Kevin and the Bearded Vulture
A short post about our encounters with a Marmot (we named him Kevin) and a Bearded Vulture, who didn't stick around long enough to name!
In the last week of our stay in the Pyrenees, we planned a 3-day trip into the mountains. It didn't quite work out, the weather forecast got it spectacularly wrong, but that's another story you can read about on Richard's blog.
Back then, blissfully unaware of the evening that lay ahead, we wandered up a beautiful green valley filled with wildflowers. The sounds of nature were consta
nt: water from a flowing stream, marmots squeaking occasionally, birds singing or calling to each other. I was in my happy place.
Not far below the col we were aiming for, we weren't sure where our next flowing water would come from, so we made a short detour to a stream to fill up our bottles before continuing upward. I plopped my rucksack down, fished out my water bottles, and headed to the stream. That's when I noticed it. There was a marmot, right there, eating grass completely unconcerned by our presence.
Naturally, I put the still empty water bottles down, grabbed the camera, and started taking photos. Once I'd filled our bottles, we sat, drank, ate a snack, and just enjoyed watching what a marmot gets up to. We probably spent half an hour with him, and we named him Kevin. Why Kevin? Absolutely no idea!
When we decided to head back up toward the col, he followed us from the other side of the snowbank. It felt like he didn't want us to leave or maybe he was escorting us away from his kingdom, making sure we left. Either way whatever his reason for following us, the Col de Houer will forever be known as Kevin's Col.
Later, we arrived at another col: the Col d'Astu. There's a bit of a theme going here in my stories. Again, we sat down to take in the scenery, have a rest, and figure out our plan. I'd been hoping throughout our 3 weeks in the Pyrenees that I'd get a close view of a Bearded Vulture, often called a Lammergeier. So far, I'd spotted several, but no proper close encounter. These few days were my final chance.
I turned around and well, there it was. An immense bird coming straight in our direction. Yes, it was a Bearded Vulture; there was no mistaking it. I quietly told Richard to turn around slowly and look what was coming. I grabbed the camera, realising there'd be just one chance to get a decent shot. This bird was on a mission and wasn't hanging around catching thermals.
Even the clouds seemed to want in on the action, rolling in right as she approached, as if the mountains wanted to keep her to themselves, but somehow it didn't matter one bit. I'd waited three weeks for that moment and there she was, close enough to really see her.
I was thrilled to have had these two close encounters in one day. Sometimes lady luck is on your side.