4 September 2014. Casares, Malaga, Spain. In my week in Andalusia, Spain I stayed in an idyllically situated guest house, Finca la Molina sits comfortably with its back against the steep tumbling wall of a mountain with commanding views to the north, east and south. At left, a truly massive peak, craggy, arid and in all likelihood thorny every step of the grueling way to the top. Across the valley, more mountains and precipitous cliffs which allow a toehold for a sparkling white village. And to the right, a long, widening valley which leads down to the Mediterranean lying under a haze of heat and dust. Time spent sitting on the terrace and gazing across the valley is endlessly worthwhile. Dark brings out the bats and Nightjars while the distant barking of village dogs tell of unseen visitors. By day and as soon as the sun has warmed the ground, the Griffon Vultures take flight; and that’s where this post really begins.
This wasn’t really a birding day, my son and I did more cultural things like visiting the remains of a nearby Roman town, enjoying a leisurely lunch and lying on a beach. But my field notes for the day refer to sightings of a Hoopoe (albeit fleetingly) a Lesser Kestrel and a stream of wind-tossed, migrant Black Kites. But late in the day we visited the nearby white village of Casares and there watched as hundreds of Griffon Vultures rode the waves of wind that flowed and swirled around the fractured rocky cliffs and outcrops. Somehow it seemed as if the very presence of the flock on its wind-borne joy-rides drew new birds to join them. As they gained height, sailed north and disappeared, then no sooner was one out of sight than another appeared from somewhere. Maybe they were just doing once-around-the-mountain circuits for the fun of it.
Watching the effortless control as they sailed and drifted, rising, sliding and turning, their wings so exquisitely right for the task, I could have watched these Birds of the Day for hours; it’s quite possible that I did. I managed to get a few decent photos and the nonchalant what-are-you-looking-at gaze of the one above says it all better than I ever could.
