advantage of it to get a few scenery shots while subjecting the area to intense scrutiny with an intense scrute. With sunlight falling intermittently on the slopes and no mist or drizzle we were fairly confident of spotting anything that moved.

Eventually I found a dark form pushing its way through deep heather on the far side of the road to our right. I couldn't quite ID it and it took one or two party members a little while to get onto it, so perhaps my directions were a bit below par: eventually we had it identified as a large Wild Boar and even got a minute's view on a vehicle track before it disappeared into a pine plantation.

As the light finally faded a distant male Hen Harrier took a good deal of stick from some Carrion Crows and we gave up at 1920, noted again by the trailcam as we returned to the car.

Pix:

White Stork

Habitat

Me

Changeable

Paul and Steve

John

 

[birdboybowley]

Sorry John have to disagree......wolves are definitely not bustards, no matter where they are.....

PS Great report - looks like fun

 

[Jos Stratford]

Sorry John have to disagree......wolves are definitely not bustards, no matter where they are.....

Sure ain't elsewhere

...but they might be in Spain :t:

 

[Farnboro John]

Sorry John have to disagree......wolves are definitely not bustards, no matter where they are.....

PS Great report - looks like fun

Oh! Silly me...must have mistyped a vowel!

John

 

[birdboybowley]

Could always substitute the 'u' for an 'a' and give a real idea of how difficult they can be

 

[rosbifs]

there is no 'u' in wulf...

 

[Farnboro John]

We convened for breakfast (after another night with quite a bit of alcohol consumed, and also having fought our way through a massive pile of assorted meats as the main course of another gigantic meal: you won't starve at El Tejar) to find that Paul had already been out and heard a Tawny Owl. We headed out to the viewpoint again, established that nothing had been past the trailcam and settled into another watch.

We had noted over the period of the trip that cattle grazed the end of the heath nearest the main road without annihilation by wolves and they were all still intact this morning as we passed.

Incidentally I forgot to mention that on our first morning we missed the turning for the road up to the viewpoint track and as soon as we pulled over to turn round the Guardia Civil dropped on us from nowhere and scolded us for stopping on a white-lined road. I mean, it was like they had a Klingon cloaking device on their car. We explained the issue and reset the paranoia level from "None" to "Moderate". We carried on along the road and turned round at a filling station.

Anyway back to day three, Thursday 21st February. Crested Tits kept calling near us but seeing them proved hard enough and photography, especially in the early dawn, was out of the question. Some Red Deer made their way towards various blocks of forest cover.

An older forest guard came by and chatted. He had seen Wolves recently where we were looking, but was vague about exactly where - it seemed he was saying fairly distantly. He was friendly and went off with a wave.

The weather also went off and we wnet for a drive to find an open shop and visit a beach we had seen signposted the previous day. Yes, a beach. It proved to be at a reservoir almost devoid of birds, but we added Grey Heron, Great Crested Grebe and Lesser Black-backed Gull to the trip list. Whoopee.

Having obtained foodstuffs we returned to the Posada for a home-made lunch of crusty bread, laser-cut dry-cured ham and tomatoes, spotting a Little Owl on a dry-stone wall just outside the village. Unfortunately it flew off as we stopped.

Before long as the rain lightened Paul's long shanks were carrying him away along the Roman road. Once we had finished eating I followed Jeff on a more local excursion without, to be honest, much effect.

After an hour or so the weather had improved enough to contemplate going out with the car, but of course Paul's whereabouts were unknown. Given the direction he had gone in, Steve let him know by text that we would meet him at the viewpoint and away we went after receiving a reply that he had found the bait site.

As we headed up the road to our destination we found Paul waiting for us where a wide vehicle track crossed the road. This track offered a clear view along its ruler-straight length for over a quarter of a mile in one direction and well over half a mile -perhaps nearly a mile - along the stretch Paul had just patrolled. He told us that not only was there a Wolf bait site perhaps four hundred yards down, but there were Wolf scats and paw prints in numbers all along it. We named the highway Lobo One as convenient shorthand and went to check it out ourselves, photographing scat full of Red Deer hair and splinters of bone. Sure enough there was an area off to the side with a photographic hide and a wasteland of cattle or horse bones (we all know now how difficult it is to tell the two apart). By the forest edge four horse skulls were lined up on the bank like a Mafia cash and carry.

We reckoned that with the view down Lobo One, the view across the hillside on the other side of the road, and being able to see various other bits of moorland, this would be a decent alternative to the viewpoint, and settled in for an evening wolf-watch. It went very well except for the absence of Wolves.

One item of interest was that almost as soon as we had returned from the boneyard, two Ravens came down from the ridge behind us and flew directly to the site, dipping behind the trees to land out of sight. It seemed apparent to us they were checking whether or not we had left any meat, suggesting regular topping up of the site.

Paul, scoping distant hillsides, found a Roe Deer placidly feeding, a useful trip tick for me as I'd missed one the first day that was allegedly called. I didn't hear the call, anyway.

In the light of the amount of sign, I suggested we should redeploy the trailcam so Steve and I zipped up to the viewpoint in the car and removed it to install it along Lobo One between the road and the bait site.

By dusk we hadn't scored and returned to the hotel, where we were faced with a local speciality: salt cod. I love fish but this dish convinced me once and for all of the superiority of refrigeration over drying and salting as a means of preserving food. The remainder of the meal was delightful but that fish was almost inedible despite having been soaked in water for two days to remove salt.

It was still gone midnight when we fell into bed, perhaps a little less inebriated.

John

 

[Farnboro John]

Friday 22nd February. Last day searching for Wolves. We were up against it and feeling it: no difficulty about getting into the field on time.

As the sky lightened we were scanning a basin like area just North of the block of forest on the other side of which Lobo 1 ran like an arrow from East to West across the road. With nothing showing we moved up to park just off the road at Lobo 1, where we had been stopping on the previous day, passed by the usual forest guards and the Guardia Civil without incident other than a raised hand.

The skies were clear and the distant snow slopes of the Cantabrians gradually turned rose-pink, then white gold and finally gleaming white as the sun heaved itself up over the ridge behind us. It seemed oh so slow about it: it was perishingly cold and we looked forward to its rays sliding down to us. Stonechats, Crossbills and Woodlarks teased just out of photographic range. No Wolves had appeared by 1000 hrs, but by then we were much warmer with the sun actually heating us up through our several layers of fleece and windproofs - lovely!

After consulting with the team I decided it was time to recover the trailcam. With an early departure required on the morrow we couldn't leave it up. I opened the back and switched to replay: and there was one single frame of an unmistakable Wolf. To my own astonishment an unstoppable wide grin spread over my face. Instead of thinking about not having seen it, the photographer in me was leaping about in my brain going "yippee, I've got a shot!"

It has to be admitted that the mood in the remainder of the team didn't follow mine, especially when we read the time stamp and established that we had missed it by no more than 15 minutes early that morning. At this point it was my firm intention to sit up all night on Lobo One if necessary, either using the hide or just sitting in the heather in my wookie suit.

Ten minutes or so later a forest guard slowed, turned onto the track we were parked at the side of and got out. Our antennae twitched uneasily.

You know there's a problem when someone opens a conversation with a question to which the answer is blindingly obvious, in this case, "what are you doing?" Steve explained that we were looking for Wolves and the bloke asked to see our permit. Steve was ready with the standard counter that we understood a permit was not necessary.

The forest guard then claimed that a permit is required to observe wildlife everywhere throughout Europe, including England, Germany and Sweden. This as you may imagine was greeted with incredulity, laughter and vehement opposition. In fact its probably fair to say that at that point he was classified as Homo sapiens jobsworthensis and totally lost his audience.

Nevertheless we had to take the view that he could easily cock up the rest of our day, so we did our best to continue the dialogue. It is even likely that he realised how far beyond believability he had gone, because by the time he left we had got him down to (a) you can watch from the road without a permit (though we would not have described parking six feet from the edge of the tarmac as "away from the road" or "causing disturbance") and (b) since you are going tomorrow, its OK for today.

He had also rather hysterically tried to conjure for us a picture where if a few were allowed uncontrolled access to the Wolf areas, then next thing would be thousands of people arriving and causing untold damage and disturbance. Before anyone of the SW ilk nods wisely at his contention, consider:

1. The area is trying to develop wolf eco-tourism. The shops sell teeshirts, leaflets advertising guides are everywhere, hotels give out maps of wolf watchpoints which are NOT all on roads.

2. The example of the Iberian Lynx, a species unavailable anywhere but Spain, suggests strongly that numbers of Wolf-watchers arriving will not be large and the disturbance they cause to the Wolf population will be infinitesimal.

3. The damn Spanish still hunt Wolves within the boundaries of the National Park.This is not in the economic interest of the businesses mentioned above (in a country whose economy is frightful), for certain not in the interests of the Wolves themselves and ultimately not in the interest of the local ungulate populations because of the evolutionarily driven prey selection of the Wolves as opposed to the human hunters of those species.

I would also like to compare his attitude with that of his colleagues, who were uniformly helpful and friendly towards us, and just mention in addition that while setting out his objections to our activities he was physically poking Steve (in the chest, I hasten to add!)

Rant over. He drove away into the forest. We reset the paranoia level from "Moderate" to "High" and thanked our stars that he hadn't pitched up while I was recovering the trailcam. The incident had knocked more stuffing from the team and we decided to return to the village.

John