Loading search...
Am I dreaming? It’s April 2020, Boris is doing a daily live broadcast at 4pm; it’s a global pandemic. Previously unknown but now familiar experts show us graphs and bar-charts, the R number, social distancing, facemasks, furlough, shops and schools closed, exercise one hour a day. People are scared, bewildered.
Two years later I am standing on the balcony of our hotel room in El Rocío, Andalucía. The sun is just rising, casting a warming glow over the laguna, Madre de las Marismas. Several dozen Whiskered Terns are skimming the water’s surface, having replaced the hundreds of swirling Collared Pratincoles from yesterday afternoon. Squadrons of Glossy Ibis are doing a flypast over feeding Spoonbills, Little Egrets and Black-winged Stilts. In the small reed-bed below me a pair of stout Purple Swamphen are taking a morning stroll amongst the reeling Reed Warblers. Hundreds of Sand Martins have now arrived to feed and rest, they perch together on the reed stems, so many, almost bending them down into the life-bringing water. In the background the morning sun highlights dozens of pale pink Flamingoes, beyond them Red Deer and wild horses walking in the shallows. El Rocío, what a place, best described as a Western film set, alongside Minsmere on steroids!
It's mid-afternoon, we are now in Extremadura, Simon and Niki our guides have stopped us at a vantage point. The drying grass fields are contrasted by the cloudless blue sky. A dark morph Montagu’s Harrier is putting on a show for us, a Hen Harrier appears as well, drifting low, twisting, turning. Niki has spotted a Little Bustard in the distance, crouched, distorted by heat-haze. All around are larks, Thekla, Crested and Calandra, singing joyfully, this is their time. Corn Buntings are everywhere. We end the day at our new accommodation Las Canteras, standing isolated on the plain. White Storks stand like sentinels on their nests outside. We celebrate with a cold beer, chatting loudly, excitedly, a group of like-minded but diverse people unknown to each other a few days before. We almost drown out the chirping of the hundreds of Sparrows in the hedge by the front door. Just before dinner our first Great Bustard does a flypast in front of the dining room window, wow!
Next day we’re off to raptor central, Monfragüe Park. It lives up to its billing, cliffs of Griffon Vultures coming and going, Black Vultures, Booted Eagles, Short-toed Eagles, Peregrine Falcon, Black and Red Kites, the mighty Imperial Eagle even shows up. A pair of elegant Black Storks are nesting on the cliff face, watching their scruffy vulture neighbours disdainfully. It’s Good Friday and we are not alone, lots of Spanish families here enjoying the birds and countryside. Good to see, hope for the future. Niki has prepared our daily picnic, we sit in the shade soaking up the atmosphere and eating freshly made bread with a gorgeously smelly local cheese. Some of the group are busy stalking a gaudy Spanish Festoon.
Later, back at base, our hosts Paco and Pilar serve a hearty meal washed down with local vino; from the window in the distance the town of Trujillo rises like an island in the plains. At last to bed, the air is warm and still, we sleep with the window wide open. I am drifting not yet fully asleep. A Little Owl is calling accompanied by the eerie cry of a Stone Curlew, close, very close or am I dreaming?
John Coulter 2022
