After Chamois in the Asturias 285 
presumed that another group of hovels hidden somewhere beneath 
our sight formed Lower Bulnes. 
We entered the best looking of these stone-age abodes, and 
discovered that it formed the presbytery of the Cura of Bulnes, 
a strange mixture of alpine hut with Gothic hermitage. Slabs of 
rough stone projecting from unhewn walls served as tables, while 
rudely carved oak-chests did double duty as seats or wardrobes 
in turn. The Cura’s bed occupied one corner, and from the walls 
hung gun and rifle, together with accoutrements of the chase— 
satchels, belts, and pouches, all made of chamois-skin. At first 
sight indeed the whole presbytery reeked rather of hunting than 
of holiness—it is scarce too strong to say it smelt of game. An 
inner apartment, windowless and lit by the feeble flicker of a 
marvposa, that recalled the reed-lights of mediaeval history (and 
to which, by the way, access was only gained past other cells 
which appeared to be the abode of cows and of the cook respec- 
tively), was assigned to us. 
The Padre himself was away on the cliffs above cutting 
hay, for he combines agriculture with the care of souls, owns 
many cows, and makes the celebrated cheese known as “ Cabrales.” 
Presently he joined us in his stone chamber, and at once showed 
himself to be, by his frank and genuine manner, what later 
experience proved him, a true sportsman and a most unselfish 
companion. His Reverence at once set about the details of 
organising our hunt, sent his nephew to round-up the mountain 
lads, some being sent off at once to spend that night, how, we 
know not, in crags of the Pefia Vieja, while others were instructed 
to join us there in the morning. 
While we dined on smoked chamois and rough red wine he 
busied himself arranging weapons, ammunition, and mocassins 
for a few days’ work on the crags. Our arrival having been 
prearranged, we were soon on our upward way, by sinous tracks 
which lead to the summits of the Picos de Europa, some altitudes 
of which are as follows : Pefia Vieja, 10,046 feet; Picos de Hierro, 
9610 feet; Pico de San Benigno, 9329 feet. All heavy baggage 
was left below; there only remained the tent, rugs, guns, and 
cartridges, and these were got up, heaven knows how, to about 
half the required height on the backs of two donkeys. For 
provisions we relied on the milk and bread of the cheese-makers 
who live up there, much in the style of the Norwegian peasants 
