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Mike Wearing travelled on our 'Navarra in Winter - Realm of the Wildcat' holiday and submitted this entry to our Writing Competition.
If my friend Doug Yelland had not booked the ‘Navarra in Winter’ trip, I would probably have been at home taking yet more photographs of the confiding Water Rails on Portsmouth’s Baffin’s Pond. Inspired by tales of Spanish Wildcats I booked the holiday. My only British encounter with a Wildcat occurred when, a student at an Argyll Forestry School in the 1960’s, I saw a tabby tail vanish into glen side vegetation. Naturetrek had not let me down on previous trips, Wolf, Bison and a Raccoon Dog in Poland and Bears in Finland.
We landed in Bilbao and met our guides, Byron and Julian. I was lucky in securing the front seat next to Julian and quickly realised I was in the company of a skilled naturalist. ‘This was all snow a week ago,’ remarked Julian as White Storks circled a field. Arriving at Isaba, Julian introduced us to our superb apartments, matched by our evening meal set around a table where bottles of the appropriately named ‘Navarra’ wine attempted to outnumber the diners.
We landed in Bilbao and met our guides, Byron and Julian. I was lucky in securing the front seat next to Julian and quickly realised I was in the company of a skilled naturalist. ‘This was all snow a week ago,’ remarked Julian as White Storks circled a field. Arriving at Isaba, Julian introduced us to our superb apartments, matched by our evening meal set around a table where bottles of the appropriately named ‘Navarra’ wine attempted to outnumber the diners.
Wildcat, Spain
Next day we were up and raring to go. Our first stop: a wide valley full of birds, including Hawfinch. Moving on, we began our first scan for the cats. A view of winter grass splashed with snow and interrupted by dark plantations. Storm clouds gathered so we moved on. Climbing high into the still wintered Pyrenees we encountered a flock of white wing-flashing Snow Finches. Somewhere near the Spanish/French border we pulled in against a wall of snow. Alpine Chough fluttered the snowfields like black butterflies while a male Crossbill sat sentinel atop a pine. Driving back down we paused for hot chocolate at the ski area crowded with noisy school children. Warmed, we sought a quieter viewpoint. A skein of Common Cranes appeared before being absorbed by cloud, but still we heard their excited ‘Whooping’. A swirl of Black Kite were joined by their red cousins as they drifted northwards. Again cranes, again kites. It was time to return to the cat’s domain.
We lined up on the banks of a stream in places still bridged by snow. If I had not moved a little way from the watching group ... Setting my scope up I began scanning. I was running along the upper edge of a lynchet-like bank when, a shape, an animal, a rabbit ... no! A WILDCAT. My urgent call brought Doug panting to my side and demanding directions. I lowered my scope for Sara, and briefly lost the cat. I quickly relocated it as it obligingly walked sedately across a snow field. Now watching it through my camera it suddenly lifted its tail, then continued, only to merge with dark vegetation and falling rain as it left the snow. Our first day, our first cat, (a ‘she’ according to Byron) and I had found it. Julian shook my hand and another wine-washed evening meal became a celebration.
We lined up on the banks of a stream in places still bridged by snow. If I had not moved a little way from the watching group ... Setting my scope up I began scanning. I was running along the upper edge of a lynchet-like bank when, a shape, an animal, a rabbit ... no! A WILDCAT. My urgent call brought Doug panting to my side and demanding directions. I lowered my scope for Sara, and briefly lost the cat. I quickly relocated it as it obligingly walked sedately across a snow field. Now watching it through my camera it suddenly lifted its tail, then continued, only to merge with dark vegetation and falling rain as it left the snow. Our first day, our first cat, (a ‘she’ according to Byron) and I had found it. Julian shook my hand and another wine-washed evening meal became a celebration.
There was a buzz of anticipation next morning when we boarded the minibuses. The sun shone and already the Griffon Vultures were finding uplift. A light snowfall had created a mountainside of Christmas trees. If we had not lingered over a picnic lunch in a spectacular sunbathed gorge where a Golden Eagle soared above the crags and a pair of Peregrines played aerial acrobatics. Had we not paused to watch a Lammergeier forming a cross against the sky, or an abrupt stop at the cry of Wallcreeper. Flashing crimson wings it worked a rugged rock face high above us. Had we not paused to photograph roadside Citril Finches. If we had not gathered around Julian, anxious to see the Pyrenean Chamois he had located high on the mountainside we would not have been driving back along a wide valley where earlier in the day fresh snow had been sprinkled with Brambling. If Mary had not called ‘Cat!’, we would not have stopped at that moment.
The Wildcat, a handsome male, bounded across the road, then at the wood edge paused to glare back at us. Showing little apparent concern it moved through the trees and squatted to spraint. This was his domain, the watchers the interlopers. He moved back to the wood edge and stalked a parallel route to his escort of observers. Around trees, over fallen branches, briefly behind winter-yellowed Junipers, this handsome tabby demanded admiration. His thick banded tail flowed from his darkly lined spine. His grey coat lay thickly down his sides while he wore sandy trousers below his tail. Long white whiskers hung from his broad face into which were set his fierce yellow eyes. Very much a cat, but what a cat. A powerful animal as wild as his wild mountain habitat. As he finally vanished behind a thick clump of Juniper this encounter was burned into the minds of we lucky few. Yet another wildlife moment but a moment that will occupy many hours of recollection.
The Wildcat, a handsome male, bounded across the road, then at the wood edge paused to glare back at us. Showing little apparent concern it moved through the trees and squatted to spraint. This was his domain, the watchers the interlopers. He moved back to the wood edge and stalked a parallel route to his escort of observers. Around trees, over fallen branches, briefly behind winter-yellowed Junipers, this handsome tabby demanded admiration. His thick banded tail flowed from his darkly lined spine. His grey coat lay thickly down his sides while he wore sandy trousers below his tail. Long white whiskers hung from his broad face into which were set his fierce yellow eyes. Very much a cat, but what a cat. A powerful animal as wild as his wild mountain habitat. As he finally vanished behind a thick clump of Juniper this encounter was burned into the minds of we lucky few. Yet another wildlife moment but a moment that will occupy many hours of recollection.
Wildcat, Spain
Next morning we awoke to thick snow burying the cat’s hunting grounds. Although now unlikely to encounter another Wildcat, our adventure continued.
Read more about our 6-day 'Navarra in Winter - Realm of the Wildcat' holiday.