In the cold quiet days of winter, when chimneys are intensely burning, the dense pines and young oaks become a refuge for the wise and astute wild boar whose experience and courage have earned him the title of El Señor de la Noche.

He knows that in the fall, the fields on the mountain become saturated with human voices, accompanied by hounds, and alarm dogs with thunderous barking...

El Rojo lived here and there. One day he would sleep in the pastures of El Romo, the next in the scrub brushes of Jaido, and the following day among the black pines of Las Llampas. Day after day he mocked the wolves, dodged bullets, and searched for females to seduce. Today he rests in Casilda’s smoker. She devotes all her attention to him and gives him the best of care.  Every day she starts her chimney to dry and smoke her hams, loins, and sausages. She touches each one to make sure they are drying and curing slowly, because that is the best method. Food of the gods, forgiveness for the hunters and friends...

It was very cold the night when the effluvium of the Desorejada crossed his path. The message carried in the air promised a night of passion and wildness that made it impossible to foretell the coming tragedy. His adventures and escapades as squire of Canoso, had made him an expert in survival. Not as handsome as Canoso, El Rojo was more of the mountaineer type. His narrow ass, short back, high shoulders, powerful head, and  savage strength and aggressiveness made him the tyrant of the forest and a fearsome enemy of wolves and hunting dogs.

He was a master at fleeing in the darkness and avoiding ambushes. The day that Canoso fell, was the day his own distrust saved him from being sacrificed.  For some time he was walking as though the devil were on his trail. Someone was tracking him, so on that day he did not stay in the thicket. With one eye open and an ear to the ground, he climbed the high black rocks of the Serronal. The move proved to be a good one for when all hell broke loose and the Alanos caught Canoso, he was away like a fox without a trace. From that day forward he became the king of his tribe and the main objective for others.

It was dawn, when he was passing through the narrow mountain pass of Los Muertos, where the wind is like an invading army of scents, and where the tragedy was forged. Two of them caught his attention: with one he’d better be careful, because these porters are often accompanied by the sorceress with the scythe. The robes they bear are characteristic of the clothing the peasants wear from the nearby villages. In the winter, fireplaces blaze and the blizzard-like winds draw the  smoke indoors so that everything inside  is saturated with that characteristic "smell of smoke".The other was the scent of  Desorejada in heat. He lifts his snout to  fill it with her scent, and savors the aroma of her love particles. He does this over and over again, until his pituitary captures all the details and deciphers the message: the rendezvous is at Mount Luther.

November had brought the gift of snow that remained still in the shady areas of the Majadon and the Carrizas. To cross through the snow would be a great effort, but worth it  for the possibility of perpetuating his  genes and preventing some heartless suitor from stealing the affections of Desorejada. This gave him the incentive to undertake the journey, with determination and courage. Little does he realize that on the other side he will again meet with  the  worst of his enemies. 

He arrives like a hurricane, and takes on one of the young admirers who  is perusing Desorejada, and makes it clear who's boss. A tough guy El Rojo.

Above the Janezas  is Loreto with her grandfather; her dog Haizea; Canuto, who is a type of fox terrier; and four Alanos. They talk about hunting. Completely self absorbed in thought she  listens to the stories; she dreams of someday being the protagonist in one of those stories, and thinks about how easy it is  for her grandfather to distinguish the tracks of a roe deer, a deer and a  wild boar.

Do you see that oak in the field?, the tallest one. the one anchored to the black boulders. Early one December morning, while we were busy doing the butchering at home, your father hunted a very large wild boar against the trunk of that oak. At dawn when we were going to tend cattle in the fields, he asked if we could manage without him to take the cattle up the pass to the pastures, he said, he was going with the dogs and a rifle for a look around the mountain. Since he was only 16 years old, and he hadn’t returned till sometime after lunch, saying he had killed a wild boar so big that he needed three people to bring it down out the stream and to the house, we didn’t listen.  At the time we were busy with other chores, and truth be told, we did not pay much attention to him. He was so persistent, Cruz and I, followed him, and I don’t remember any scuffle being as tough as  dragging that beast. I think Cruz’s legs are still sore from that effort. Years ago, we did not see boars that large around here, so friends like Jandro, Roberto, Uncle Matías, Tinín, and Uncle Pepe, came to see it and to tease your father a bit.

Haizea raises her head, wags her tail and looks at them. Meanwhile, a ruthless struggle is occurring in the Luther Piornal, where there are sounds of grunts, snorts and chattering teeth. Among Desorejada’s suitors, there is one who is tired of always fleeing, and is now ready to do battle. His striking black color distinguishes him from his opponents.  He is young and strong, and  not easily intimidated.  He believes this will be his moment of triumph, and will not flee from this fight. These two enemies locked in battle carefully study each other.  The oaks in the Luther shake during the battle of these two titans. Shoulder against shoulder, shield against shield, tusks slashing mercilessly, they stand on their hind legs attacking with unparalleled ferocity. They look for the flanks trying to sink their sharp tusks into the body of their opponent. The brutality of the assult and the violence of the fight make it difficult for either of them to realize they are being hunted. Although similar in strength, it soon becomes clear who is the boss.  El Negro, with new battle scars puts his feet to ground. He hasn't chosen his enemy wisely. El Rojo collects the slashed skins of his opponents, who he destroys mercilessly. What is at first a great defeat and an embarrassing retreat, is what  ultimately will save the life of El Negro.

Haizea once again raises her head, looks at Loreto and begins to howl! Awuuuuu! Awuuu! It leaves no room for doubt; Haizea has scented El Rojo.

-We‘ll release her and Canuto and see what they do, says her grandfather. And as soon as they stop running and continue to bark, we’ll let the Alanos go.

Haizea, a barking siren with a sixth sense for finding wild boars, has not taken long to find El Rojo’s scent. Her characteristic bark of Awuuu! Awuuuu! Awuuuu! says she has found him and calls attention to Canuto and the Alanos who are eager for the chance to find him and sink in their teeth. At first when El Rojo is discovered, he backs up into the oak tree, and is not bothered by the howling of a beared bitch dog, who doesn’t come any closer than 4 or 5 meters. Suddenly he is confronted by Tango, Troll, Nero, Tundra, and Canuto. Surprised, tired, and pissed off for not having foreseen the situation, he backs up against the oak. There is no other choice but to fight, as Alatriste would say. He  prepares for a new battle. Today is not  his best day. He rejects the first onslaught of the Alanos, sending Troll  rolling across  the ground; Nero gets flipped through the air and he returns to shake Canuto who has him seized by the hamstring. They are well matched for combat. He feels his right ear is quite heavy and tries to turn, but Tango  already has him by the left. Suddenly yellow eyes are staring at him, it is Tundra that has grabbed him by the muzzle. In the jaw the same pressure. Strong teeth and powerful JAWS are on him. The tremendous effort to get rid of them are exhausting him. He hears nothing, his head feels like lead, he cannot move. Exhaustion and fatigue affect his energy, and his muscles are leaden. He feels the cold steel in his side and his strength escapes him. His legs become weak ,they won’t hold his weight, and those yellow eyes, they do not stop staring at him. The day belongs to the Alanos.

Loreto has achieved her first kill, a wild boar.  She feels the magic of death, and hears her own  heart resonate like a war drum just as those before her who have practiced this tradition. Her grandfather gives her a strong embrace and sheds tears of pride.

 -We've hunted El Rojo! When Tio Pepe sees it, he won't  believe it. It was he who said that it was better if the dogs didn’t find him because he was such a fierce wild boar he would destroy them. We have to call our friends so they can see it.

And the old man thinks...Oh damn it! After a lifetime of hunting and running after wolves, foxes, martens, and wild boars, at 75, I have never found a beast as extraordinary as this one, then here comes the girl, her first kill, a wild boar that will be the envy of all.

Was it beginners luck? I think not, it’s more the skill of the master.

-Grandfather, grandfather, what a thrill!, I am far more nervous now than when I pierced him. I did what you and dad always say; go low and move the knife just a little, being careful not to damage the dogs. I am so nervous, I feel dazed!

As spoils of war: Troll’s ribs were sewn up; Nero required several stiches in the chest; and Tango, Canuto, and Tundra, only needed a few stitches, nothing major. 

 P.S. In these mountains death is a friend that will embrace you the minute you are careless.

Paquito ©

Zarpas de las Tinieblas brings his 43 kilograms and his 63 cm of extraordinary strength and courage onto the shadows of the mountain forest, while the boar brings twice the mass of the Alano, with tusks the length of a man’s fist, and his vast experience in the daily struggle for survival having won all his bouts against wolves, hounds and tracking dogs...

Alano and boar on a forest bed, immune to discouragement, irreconcilable enemies, both know they are fighting for their lives.

Before the battle, one scents the air for a female in heat, and dangers lurking in the forest, while the other in his passion for hunting follows the trail that experience and his tracking companion Centella tell him is strong.

Suddenly, an explosion of emotions and adrenaline, the boar feels that bloody hound, Centella tear into his most intimate of parts with the worst of intentions. There is no other choice but to defend himself as he has done many times before.

I remember when Zar, Carlos’s hound, had the audacity to make this same move, and the poor dog ended the day at the clinic, with thirty stitches.

The boar turns and finds himself face to face with Zarpas. A fight of Titans! They had never met before, but he realizes this dog will be a formidable foe, for he is like no other dog. The boar greets him with one of his strongest blows that till now had never failed him. He feels Zarpas’ canines nailed to his jaw. Alano against wild boar! An explosion of emotions!  a struggle for survival!

Tango, Nero and, Goiko suddenly arrive, and the balance of power shifts. The boar doesn’t understand what has happened; he had never before met with such powerful jaws nor dogs so tenacious.

This boar had seen better days. Nero hung from his one ear, Goiko from the other, and Tango had him by the snout.  He had no idea how Zarpas was able to grab a hold of him.  He had used his best repertoire of tusk slashing, but to no avail.  He has a premonition that this will be his last day as his side is pierced.

It had been so easy  to end the life of the Hound of the Lebaniego... A good slashing and he was gone. Such sadness for the loss of one of the best Hounds of Potes.

A shiver runs through his body, and his strength abandons him. What a great boar he was! Look at the size of that mouth!

Centella and the Alanos are victorious. All the dogs are thoroughly inspected for injury. Yes, Zarpas has won again, but this battle has cost him this tribute, for he lost all  his incisors and the lower left canine. More stitches in the palate.

It is not as easy nor as harmless as some people think.

Zarpas died a few months ago, at the age of 6. Now that he is gone, I think the best tribute we can give him is to remember his chases after wild boars and his courageous captures, many of which could have cost him his life.

By 9 months of age, Zarpas was an exceptional hunter. Juan Ignacio Ñudi, director of Trophy Hunting Magazine, observed him in action, and published several photos of the episode. This hunt was followed by many others, some quite frightening, chasing after dogs and boars, in which the boar showed all his cunning and wisdom to avoid the Alanos’ terrible canines.

Zarpas can still win other battles after death, when his sperm will fertilize my dogs, and his puppies honor him by chasing and holding wild boar, showing that they are heirs of the courage and nobiliy of a great Alano.  Because that is what Zarpas was A GREAT ALANO!

Paquito ©