I truly do love Spain.
My guide, friend, and owner of Great Spanish Hunts, Ignacio Navasqües, was sitting on a boulder to one side of me while Carlos, the regional game keeper, sat on another. Mora, Ignacio’s young Bavarian blood hound, was busy chasing a lizard. All three of the two-legged members of our party were staring intently through our binoculars at a herd of 10 – 15 Biceite Ibex that had emerged from a brush choked mountainside preparing to enter a terraced field of new wheat. The amazing view from our vantage encompassed some twenty kilometers of the Puertos de Tortosa-Beceite region of Spain and several other groups of the spectacular goats.
This was my third hunt with Ignacio, and over nearly a decade, he and his sister Marta had become dear friends to both my spouse and me. Indeed, while the three of us and Mora were sorting through goats, Roe Deer, and small reptiles, Marta and Nancy were sightseeing through the incredible mountains and tiny villages of old Aragon.
Suddenly, some three kilometers away, a lone speck materialized on one of the terraces. Through the spotting scope and the lens of Ignacio’s phenomenal Nikon B1000 camera, the billy appeared to have dramatically outward sweeping horns and carried himself like a very old animal. We quickly loaded ourselves, gear, and Mora in the land cruiser to drive to a point that might give us the opportunity to mount a stalk.
We had arrived in Barcelona a week before that late afternoon approach after an uneventful flight from Austin through Atlanta to our destination. The day before our departure, a federal judge in Florida had tossed the administration’s travel mask mandate. Both the Austin and Atlanta airports were 90% unmasked, and the overnight flight to Spain was far more restful than my recent masked imprisonment to and from Argentina. A few pearl clutching virtue signaling dead enders were on the flight, but passengers and crew happily ignored them.
Rolling with our luck just a bit farther, Spain, as planned, ended its indoor mask mandates the day we arrived. That bit of freedom made our week playing tourist in Barcelona much more enjoyable.
Barcelona is a great city of wide avenues and winding alleys. Literally every few steps sat a tapas bar or great restaurant. We were in a very comfortable boutique hotel on the edge of the Gothic Quarter with the Gaudi House Museum practically across the street. The days flew by shopping, sightseeing, eating, and enjoying wonderful wines. A traditional flamenco show was a highlight of the trip.
In an act of great kindness, Ignacio and Marta drove six hours from Madrid to pick us up at our hotel. We then loaded up our luggage, hunting gear, et al into their Land Cruiser and headed west toward the mountains. It was a four-hour drive through some of the most beautiful country in Spain – and ten total hours in the car for them.
Very late afternoon we pulled into a tiny mountain village (permanent population of exactly eight). There, all of us would stay in a lovely little 18th century house that serves as an inn for summer hikers and Ignacio’s clients hunting Beceite Ibex in that area. The owner, Mario, a delightful retired banker, also served as our chef. Weather was perfect with cool nights and pleasant days.
I should note that this was a far easier hunt than had been my two experiences in the Gredos Mountains. Those hunts had occurred in the fall, and the ibex were high in their range. Each day we spent long hours covering lots of kilometers hiking up drainages to get to where the Ibex herds were located during that time of year. During spring in the Beceite region, the technique is to get on vantage point and glass for animals emerging onto the terraced wheat fields.
It was interesting to discover that the terraced agriculture, and many of the actual fields, date to the 7th and 8th centuries when the Moors brought the technique from the Atlas Mountains of North Africa during the Islamic conquest of that part of Spain. Our lone ibex had entered just such a field.
After loading up, we were able to drive within about a kilometer of him. From the edge of the farm track we were able to study him closely both with a spotting scope and the Nikon. Thirteen growth rings could be easily counted on the well broomed horns. Moreover, the animal was in terrible condition with boney hips protruding through a ragged coat. His horns also had the odd flat spread that is occasionally found in the Beceite subspecies. Finally, he would also easily make SCI gold were I interested in submitting him. In short, he was a perfect animal to take. Our challenge was the setting sun and the 700 meters we needed to cover to get within range.
Coming off the low ridge, we were fortunate to find that an abandoned farm hid us from view for most of that distance. Creeping around the corner of the ruins, we were able to use the edge of the field’s terrace to crawl to a spot where both our range finders said 305 meters. We were both prone, and Ignacio quietly pushed his pack in front of me.
I was using Ignacio’s rifle, but a model with which I had great familiarity. It was a Blaser R8 Professional Success (pistol grip) in .270 WSM equipped with a superb Zeiss Victory scope. Resting it across the pack in prone position gave me bench-rest stability. With the scope set at 250 meters, the fast 130 gr bullet would be MOA of the aiming point. I did allow for a bit of drift in a brisk crosswind. As the animal turned quartering toward me, the perfect trigger equipping every R8 broke, and the big old animal collapsed in his tracks.
Looking at his watch and then at the sky, Ignacio had a quick conversation with Carlos. Turning to me he suggested we deal with the ibex quickly and take a quick look before full dark for a large roebuck Carlos had seen in the area. It was April, and the roe deer rut was just getting started. The dominant bucks tend to be very territorial during those few weeks.
With no need to take the cape, Ibex look great as a Euro mount, we were quickly headed toward the vehicle. Looking to the left, a group of roe deer could be seen standing in a field at our level five to six-hundred meters away. A large bodied buck dominated the group. Ignacio whispered that it was a shooter, but we continued to car and then raced up the mountain a few minutes to the area the other buck had been seen. Sure enough, he was feeding in one of the fields.
Ignacio and I moved quickly in the fading light to get into position for a shot. We had crept forward perhaps two-hundred meters where we reached a bit of brush that gave us a chance to look. The buck was gone. Ignacio grabbed my arm and whispered, “come on.” We raced forward perhaps a hundred meters to where the ground dropped away to the next set of terraces. Ignacio set the sticks, but nothing appeared.
Across the valley, through our binoculars, we could still just make out the original set of deer with the “shooter” we had passed. Looking at his watch again and the sky, Ignacio said “maybe,” and we sprinted for the vehicle.
As we passed the nearest point to the group some four hundred yards away, Ignacio and I bailed out, and Carlos continued up the track. We were able to use a fence line to duckwalk and then crawl to within 225 meters of the deer. I again was in prone position and listened carefully as Ignacio talked me onto the correct animal. Through the scope, I could just determine which end was which in the gathering gloom.
At the shot we were both blinded by the muzzle flash. As our vision returned, it was apparent he wasn’t lying where I fired, and neither of us saw him sprinting left or right. We assumed he went straight away. In a few minutes, Carlos returned and brought along Mora. With flashlights, we could see no blood, but we spread out along the direction we were certain he had traveled. After fifty yards, we entered the bordering brush and had found nothing.
Mora was clearly not happy with us, and finally Ignacio released the nine-month-old pup. Perhaps a minute later she was excitedly bouncing around the lovely buck that had run perhaps thirty yards in a very different direction. I do love that dog.
We were nearly midnight getting back, but what an afternoon. The next day was spent exploring some of the lovely little villages in one of the least populated areas of Europe. Abandoned by most of the rural population during the Spanish Civil War, it was now an unpopulated landscape out of the 18th and 19th centuries filled with wild game. Simply an incredible experience.
As our KLM return flight lifted off from Amsterdam, I was already planning our return in a couple of years. We had one more corner of Spain to explore. Along with our friends, Andalusia and the unique game of Southern Spain beckoned.
My guide, friend, and owner of Great Spanish Hunts, Ignacio Navasqües, was sitting on a boulder to one side of me while Carlos, the regional game keeper, sat on another. Mora, Ignacio’s young Bavarian blood hound, was busy chasing a lizard. All three of the two-legged members of our party were staring intently through our binoculars at a herd of 10 – 15 Biceite Ibex that had emerged from a brush choked mountainside preparing to enter a terraced field of new wheat. The amazing view from our vantage encompassed some twenty kilometers of the Puertos de Tortosa-Beceite region of Spain and several other groups of the spectacular goats.
Suddenly, some three kilometers away, a lone speck materialized on one of the terraces. Through the spotting scope and the lens of Ignacio’s phenomenal Nikon B1000 camera, the billy appeared to have dramatically outward sweeping horns and carried himself like a very old animal. We quickly loaded ourselves, gear, and Mora in the land cruiser to drive to a point that might give us the opportunity to mount a stalk.
We had arrived in Barcelona a week before that late afternoon approach after an uneventful flight from Austin through Atlanta to our destination. The day before our departure, a federal judge in Florida had tossed the administration’s travel mask mandate. Both the Austin and Atlanta airports were 90% unmasked, and the overnight flight to Spain was far more restful than my recent masked imprisonment to and from Argentina. A few pearl clutching virtue signaling dead enders were on the flight, but passengers and crew happily ignored them.
Rolling with our luck just a bit farther, Spain, as planned, ended its indoor mask mandates the day we arrived. That bit of freedom made our week playing tourist in Barcelona much more enjoyable.
Barcelona is a great city of wide avenues and winding alleys. Literally every few steps sat a tapas bar or great restaurant. We were in a very comfortable boutique hotel on the edge of the Gothic Quarter with the Gaudi House Museum practically across the street. The days flew by shopping, sightseeing, eating, and enjoying wonderful wines. A traditional flamenco show was a highlight of the trip.
In an act of great kindness, Ignacio and Marta drove six hours from Madrid to pick us up at our hotel. We then loaded up our luggage, hunting gear, et al into their Land Cruiser and headed west toward the mountains. It was a four-hour drive through some of the most beautiful country in Spain – and ten total hours in the car for them.
Very late afternoon we pulled into a tiny mountain village (permanent population of exactly eight). There, all of us would stay in a lovely little 18th century house that serves as an inn for summer hikers and Ignacio’s clients hunting Beceite Ibex in that area. The owner, Mario, a delightful retired banker, also served as our chef. Weather was perfect with cool nights and pleasant days.
I should note that this was a far easier hunt than had been my two experiences in the Gredos Mountains. Those hunts had occurred in the fall, and the ibex were high in their range. Each day we spent long hours covering lots of kilometers hiking up drainages to get to where the Ibex herds were located during that time of year. During spring in the Beceite region, the technique is to get on vantage point and glass for animals emerging onto the terraced wheat fields.
It was interesting to discover that the terraced agriculture, and many of the actual fields, date to the 7th and 8th centuries when the Moors brought the technique from the Atlas Mountains of North Africa during the Islamic conquest of that part of Spain. Our lone ibex had entered just such a field.
After loading up, we were able to drive within about a kilometer of him. From the edge of the farm track we were able to study him closely both with a spotting scope and the Nikon. Thirteen growth rings could be easily counted on the well broomed horns. Moreover, the animal was in terrible condition with boney hips protruding through a ragged coat. His horns also had the odd flat spread that is occasionally found in the Beceite subspecies. Finally, he would also easily make SCI gold were I interested in submitting him. In short, he was a perfect animal to take. Our challenge was the setting sun and the 700 meters we needed to cover to get within range.
Coming off the low ridge, we were fortunate to find that an abandoned farm hid us from view for most of that distance. Creeping around the corner of the ruins, we were able to use the edge of the field’s terrace to crawl to a spot where both our range finders said 305 meters. We were both prone, and Ignacio quietly pushed his pack in front of me.
I was using Ignacio’s rifle, but a model with which I had great familiarity. It was a Blaser R8 Professional Success (pistol grip) in .270 WSM equipped with a superb Zeiss Victory scope. Resting it across the pack in prone position gave me bench-rest stability. With the scope set at 250 meters, the fast 130 gr bullet would be MOA of the aiming point. I did allow for a bit of drift in a brisk crosswind. As the animal turned quartering toward me, the perfect trigger equipping every R8 broke, and the big old animal collapsed in his tracks.
Looking at his watch and then at the sky, Ignacio had a quick conversation with Carlos. Turning to me he suggested we deal with the ibex quickly and take a quick look before full dark for a large roebuck Carlos had seen in the area. It was April, and the roe deer rut was just getting started. The dominant bucks tend to be very territorial during those few weeks.
With no need to take the cape, Ibex look great as a Euro mount, we were quickly headed toward the vehicle. Looking to the left, a group of roe deer could be seen standing in a field at our level five to six-hundred meters away. A large bodied buck dominated the group. Ignacio whispered that it was a shooter, but we continued to car and then raced up the mountain a few minutes to the area the other buck had been seen. Sure enough, he was feeding in one of the fields.
Ignacio and I moved quickly in the fading light to get into position for a shot. We had crept forward perhaps two-hundred meters where we reached a bit of brush that gave us a chance to look. The buck was gone. Ignacio grabbed my arm and whispered, “come on.” We raced forward perhaps a hundred meters to where the ground dropped away to the next set of terraces. Ignacio set the sticks, but nothing appeared.
Across the valley, through our binoculars, we could still just make out the original set of deer with the “shooter” we had passed. Looking at his watch again and the sky, Ignacio said “maybe,” and we sprinted for the vehicle.
As we passed the nearest point to the group some four hundred yards away, Ignacio and I bailed out, and Carlos continued up the track. We were able to use a fence line to duckwalk and then crawl to within 225 meters of the deer. I again was in prone position and listened carefully as Ignacio talked me onto the correct animal. Through the scope, I could just determine which end was which in the gathering gloom.
At the shot we were both blinded by the muzzle flash. As our vision returned, it was apparent he wasn’t lying where I fired, and neither of us saw him sprinting left or right. We assumed he went straight away. In a few minutes, Carlos returned and brought along Mora. With flashlights, we could see no blood, but we spread out along the direction we were certain he had traveled. After fifty yards, we entered the bordering brush and had found nothing.
Mora was clearly not happy with us, and finally Ignacio released the nine-month-old pup. Perhaps a minute later she was excitedly bouncing around the lovely buck that had run perhaps thirty yards in a very different direction. I do love that dog.
We were nearly midnight getting back, but what an afternoon. The next day was spent exploring some of the lovely little villages in one of the least populated areas of Europe. Abandoned by most of the rural population during the Spanish Civil War, it was now an unpopulated landscape out of the 18th and 19th centuries filled with wild game. Simply an incredible experience.
As our KLM return flight lifted off from Amsterdam, I was already planning our return in a couple of years. We had one more corner of Spain to explore. Along with our friends, Andalusia and the unique game of Southern Spain beckoned.
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