Articles in ‘Montjuic’

Zooming in on Montjuic Castle (i)

You barely notice the ants unless they’re lugging some eye-catching, outsize object, such as the remains of a woodlouse.  It was an awkward task, requiring tenacity and strong pincers.

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Team effort successfully manoeuvred the crustacean through the crack.  There was barely any flesh on it but woodlice themselves will eat their own or each other’s cast-off cuticles.  The hard, over-lapping armour plating is made of calcium carbonate, a form of calcium we get in dietary supplements.  In any case, ants bring back all kinds of booty to  their galleries, edible or not.

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A jumping spider was darting among the busy ants:  Menemerus semilimbatus, a Mediterranean species often found on sunny walls and rocks.  Upside-down, it surveyed me with a fine set of four bright eyes.

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The other four are located on the carapace, slightly disconcerting until you get used to it.  Two of them are clearly visible here.

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Salticids are renowned for their visual acuity.  They hunt by stealth and pounce with deadly accuracy.  In their courtship dancing, the males often flaunt brightly coloured parts of their body.  Some species have impressive John Travolta disco moves (click on second image down).

Another movement caught my eye and I was just in time to see a soft downy feather disappear through a hole, as an ant whisked it into the depths of the castle wall.  You can only wonder what use the ants would find for it.

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Three Flowers on Montjuic

It’s been a long time without rain, and the park squad on Montjuic are zealous cutters of encroaching vegetation.  Nevertheless, some flowers have survived, their strong colours drawing attention from a distance.  Deep pink shows up at the edge of the pine wood: Common Centaury (Centaurium erythraea), a member of the Gentian family.  The small, five-petalled flowers, with flamboyant yellow anthers, overlap and cluster together.

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The plant is named in honour of Chiron, an unusually cultured Centaur, who stood out from the rest of his rowdy, hard-drinking horse-hoofed kind. Chiron was renowned for his knowledge of medicine, and discovered the wound-healing properties traditionally attributed to Centaury.

Nearby are some round flower heads: Echinops ritro, the Small Globe Thistle.  Close up, each ball is composed of tiny rotating lavender-blue petals. The genus name comes from the Greek ekhinos, which means hedgehog or sea urchin.

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The Spanish name, Cardo yesquero, refers to the thistle’s use as yesca, dry material that’s easily set alight with a spark.

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These fiery flowers were growing at the base of Montjuic, not far from the ring road, in a scrap of dry earth by the pavement. It’s Coreopsis lanceolata, one of many alien species that have escaped from Montjuic’s parks.  The Latin name refers to the shape of the seed, based on the Greek koris (bug) and opsis (appearance), and in its native USA the flower goes by the name of Tickseed.

The Black redstarts of the Camí del Mar

Large numbers of Black redstarts (Phoenicurus ochruruos) move into Barcelona every winter, and some of them settle in Montjuic’s Camí del Mar (Sea Walk), a prime location. Where the castle wall forms a right angle and a palm tree with a fire-blackened trunk reaches the battlements, a handsome male has established his territory.

He’s often to be seen perching on the rubbish bin, scanning the ground for insects.  Sometimes he briefly clings to the wall, with a flash of white wing patches, to pick a morsel out of its recesses.  His front is dark and sooty.  His back is slate grey with a faint hint of blue.

Another Black redstart presides over the grassy slopes by the small fig tree.  Grey-brown, it could be a female or a first-winter male.

There are many theories for why the majority of young male Black redstarts stay mouse-brown and only moult into full adult finery in their second autumn. Suggested advantages include less attention from predators or aggressive rival males.

But some of the first-winter males have nearly managed to moult into full adult plumage first time round: they only lack the natty white wing panels, like this individual, who can be seen by the steps leading up to the castle draw bridge.

Regardless of sex or age, all Black redstarts have fiery red tails, which they constantly flick.  They have an alert demeanour, bobbing up and down, reminiscent of a robin.

There’s an interesting study of Black redstarts and the phenomenon of delayed plumage maturation here.

A Moorish gecko

The richly patterned sandstone wall of Montjuic castle is full of chinks where a gecko might lie, safely basking in the sun. It takes a lot of staring to find one: you suddenly realise the dark patch has toes, and what might be a glinting shard of glass is an eye.

It’s the end of winter, and we all feel like basking in the sun. The Moorish gecko (Tarentola mauritanica) varies in colour – this one appeared almost black, effective for soaking up heat. At night, when actively hunting their prey, they turn pale and interesting.

The gecko let me approach and have a close-up look, perhaps confident that refuge was only a flicker away. Its eyes are split in half by a vertical pupil, sharply contracted against the strong light. Intricate veins cover the dark golden iris. Cleaning is done by a sweep of the tongue, since the gecko has no eyelids.

Perhaps because it sounds more exotic, the pet trade likes to refer to this species as the “Crocodile gecko”. I noted the allusion in the gecko’s bumpy skin. But the tail had a completely different texture: you could clearly see the fault line where the gecko had broken in two to escape from a predator. Once dropped, the tail continues twitching – a useful distraction device. I wondered if the tail, now in process of regeneration, would ever match the original one.

Just as humans have wanted to emulate the flight of birds, they envy geckos for their grip. Sticky hairs on prominent toe pads allow these reptiles to cling to the smoothest surface. A researcher into the phenomenon, interviewed in New Scientist, was flabbergasted by how “vastly over-engineered” they are: “One gecko could resist the weight of 130 kilograms”. Yet they can also detach themselves at lightning speed.

Early birds on Montjuic

Remains of last night’s storm were still strewn across the eastern sky this morning. But the sun struggled free just as I reached the castle and it turned into a cold but clear day.

Too early for tourists, the castle was alive with birds, who find unexpected sources of water to drink and bathe in. A leaking waterpipe has created a long damp streak on the wall, like a banner of blue silk unfurled from the ramparts, capturing the vividness of the sky. There was a constant movement of visitors clinging to the wet stones. Black redstarts, which congregate in Barcelona for the winter, flurried to and fro, chasing each other in between sips. A handsome Great tit stopped by for a while, waistcoat matching the yellow poplar leaves. A lilting flock of goldfinches arrived, sweetly calling. The House sparrows, residents of the castle walls, had their turn, as did serins, a couple of Coal tits and a Tree creeper.

Round the corner, water has collected in an old stone gutter, to which someone once hastily attached a plastic pipe. A Blue rock thrush (Monticola solitarius) disappeared inside, emerging ruffled and damp. It dried off on the end of a canon.

This port-facing side of the castle is a haven in winter, secure from the north and westerly winds. The walls act like a storage heater, absorbing the sun all day. Sweet alyssum (Lobularia maritima) has spread unchecked on the grassy slopes, its fragrance living up to its name. A faded, threadbare Red admiral sunbathed on the wall. High up near the battlements, a Painted lady (Vanessa cardui) spread its wings on a plant rooted between two stones. Crag martins turned circles over the dazzling sea, over the castle and the half-bare fig tree. They only come in winter, but their leisurely swoops remind you of summer.

Snake in the Wall

What drew my attention was the lizard dropping off the wall.

I was on the Camí del mar, a path that circles Montjuic castle and overlooks the sea, which on this misty, warm day merged seamlessly into the sky. People were walking, running or cycling. An old man sunning himself on a bench had brought along a goldfinch, which sang in its cage. The fig trees were still green, but their large leaves had stiffened and occasionally one came clattering down.

From a distance, the castle looks a warm sandy colour, but close up each of the stone bricks is unique, the faded red and yellow patterns sometimes erupting into psychedelic swirls. The quarries of Montjuic have yielded a lot of sandstone for the city’s buildings.

In places the stones have been crudely patched up with cement, but fortunately plenty of cracks and holes remain. There’s no shortage of nesting sites for House sparrows, or refuges for ants, woodlice and spiders. The south-facing slopes of Montjuic are a suntrap, and as the wall heats up, it begins to flicker with lizards.

Approaching the spot where the lizard had made a sudden dive, I noticed a Moorish gecko (Tarentola mauritanica, Salamanquesa común) clinging on near the entrance of a tiny cave. Another step and it withdrew inside.

But there was something far more dangerous than me only two stones away.

The snake, long and slim, lay apparently lifeless, draped on a narrow ledge. When you spot a snake, there’s a tingle of excitement and you hold your breath, almost with disbelief. It came to life and slid into a crevice, keeping watch from within. When I moved, it stretched out its head to keep track of my position.

I didn’t know it was a Montpellier snake ((Malpolon monspessulanus – culebra bastarda) till I got home and checked. The ones I’d seen before were adult, much larger and darker than this slender, well-camouflaged specimen. The unforgettable photograph on Iberianature left no doubt. I recognised the penetrating stare, tapering head and white stripes, like war-paint, below the eyes, although I don’t know if this young one was quite ready to tackle a sparrow yet.

There was a wall-full of prey there, but the Montjuic Montpellier snakes have a reputation for reaching a fiercesome size on a diet of rats.