Spanish Secrets: The Hunt
Craig Briggs and his wife Melanie are woken by the crack of gunshots in their sleepy Galician village.
This morning we were woken from our slumber by gun fire. One unmistakable crack, followed in quick succession by another.
It's not unusual to hear rifle shots in this part of rural Galicia, but these two shots seemed very close to the house. Hunting here is still an acceptable and popular sport.
A hunting party normally consists of between six and a dozen men of varying ages. They are usually dressed in camouflage combat clothing, with sturdy military style boots and a hat. Strapped to their belts are large hunting knives and their rifles are carried with almost casual ease.
The party splits into two unequal groups, which communicates via two-way radios. The larger of the two groups is accompanied by a pack of hounds, consisting of between six and ten excited Beagles. This group worries the prey, forcing it towards the smaller group laying in ambush.
So here we are, a group of men armed with knives and high-powered rifles with a pack of hounds chasing their quarry. What prey could require such an organised and lethal response? Are dragons still roaming the hills of Galicia, or maybe mountain lions? It might possibly be wild bears or even packs of savage wolves?
Alas no. These "men" are hunting young deer, or perhaps a small boar. I've never quite understood the desire of men to track, hunt and finally kill a defenceless young animal simply for sport.
Some years ago we were fortunate enough to take a trip to Kenya and spend time on safari. The excitement and adrenalin rush of tracking wild animals in their natural habitat is a unique experience. The sheer thrill of squeezing your finger and hearing the click of the shutter, as another frame is captured on film.
We know some of the men who have woken us this morning. They are nice people. Family men. They work hard and enjoy life.
One such man, Jesus, and his wife Cinda, live in the next village which overlooks Canabal. They have three beautiful children and live in a restored old stone house.
Typically they have a large kitchen in the basement with a table and seating for at least a dozen people. This room is used for feasting on the victims of the hunt. Mounted on the walls are various stuffed animal heads, trophies of previous engagements.
We often see his eldest son Brice, who's thirteen, playing with his friends in the village. They are armed with air rifles, preparing for the day when their fathers take them on their first hunt.
What to me seems barbaric and inhumane, is to them as natural as a walk in the park. It's a way of life that has been passed down from generation to generation and a way of life that will inevitably meet its own end.
