In Spain, the montería remains the most popular form of hunting. But ever since a Frenchman settled in Andalusia, stalking has been gaining popularity there, as well.
After traveling 200 kilometers from Málaga, we pass through Villaviciosa de Córdoba and then turn onto a dirt road that leads us to a massive gate. A sign signals that our journey ends here: Coto privado de caza – private hunting reserve. Welcome to Las Palomas, where Odile and Pascal – a French couple – host hunters from all over the world, all passionate enthusiasts of stalking and raised-hide hunting. A quick trip to the shooting range confirms that the riflescopes have survived the journey unscathed. After that, we recharge our batteries in a short night’s sleep.
We are in the heart of the Sierra Morena. Day breaks, and February suddenly feel spring-like, with its distinctive scents and the chirping of birds. But where does the name “Las Palomas” come from? Not far from the hacienda, there is a ruin perched on a hill. It is a former dovecote for carrier pigeons that were used by the Spanish military during the Civil War. From this highest point, we take in the vastness of the landscape, but above all its topography, where dizzying gorges meet gentler hills.
There are three days left until the season ends, and Pascal can still hunt a few animals of the local game species: wild boar, mouflon, red deer, and fallow deer. With a stalking stick in hand, binoculars around our necks, and rifles slung over our shoulders, we move quietly through the pine and oak trees and the jara shrubs that cover the undergrowth. The local vegetation is unfamiliar to us, and the binoculars provide valuable aid in spotting the animals, whose vigilance has reached its peak now, at the end of the hunting season.
Suddenly, Pascal points out a young mouflon to us. It’s over 200 meters away. But the Geovid and its ballistics calculator give us the confidence we need. As the shot is taken, the mouflon vanishes into the ravine that separates us. An hour later, after making our way through what felt like a jungle, we find the shot location, guided by the Leica ProTrack app. Tuc, the Bavarian mountain hound, picks up the scent and finds the mouflon after a few dozen meters.
In the afternoon, after the sacred Spanish siesta, Pascal suggests we go on another outing. There’s a springtime atmosphere in the air, but the sun is sinking rapidly toward the horizon, reminding us that winter isn’t quite over yet. The temperature drops, forcing us to pause and put on our jackets – just as a group of mouflon sheep appears ahead. Startled by our presence, they flee at high speed. The scope’s magnification is reduced to the minimum, giving the shooter maximum field of view as he takes down the last member of the group. We prepare the venison before taking it to the cold store, where it will later be transformed into estofado de venado, carillada en salsa de ciervo, and other delicious Spanish specialties.
The days pass, and no two are alike. Despite miles of stalking through majestic, wild landscapes – from rugged rocky peaks to deep gorges – our second day of hunting offers no opportunity for a shot. However, this doesn’t dampen the joy of roaming through Andalusian
nature and enjoying a constant spectacle both on the ground and in the sky – be it a hoopoe, a flock of vultures, or the first gray cranes beginning their annual migration to Northern Europe.
To round off our stay and to conclude the hunting season, Pascal decides to take us to the most remote part of his grounds. He hopes to spot a fallow buck there. The vegetation is dense, the terrain steep, and our binoculars are put to the test. Our fingers cramp up from the cold. Then, suddenly, stones roll down the slope. After long minutes of stillness, the animal, now calmed, continues on its way. We spot huge antlers. It’s the fallow buck we’ve been hoping for! Unfortunately, a clean shot is impossible, so we watch him until he disappears into a ravine.
But the hunt isn’t over yet. Behind us, a group of mouflons approaches leisurely, oblivious to our presence. The rifle rests on the shooting stick, the scope is set to 6x magnification, and Pascal whispers his instructions. With the shot, the old ram leaves this Andalusian soil where he was born and where his descendants will carry on the species. In the sky, the vultures trace wide spirals that, strangely enough, remind us of the heavily curved horns we are holding with both hands at that very moment.
