A Vulture’s Colony 277 
haunts. The surface of the rock, though at places nearly vertical, 
was deeply weathered and afforded me admirable hand-hold as 
well as good foot-hold for my rope-soled shoes and I was able to 
traverse the face of the cliff in various directions and visit a 
number of nesting-places. Being late in the season none of the 
nests contained eggs, but I was able to get what I had come 
for, namely, a capital series of photographs of young Griffons 
in their nests in almost every stage, from the baby in white down, 
no bigger than a newly hatched gosling, to the lumbering full- 
grown young bird completely clothed with great brown feathers 
waiting only the growth of its primaries to take wing and_ fly 
away. 
Whilst thus engaged with my camera, the old birds kept sailing 
to and fro above the cliff, their immense wings spread out and 
apparently motionless with the tips of the primary feathers widely 
separated. Now and again some anxious mother would come past 
a cavern I was in with a great swirl of wings and I was able to 
get several snapshots at such, as they came towards me and before 
they detected my presence and swung off with heavy flapping wings. 
Vultures like other large raptores do not realize their power as 
compared with that of a human being engaged in making his way 
along some narrow ledge or across the face of a rough crag where 
D 
a very slight touch would infallibly cause him to lose his balance. 
That they could easily effect this is certain, but it is equally certain 
that their inherent dread of man effectually deters them from resort- 
ing to tactics so disturbing to the egg-hunter or photographer. 
Leaving the cliff after a rough descent of the hillside even more 
unpleasant than the ascent, we at length reached the small white 
house below. 
The view from the vine-covered fatzo was simply magnificent. 
Far below us the yellow sand of the coastline stretched away for 
20 miles to the old fortress and lighthouse of Tarifa, whose white 
