The Rock of Gibraltar

 After time in Madrid and Seville, we continued south toward Gibraltar, a quirky British Overseas Territory near the southern tip of Spain.  We got through customs and then to our hotel after a bit of VERY tight driving through some of the most narrow hilly roads I've ever driven on.

For those not really familiar with Gibraltar, it is an area of about 2.6 square miles and roughly 34,000 residents. There is a very distinctive sense that the British who live there are very defensive about their territory, which they gained in 1713 following the Treaty of Utrecht.  Signs declaring Britain's vow to never give up Gibraltar were commonly seen posted in windows of homes and some businesses.  Great Britain may own it, but the Spanish run it, at least based on my observations and interactions.

View of "the rock" from our hotel

The Calentita Food Festival was taking place the evening we arrived so we decided to check it out.  There were food and craft vendors, live music, and dancing.  I felt reasonably certain that we were the only Americans present.  It was important that I took this all in because this was a very genuine experience few Americans get to witness.

Children representing symbols of Gibraltar - including gulls and barbary macaques

We of course ventured to the top of the rock to see the famous barbary macaques.  We don't do tours so we did it on our own.  About 300 macaques live atop the rock, originating as imports from northern Africa during the Middle Ages.  The Gibraltar population acts as a sort of insurance population for the endangered species as numbers in Africa are reported to be decreasing due to habitat loss and other anthropogenic factors.  

Despite all of the warnings about feeding or touching the macaques, there were several tour guides openly feeding the animals small pieces of food to attract them toward tourists so that tourists can have their photos taken with a macaque on their shoulders.  Tour guides driving vans would pull up on a group of macaques and tempt them with food; the macaques would often jump on the moving van to the delight of the tourists.  If a macaque began acting aggressively for food, the tour guide would pull out his long stick with a rubber snake attached and poke it toward the macaque, which frightened the animal away.

This whole scenario was disheartening, to say the least.  Generations of these animals have become habituated to this exercise and people see these wild animals as circus monkeys.  I would implore anyone interested in seeing these animals to NOT hire one of these tour guides or give in to the urge to touch the animals.  One group of British teenagers, having watched one of the tour guides man-handle a young macaque, stupidly tried doing it without offering food and the macaque took a spirited swipe at them.  They laughed like idiots, but part of me wished they had been bitten and contracted some zoonotic disease. 

This is about as close as anyone should get to a wild macaque (they are cute)

This mom was not happy with me interrupting feeding time, so I left them to do their thing in privacy (I was further away than it appears in this photo)

A piss-poor photo of an Andalusian wall lizard (Podarcis vaucheri)

There are few accessible natural areas in Gibraltar.  Commonwealth Park contains a pond with map turtles (Graptemys sp.) and Iberian water frogs (Pelophylax perezi) as well as some invasive red swamp crayfish.  Trafalgar Cemetery provided a much-needed shaded space during a very hot day.  An acquaintance of mine, Francis Cosquieri, was raised in Gibraltar and knows the place like the back of his hand.  He recommended that I hike the Northern Defenses, a series of 18th century fortifications that sees little traffic and offers the potential for herp sightings.  Because we didn't start where we were supposed to, we got quite turned around trying to find an access point to the Northern Defenses.  It was very hot and we were mostly walking up steep avenues and maybe into peoples' yards...I had no idea what I was doing.  Our patience ran thin, but before tempers boiled over, we found the tucked-away access and were finally there.  We enjoyed some relief from the oppressive heat in the form of old bunkers or some sort of old stone shelters.  Herp diversity was limited to the widespread Moorish geckos (Tarentola mauritanica) darting in and out of the stone structures.  The real highlights were the amazing plants that grew here, including Creten Viper's-bugloss, throatwort, greater snapdragon, common poppy, and gold coin.

Seen on the way to Northern Defenses

Moorish gecko

Look at those boards!  Yes, I flipped them, but it was far too hot for anything to be there.  On the right day, though...

Gold coin (Pallenis maritima)

Gibraltar is a great place, but for us it's a one and done.  It is much too small and too built up for additional visits.  Portugal, on the other hand, WAS worth another trip, and so it was to be the final leg of this year's European vacation.

Españia: The Fire

 Spain in June is hot.  While it’s a busy month for visitors, much of its non-human life forms are in some stage of stasis; the vegetation crunchy and brown, the small animals tucked away in burrows or perhaps humid refugia deep within dry stone walls in old fields.  The heat dome is no joke over there. 

Detail from Fountain of the Falling Angel, Buen Retiro Park, Madrid

These conditions would play a pivotal role in my ability to observe many reptiles and amphibians.  Over the last several years, my interest in the herpetofauna of the Mediterranean region - southern Europe, north Africa, and the Middle East - has spiked tremendously.  Complicit in my obsession are herpetologists and authors Philippe Geniez (“Snakes of Europe, North Africa, & the Middle East”) and Jeroen Speybroek (“Field Guide to the Amphibians and Reptiles of Britain and Europe”).  These books are essential for enthusiastic novices such as myself if finding some of these animals is a travel goal.  And while April and May are undoubtedly better months for herping Spain than mid June, I figured I might luck out with some persistent searching.

Our first stop was the bustling city of Madrid, home to about 3.4 million humans plus the hordes of tourists.  Madrid is not known for its biological diversity, for sure, but it’s got an undeniable charm.  The mix of old and new appeals to many different kinds of people.  I couldn’t help but notice that a very significant percentage of its younger population were sporting tattoos on the backs of their upper arms.  Just dainty little tattoos, not the big bold kind.  It kind of felt a little like the kanji trend of 2026.  

The first reptiles seen were some non-native turtles in a pond outside the Crystal Palace in Buen Retiro Park.  Unfortunately, the red-eared slider is established throughout much of Europe, including in the pond. Those were expected.  But I was a little surprised to see several cooters and map turtles as well.  There was a crowd of tourists throwing bread and other scraps into the pond, which simultaneously attracted the turtles, ducks, pigeons, and carp and created a surreal frenzy wherein each animal pushed and shoved for any tiny morsel.  I imagine that these animals have become dependent on these handouts.  

To escape the heat, we drove up to Sierra de Guadarrama National Park, a bit north of Madrid.  These mountains form a relatively new national park protecting some of central Spain’s greatest concentrations of organisms in need of conservation.  The park also preserves some long-held cultural aspects as well, such as cattle ranching, which is not without some controversy.  

We arrived at the large and virtually empty parking lot (and I was concerned we’d get there so late in the morning that we’d be turned away from the full lot - ha).  We prepared for what I figured might be a tough ascent to the top of Peñalara.  Not long into our hike, it was clear my daughter wasn’t having it.  So while my wife and daughter stayed behind, I began climbing the rocky switchback trail.  At first it was invigorating, but maybe thirty minutes in, I was beginning to feel it.  First, I was wearing the absolute wrong shoes.  To pack lighter for the trip, I left my hikers home and instead wore casual walking shoes.  Big mistake.  Then, my knee, which has been bothering me as of late, began to protest the very steep slog.  At one point I was ready to give up and just return down hill, but I was nearing the top and felt that if I had gone this far, I may as well just keep going.  And man, was I right to do that.

Steep switchback

I reached a juncture.  I could continue on to the peak (at 2,428 meters) or choose a greener path through a valley.  I wasn’t trying to win an endurance challenge, and there are few reptiles at the barren and windy peak.  So I changed course and headed toward what turned out to be one of the most majestic and beautiful places I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life.  Words cannot accurately convey the place.

Iberian wall lizard (Podarcis hispanicus)

Northern wheatear

Many tiny streams of snowmelt join to form larger streams of rushing, crystal clear water down the valley.  These streams cascade over boulder-strewn hillsides, creating waterfalls and lush, deep green moss.  Walking alongside one of these streams, I caught a glimpse of something I didn’t expect to see - a large, boldly patterned fire salamander (Salamandra salamandra) swimming across the surface toward the grassy bank on the other side. This is now how I expected to see my first - or any - fire salamander.

I could have stayed here all day, but my family was hanging around the parking area and small interpretive center, a long hike away. So, now with a pesky toe blister, I headed back down. When I got there, my daughter told me she had seen some lizards around the perimeters of some old stone structures and walls. Together, we looked around and in fact, confirmed the presence of wall lizards. At the base of one of the buildings, I noticed some movement in the tall grass, and I gently cupped my hand over whatever it was and pulled out an Iberian emerald lizard (Lacerta schreiberi). After taking a few photos, I put it back where I found it. A minute later, I was approached by a park worker and gently scolded for touching wildlife in a national park. I completely understood and agreed not to touch any other animals, and she smiled and walked away. But my mind went straight to the hundreds (or thousands) of big, smelly cow pies I passed while up on the mountain, smothering vegetation, and of course to the thought of dozens of cattle coming to drink from the small streams and pools and trampling the delicate margins. Apparently there is an agreement in place between the cattle owners and the park that allows the cattle to continue grazing unabated throughout the park. I understand preserving cultural practices, but, I think sometimes it's okay to throw tradition to the wind.

Candelario de la serpiente, 1516. In the Segovia Cathedral. "The payments and execution of a large Paschal candle holder with a serpent wound round it are recorded in the early 16th century account books of Segovia cathedral. Thanks to this documentation it is known that in 1516 various payments were made to the wood carver Juan Rodriguez (who made other items for the cathedral such as the walnut lectern for the choir) for carving the candle holder and to the painter Christobal de Sosa for applying the polychromy. This object evokes the serpent of the Garden of Eden wound round a gilded wooden trunk which represents the tree of Good and Evil. The snake has a woman's face and can thus be associated with Eve, the first woman and the initiator of Original Sin, according to the Bible".

Madrid at 4:00 AM

Leaving Madrid, we headed southwest to Seville.  If Madrid is the Chicago of Spain, Seville is like its Naperville.  Smaller, easier to drive in, and quicker to get out of the city when needed.

View from the hotel

Spanish show about an American movie about a Korean musical group.  And they say globalism is a bad thing...

This spectacular ombú "tree" can be found in the former Monastery of Santa Saria de las Cuevas.  It began as a seed from South America, collected by Hernando Colón, son of Christopher Columbus, during one of Columbus' voyages across the Atlantic.  While it mostly resembles a true tree, it is actually allied with the pokeweeds.  At over 500 years of age, this ombú represents the first ever specimen of its kind in Europe.

Flamenco artists in the plazas

In the small village of Aracena, I located the entrance to a narrow road in a quiet corner of town.  We decided to walk its length.  It was very hot, with temps between 90 and 100 degrees F, but the road was mostly shaded by large trees.  The road was like a scene out of a movie - old stone walls, tucked away farms, and gnarled trees and vines.  Bucolic.  Once we reached the end of this road, we turned back to return to the car.  Now, even though the conditions weren't what I considered ideal for snakes, I'm always looking around in places like this.  So as we were back near the start of the road, something in my peripheral vision caught my attention.  To my right, intertwined through an old wire fence, was the biggest horseshoe whipsnake (Hemorrhois hippocrepis) I could imagine.  I managed to unravel it from the fence it was clinging to.  True to form, it took multiple swings at me, landing a few punches.  This was a big, muscular animal that didn't take any shit from anyone or anything.  I loved it.  

Some local sentiment

In short, Spain was incredible, and in my ideal world I'd visit again and again. 

Reelfoot

After stretching my legs at Land Between the Lakes in Kentucky, I headed southwest toward Reelfoot Lake in far western Tennessee.  The lake, and the adjacent bottomlands, have called to me like a mythical siren off and on for a couple of decades, and I found myself working in the vicinity for a few days.  So...it was time to explore the area a bit.

For such a significant recreational draw, the surrounding area is pretty depressed from an economic standpoint.  Most of the surrounding small towns dotting the landscape sport long-shuttered gas stations, abandoned homes, and dilapidated infrastructure.  About the only sure signs of life are the ubiquitous Dollar General stores and Baptist churches.  

My first foray had me hiking a trail through the bottomlands on the western side of the preserve.  The trail was not well maintained, which isn't much of an issue for me.  The mosquitoes and flies, on the other hand, were insufferable.  I made the entire length of the trail, but not without a few choice expletives and knocking the glasses off my face twice.  

The gravel backroad that leads to a trailhead

A view of the trail roughly halfway through

As the sun began to set, I headed over to the southern shore of the lake, walked to the end of a broken pier, and just watched and listened for a while.

The next afternoon, I set off for the northern portion of the preserve, along the Upper Blue Basin.  There was no one else in the entire preserve, and deer and black vultures skedaddled as I slowly cruised toward a parking spot I liked.  Exiting my car, I walked to the edge of the forest, mindful of the abundant poison ivy, and looked down.  Right there at my boot, crawling through the dry leaves, was a young mud snake.

Welcome to Reelfoot!

I worked my way around some large cypress trees at the water's edge, finding a couple of mud turtle shells from animals that had been predated by (probably) mink.  Movement at the base of one of the trees turned out to be a snake rapidly making a break for the water.  I quickly caught it before confirming its ID (hint - don't do that in places like this where cottonmouths are common).  It turned out to be my first ever broad-banded watersnake.  It had seen better days, but it was full of piss and vinegar and not lethargic so I felt okay about holding it to take a few pictures.  Then I placed it back onto the ground, where it proceeded to dash right into the water and disappear.

Throughout the trip, the turtles were very actively nesting.  I assisted several turtles in crossing roads, mostly red-eared sliders, as well as eastern box turtles.  But the strangest experience I had with a turtle on the trip was watching a large female common snapping turtle attempt to nest at the top of a large rootball of a downed tree.  A few yards away, a completely predated snapping turtle nest.  It is damn near impossible for these eggs to survive in the ground long enough to hatch, but enough make it to keep the species going.

Spot the momma turtle

Returning to town in the waning daylight, I took the long way back.  Highway 22, which traces a ridgeline to the east about fourteen miles long.  To the west, a big open sky.  The air was heavy and the aroma of deep mud and campfire beckoned me.  But, the real world calls.  I'll return one day.