An aerie of eagles

Pete is my most lucky visitor, when it comes to eagle ‘experiences’ in the Barranco.

He is a keen walker and visits most years, in October.

Last year, we spotted a route up the mountain to the north east of our Casa. After a short stroll down the 'rambla', we started to ascend the rocky spur that would take us up 400 metres to an altitude of nearly 1300 metres.

In spring the mountain slopes resemble an alpine meadow, but at this time they were covered in purple lavender. Its sweet scent followed us for the entire walk, and we were accompanied by the hum of honeybees, busily working the flowers, even at this altitude and so late in the year. A falcon swooped past, but perhaps even more impressive was the glint of sunshine on the Mediterranean, visible beyond other lower sierras, 25 kilometres away as the falcon flies!

I have never looked down on an eagle before, but today, we spotted two, slowly circling with deep wing beats, above the summit of a neighbouring lesser peak. They must have spotted us too, because they moved off down the 'rambla', only for one of them to reappear minutes later, no more than 20 metres above our heads. It used the strong wind on its huge wings like a kite, to hover there for a couple of minutes. Very clearly, we could see the marking of the golden eagle, the fronds at the ends of its broad wings and the wedge shaped tail. It seemed to look disdainfully down us, as if rebuking us, for having the nerve to look down on it!

It is always a joy to see an eagle in the Barranco, but I feared that after that day's experience, it would never be quite be the same.

But not so! Yesterday evening we saw 13, yes without precedent for me, 13, Golden Eagles circling over the mountain behind the casa. With such a large group, we thought maybe they were vultures, but our binoculars did indeed confirm them as Golden Eagles; as they circled, and came in one by one, to settle on the high cliff top’ to rest and preen themselves and look down on the world as the sun began to set.

So this morning, Pete, John (another visitor) and I decided we were going to try and get a closer look. Off we went with the excited dogs, Millie and Holly, through the hamlet towards the climb up the mountain.  We exchanged ‘holas’ with my neighbours. Jose who said that yesterday, he had seen 6 wild goats at the fuenta. “Perhaps the eagles want to feed on goat,” joked Merito. 

Up we went, and the higher we climbed, the finer the view became. Beyond the foothills of the Sierra de las Estancias towards Partaloa, was the Almanzora Valley and then the Sierras de los Filabres, with the distinctive Mount Tetica,  and the observatory at Calar Alto prominent; and beyond them the Sierra Cabrera with an ultimate vista of the shimmering Mediterranean at Garrucha.

As we ascended we could just make out the eagles peering down on us. Occasionally, one would stretch its massive wings, but while they could curiously see us slowly heading towards their Piedra del Águila,( Eagle Rock) we were sure they wouldn’t move on, until they could see us no more. Sure enough, as we traversed around a rocky slope, that took us out of their view, they set off.

    I know it may be hard to imagine, but the black dots at the centre top of the rock face are eagles

They glided over the Barranco in the direction of Saliente, before catching a thermal that took them far away to the east.

I think I managed to catch 11 of the eagles as they set of on mass towards Saliente

A Visitor from Portugal

Merito and Francesca were passing by the casa as they returned from harvesting the almonds from some of their trees. Merito is well into his sixties, but the heavy sack of nuts that he carried on his shoulder seemed no effort to him. The work and cultivation of the land has been the perfect gymnasium for my neighbours. No matter their age, they all seem to have so much strength and energy.

He rested the sack and then he and Francesca, excitedly told us that some people from Fatima in Portugal were visiting next Monday afternoon. They were going to go around all the Barranco; stopping at every house; calling in and taking a photo, and this was the first time for 60 years that this had happened!

Now, you probably wouldn’t know it, but the people in these parts don’t really talk Spanish. It’s all together, another language they speak! As far as the rest of Spain is concerned, it’s probably worse than a cross between Geordie and Glaswegian!  So it’s no wonder, that we sometimes wonder, what is really going to happen.

Monday came around and we weren’t a lot wiser; but I had done an internet search on Fatima, and discovered that the place was famous, because a young girl from there, had seen a vision of the Virgin Mary. Could this be something to do with it?

Anyway, our neighbours were really busy preparing a grand olive bower and floral arrangement at the fiesta area, and it turned out that in fact, the statue of the Virgin of Fatima was being brought to the Barranco, for all to see and venerate. 


Now I’m not at all religious, but because my neighbours were so enthused and excited about the event, I cast aside any hypocrisy, and joined in.

The Virgin arrived accompanied by 2 liveried ‘brothers’ and the young local priest Miguel, who has a great sense of fun, not to mention a fine singing voice and a talent for the guitar. The women of the Oria ‘love’ him!  


There was a short service with some singing and prayers and ‘Ave Marias’ , to welcome the Virgin of Fatima to the Barranco, and then the whole community, about 60 of us, processed off to each house in turn; as many as would fit going inside; to have a blessing on the household with the Virgin sitting centre of attention, on a convenient table that was draped with a cloth and decorated with flowers and candles.

The emotion of the occasion got to many people. Many were teary eyed.

Heather got gently admonished by the priest for wanting to take her own photos before the blessing was made at our house. Heathen!

And yes you cynics were right. It all came at a cost – if we’re not going to go to Church, then they are going to bring the collection plate to us!

But really, it was an amazing afternoon. A whole afternoon, of a whole community coming together – talking together, walking together, and visiting each others houses, with a great sense of community and friendship.

I've got 'Big Nuts'

The pink and white haze of almond blossom that stretches for miles over the hillsides during February has turned to fruit and ripened over the hot summer. This year my few trees are full and their nuts are exceptionally large. Perhaps it’s because we are in a sheltered valley, as across Almeria as a whole, they are saying that the late frosts on the blossom have harmed the harvest.

The trees are grown so extensively here because of their tolerance of dry conditions. Tractors now harvest the large farms mechanically, with huge blue umbrella like contraptions that wrap themselves around the tree, and shake the almonds into a hopper.

All my neighbours own some almond trees. They have been collecting the nuts by hand and then they use a noisy machine to de-husk the green skins from around the shells. Nothing is wasted, as the husks are saved as winter fodder for the goats, or dried and used as fire kindling. Piles of drying almonds can be seen spread outside every home - except for Andre, who ingeniously uses the heat from his corrugated iron garage roof to dry his. And then the trees are pruned into a distinctive low crown that encourages new shoots; provides for ease of harvesting and also firewood!

Andre’s 20year old Renault 4 has been away for some major welding repairs, but late this afternoon I was pleased to see him and Isobel trundle down the camino, in it, with long poles extending from the rear windows. They went to the small maize field, where each evening lately, he has tied a couple of his dogs – his ‘policias pequenas’ - to trees, to deter any night creatures (pigs, deer, foxes or stray dogs – who knows) that  were likely to raid the ripening corns.

Andre's maize field

They spread a large sheet of olive netting under a tree, and proceeded to loudly thwack it with the long poles. I could hear the nuts raining down onto the sheeting, and it was clear that they were going to collect several sacks. These they could sell one of the local almond factories for around 50centimos per kilo unshelled.

Millie likes this time of year too!

At this time of year, strings of red peppers, hang from the walls of the houses to dry, and these will provide flavour and colour to winter stews. On a wide stone outside his house, Andre dries the pepper seed for next year’s crop. Nothing is ever wasted.

The figs are ripening too - dark purple or subtle yellow depending on the variety - and the birds are 'making hay'.......and so is Merito, who accompanied by his little dog Rocky, has meandered down with a couple of collecting buckets to a 'green fig' tree. I think it’s going to take him some time to fill them, as more seem to be heading to his mouth, than into the buckets.

Autumn is slowly arriving and the colours of the barranco are mellowing to a golden hew, but even as I type, I can hear the small 'hand ploughs', preparing the terraced strips of land, for next springs bounty of potatoes, onions and beans.

So did I really see a wolf?

Most mornings, I am woken up early by the sound of a low growl. I ignore it, but soon it is followed by an impatient bark. Still I ignore it. And then I am fully stirred, when pushing home the joint assault, Holly the lurcher leaps to sit on my chest, and Millie the husky cross, starts to tug at my wrist. It’s only just getting light, so it must be time for a walk!

So off, we go, along the camino, and we soon came across Antonio, standing by the open boot of his ancient blue Fiat, parked near the track down to the first fuente.  Antonio now lives in Oria, but has spent most of his life in the Barranco, and still likes to drink the local waters. ‘Could I help him’? He wanted to fetch a couple of large bottles of water, but he had a hernia, so if he held my dogs for me, could I go and fetch some for him.

Antonio's Balsa

I went down to the fuenta to collect the water, my good deed being rewarded by the sight of blue dragon flies skimming the surface of the balsa. I also enjoyed a cool face rinse and hand cup of water from the fresh mountain spring.  Antonio and I happy, we continued on our way.

A little owl watched us with little apparent interest from its perch on the telephone wire; and over the valley, which was now out of shadow; a pair of eagles were circling on the first thermals. We surprised a couple of rabbits, but I was able to restrain the dogs, so much to their disappointment, the rabbits were able to scarper up the mountain.

A little further on, we came across Juan, Jose’s brother, down from Alicante for a few days. He was scrabbling about on the steep side of the camino, collecting something in a plastic bag from a sprawling ground plant. ‘What are you doing’, I asked? He replied that he was collecting ‘alcaparras’, and that he didn’t like them, but his wife did, but only the very small ones, after they had been pickled in vinegar and salt. Needless to say, I had to look that one up – capers!

A caper bush

Then we cut down towards the rambla. Past Katty’s, with strings of red peppers already drying in the sun. Past Isobel’s, large tomatoes ripening on vines in her small front garden and a bucket of prickly pears on her door step.; and then past Mel and Josephine’s and a friendly greeting from Ruff, their rescued Spanish Water Spaniel.

This morning we had the rambla to ourselves. We were approaching the Boca de Oria; where nearly five years ago, when we had first moved to the Barranco, we had come across Katty and her cousins from Diamuz enjoying a merienda – a picnic party, that we weren’t allowed to leave, until we’d taken a full share of the paella cooked on the open fire, and the melon cooled in the nearby fuenta, washed down of course, with copious amounts of home made wine and whiskey and coke! oh dear!

No merienda today though.

I felt a tightening of the leads and there was a low growl, but not the’ get up and come for a walk’ growl; something far more serious; and up ahead I spotted the cause for concern. Another dog maybe, but not one I’d seen around here, before or since. It was certainly not a fox, far too big. Grey and Alsatian like, but sleek, if not scrawny,  and with very long legs, that didn’t so much trot as pad, as it slinked into the undergrowth, with it’s bushy tail fixed firmly between it’s legs.

Millie and Holly -  the Wolf Slayers

So did I see a wolf? I don’t know for sure. My research says that, while their numbers in Spain are increasing, they haven’t settled here yet. However, they say the same thing about pole cats, and I definitely know I’ve seen one of those.

SIESTA

In Spain, never try to do more in a day, than is practically achievable. By this I mean, that if it involves something technical, financial, legal or medical, attempting to do any more than two things will end in failure and frustration.

Now part of this is just because it is Spain! They have a whole profession (the gestorias) devoted to understanding the bureaucracy of the nation.

The other reason is siesta! Nothing really opens until 10am and then it all shuts at 2pm, until the ‘tarde’ (5pm-8pm) ….. And we Northern Europeans like to get up once; get on with the days tasks; have some time for relaxation and then go to bed.  It is so difficult to start the day again at 5pm – especially if by then, you are thinking only of your first beer!

If you have been brought up in Spain, you will have learnt to deal with the fact that the daily rhythm involves waking up, getting up, and getting going, twice in 24 hours. Late start,; mid morning snack; late lunch; maybe some alcohol: bit of a snooze; back to work at 5pm until 8’oclock…. And then the party starts!!

Having said that, in the campo, the countryside, there is another Spanish rhythm.

It’s been getting hot these last few weeks.  When it’s not a market day, and I have to be up really early, I get the dog walking, 7am, ‘early shift’. But most often my neighbours have beaten me to start the tasks of the day. Water is torrenting down the acequia from the bolsa neuva . Isobel has been watering the newly sown corn field that will provide fodder for the goats and variety to the family pot in the autumn. All over the valley, goat herds tinkle. Millie, Holly and I nearly adopted a small herd one day, which despite the anguished cries of Maria, the goat shepherdess, wanted to come home with us! Jose has parked his donkey under the shade of an olive tree and is harvesting the first of the summers beans and onions. 


The best thing about the ‘early shift’ is that the air is really clear, and you can see miles – even to the big boats leaving  Garrucha harbour, 25k as the crow flies and 1100metres down below us.

Anyway, dogs walked, we had jobs to do in the town, and in these days of really expensive fuel, and not really wanting to go down to the town, any more than we had to anyway, we decided to ‘go for it’ and get as many jobs done as possible.

We set off over the mountain – the ‘red diesel’ guzzling, tank track tractor, was just starting to trundle over the almond groves to riddle them of weeds. Shame really, because many of those weeds were wild rocket – a peppery addition to any bland salad – though I expect to be able to find plenty more.

Sure enough, when we arrived at Albox, not the prettiest of towns, but where there has been some investment to try to improve the townscape, it was mainly shut at 9.50am!

Coffee time then! 
We found a bar and ordered 
– descafeinado for Heather, and Americano for me – and I am so glad I did. Coffee decaffeinated – why would you bother, when you could have the real thing - laced with (unasked for) brandy! ….and when I came to pay – 2 Euros! For the two including a biscuit!

The day’s looking  good – so let’s get on with it.

First a technical issue – we wanted to be able to receive Spanish TV in our casa, so into the ‘aerial and cable’ shop, around the corner from the ‘brandy’ bar, we went, to get what we needed. Sorted, no problems.

Then something financial - off to the bank, and the day started to go downhill!

I’ve had, £20 sterling in a Cajamar deposit account since we came here. At the time, it seemed like a good idea to have somewhere in Spain where I could put pound notes. Then recently, I discovered that I was being charged more for the account than I was earning in interest. I reckoned it would be about 4 years before I started to owe the bank money, and so for the second time in the month (the first attempt was aborted) I returned to the bank with what I hoped this time, would be all the correct paperwork to close the account…. And I did indeed have all the correct paperwork , but unfortunately the only employee of the bank who could close a £20 account wasn’t there, and we waited and we waited and we waited! 50 minutes later she showed up, and 10 minutes later she got around to closing the account. I tell you, I very nearly closed all the accounts we have there, but I’m sure that in the scheme of things, that was just asking for more trouble.

And then off to the gestoría for some bureaucracy. To deliver the papers of the quarter year tax return, and hopefully an explanation from the gestor, Francisco about why I was paying tax when so far this year my market stall hadn’t covered the cost of my autónomo (national health insurance) never mind make a profit! 

When we engaged him two years ago ,he could talk perfect English. Now nada! However, it took another hour of waiting to talk to him in Spanish about this, and when I left, he had my tax papers, but I was little the wiser.

…. And then it was siesta.

….and in the summer months I understand why siesta is such a necessity. It’s just too hot and knackering to do anything between 2pm and 5pm except snooze or float in a pool; though in the cooler season that’s not the case, but I guess custom is custom.

So when in Spain, remember many tasks will need to be done mañana – not tomorrow necessarily, but certainly not today! 

Twitching

Earlier this year, when the almonds were in blossom, Heather was out walking when she noticed an eagle circling overhead. She had our cheap digital camera with her, and succeeded in snapping several small black dots in a clear blue sky.

Then she got lucky.

No one could ever call me a 'twitcher', though I am very interested in the nature around me, and I do like to know what it is that I have seen. Sadly, many of the birds I see go unrecognized, especially, the shy little brown ones hiding in bushes that fly fast and aren’t sparrows.

I am getting better though, as I am able to readily recognise the golden orioles that I surprise at the fig tree near the fuenta; the cuckoos and nightingales that announce the start of spring and the bee eaters and rollers that do the same for summer. I can now distinguish between the different wheatears and shrikes. I’ve even started to recognise one of those ‘little brown jobbies’ as a Sardinian Warbler. My finest moment in ornithology was when I was able to explain to Heather that the ‘peep’ ‘peep’ we could hear in the Barranco most summer evenings wasn’t a reversing JCB, but was in fact a scops owl.

We did have a couple of ‘twitchers’ staying with us recently. Mike and Hazel from Anglesey, who are also mad keen ‘rock and roll’ fans. This is their web site.   http://angleseyrocknrollclub.synthasite.com/

Mike took all kinds of photos of the Barranco bird life which I thought some of you may like to see. So here they are. I have deliberately not labelled them, in case any of you wanted to practice your recognition skills.

Any one know anything about this 'zebra' ant

Anyone know what insect this nest is used by?

A Parranda with Katty

I was waiting for the afternoon to cool down enough to take the dogs for a walk up the mountain, when Katty came by the casa. As usual she wanted to know what I was doing? Where was Heather?  Was she well? When would she be back? Was she still going to Spanish Classes? “Muy bien”! - though she agreed with me, that even if I didn’t sell much, setting up a stall in the local market and dealing with the locals, was a better way to learn the language,

We chatted about the local election. 83% of the voters in Oria had turned out, with the result that the sitting Mayor had been defeated by a margin of just 20 votes( 750 to 730). A very close result, but now it is all change in the town hall. Katty wasn’t at all happy, partly because her man didn’t win, but mainly because the eagerly anticipated works at the fuenta, started but nowhere near completed, by the last Mayor, had all been abruptly stopped since the result.

Just then Andre came up the camino in his ancient red Renault 4, loaded inside and out with the hay, that he had recently cut from several of his tiny fields that are dotted around the valley sides.  What a workhorse that old Reanault 4 is – it’s his taxi and his ‘burro’, used to ferry his grandkids Jonny and Lucie  to school; Isobel to the market and himself down to his weekly card game; as well as all kinds of other tasks on his scattered smallholding in the barranco.

His goats don’t just forage on the mountain herbs. At various times of year their diet is supplemented by other foods. Olive stems after the January harvest; cobs of corn in late summer; almond husks in September, and now the spring hay. 

The usual cheery “Hola”, came from the open window as he passed.

Katty and I continued our chat – how unusually wet the spring had been, but how it had made everywhere green and how especially beautiful the flowers that lined the lanes were. She chided me for spoiling my dogs – “they have too much food and attention”; and wanted to know if we were expecting more visitors this summer?

She was about to move on when Heather returned from her Sevilliana dancing class that she enjoys twice weekly with a group of other women and children, Spanish and British, in the next village of Los Cerricos. 

Katty went of to greet her, with a hug and kisses on both cheeks. "What dance have you been learning today", she asked?  ‘The Parranda’, Heather replied, which resulted in a spontaneous dance  in the camino  with Katty playing imaginary castanets and loudly humming a happy folk tune she had learned as girl.

In Spanish 'parranda' means to go to a Party - these two just had a party on the street.