Andalucia and its Big Game 6i 



sense is held in tension to mark and measure each sign or sound ; 

 'tis but the fall of a pine-cone that has caught your ear, but it 

 might easily have been a single footfall of game. The wild-life 

 of the wilderness pursues its daily course around unconscious of 

 a concealed intruder in its midst. Overhead, busy hawfinches 

 wrestle with ripening cones, swinging in gymnastic attitude. 

 These are silent. You 

 have first become aware 

 of their presence by a 

 shower of scales gently 

 fluttering down upon the 

 shrubbery of genista 

 and rosemary alongside, 

 amidst the depths of 

 which lovely French-grey 

 warblers with jet-black 

 skull-caps [Sylvia 

 melanocephala) pursue 

 insect-prey with furious 

 energy — dashing into the 

 tangle of stems reckless 

 of damage to tender 

 plumes. There are other 

 bush - skulkers infinitely 

 more reclusive than these 

 — some indeed whose 

 mere existence one could 

 never hope to verify (in 

 winter) save by patience and these hours of silent watching. 

 Such are the Fantail, Cetti's, and Dartford warblers, while 

 among sedge and cane-brake alert reed -climbers beguile and 

 delight these spells of waiting. Soldier-ants and horned beetles 

 with laborious gait, but obvious fixity of purpose, pursue 

 their even way, surmounting all obstruction — such as boot or 

 cartridge-bag. Earth and air alike are instinct with humble life. 

 To a northerner it is hard to believe that this is mid-winter, 

 when almost every tree remains leaf-clad, the brushwood green 

 and flower- spangled. Arbutus, rosemary, and tree-heath are 

 already in bloom, while bees buzz in shoulder-high heather and 

 suck honey from its tricoloured blossoms — purple, pink, and 



REED -CLIMBERS 



