Birding in the Spanish Pyrenees

"Lammergier!" John shouted - we all spun around.  There he was, a majestic vulture close to four feet long with a wingspan of almost eight feet, slowly pumping those enormous wings to gain altitude. The bird had been on the ground perhaps 100 feet from us, hidden by a small hillock.  As he beat away,  we had long looks at this tawny-dark giant with the long, wedge-shaped tail.  The silvery peaks of the Spanish Pyrenees surrounded us, the sky was deep blue, and alpine lilies grew at our feet.  Life was good.

Friends in England had invited us to spend part of August birding with them in northern Spain.  In early August we flew into Barcelona via Vienna.  We spent a leisurely day and a half driving to Jaca, a resort town in the foothills of the Pyrenees.  Jaca was our home base for the following week.

The Pyrenees form the mountainous boundary between France to the north and Spain to the south.  The tallest peak, Aneto, rises 3,404 meters (10,212 feet).  Most of the twenty-six major peaks rise between 1500 and 3000 meters.  Birds are plentiful.  Alpine, Mediterranean and northern European species can be found in the Pyrenees and the nearby dry valleys and foothills at various times of the years.  Although August is the quietest month for birds, we were not disappointed.

Up early our first day, the five of us agreed to go on a search for a very elusive, small grey bird called a  wallcreeper.  A narrow, dark, dripping tunnel appropriately named Boca del Infierno, or Hell's Mouth, carries a small mountain road through a rocky gorge in the mountains.  The gorge on either side of the tunnel has been a good place to find wallcreepers, as they glean insects from the crevices in the rocks and walls. This area in the northern Hecho Valley, about 50 km northwest of Jaca, is one of the lowest and most accessible places in the Pyrenees where wallcreepers can be found.  

On our way to the Valley, we made a stop on a stone bridge over the Rio Aragon.  Crag martins coursed the wide, shallow river as it chattered over rocks.  A bit farther north, the Hecho Valley is broad and open: perfect country for raptors.  We got our first of many red kites, Egyptian vultures, (Eurasian) griffon vultures, a booted eagle, a spotted flycatcher and the lammergier.

We had stopped along the quiet two-lane road to scope the booted eagle when John had glimpsed the lammergier from the corner of his eye.  Our grins were a mile wide.  As we celebrated the raptor with cookies and coffee, an elderly Basque gentleman stopped to chat.  We were at least 10 km from any town or settlement and he was out briskly walking, black beret cocked over one eye.  With his few English words, our basic Spanish and many smiles and gestures we learned about the grey herons that fish in the nearby river and the vultures that feed on carcasses in the fields.  He wished us well and continued on his long walk to somewhere. 

As we made our way north through the Hecho Valley, passing through the town of Hecho, we left open, sunny country behind.  Grey rock ravines dropped to an icy mountain stream that followed along the road.  The rock was dotted with a curious alpine saxifrage that looks just like a pale green sea anemone.  By now the wind had picked up and a fine cold rain was sweeping down the narrow valley in soaking gusts.  When we reached the dripping tunnel, the Boca del Infierno, we spaced ourselves along the ravine on each side and began a search for wallcreepers.  This is popular country for camping and hill walking.  Many people passed us in cars, on bicycles and on foot, always polite and sometimes curious about why we persistently scanned the high rock face across the road.  Most of the hikers carried walking sticks and some of the men sang what sounded like arias in clear voices as they walked.   The songs, combined with the soft 'clonk-bonk' of the large bells worn by the sheep in the area, were a hauntingly pleasant sound.

We spent forty wet, cold minutes looking for the elusive bird.  Our binocular lenses were wet and the fine, drifting rain settled on our clothes.  A lunch break was in order.  We found a camp ground along a shallow mountain stream where we sat sheltered on some rocks among alpine Queen Ann's lace, delicate pale blue campanula, tiny pinks nodding in the wind and mauve wild geranium.  The campers seemed unfazed by the rain as they picnicked outside, walked and sang.  Their good-natured cheerfulness was an antidote. 

Stay tuned for more birding in Spain.