The great cat of Spain

I had heard there would be amazing water birds at Doñana national park. As you've gathered, I'm a bit of a bird nurd, but even somebody who wasn't might thrill at the prospect of flocks of pink flamingos.

But with wildlife tourism one must always hold anticipation in check, as birds and animals don't appear to order and disappointment is frequent.

First we visited the el Acebuche reserve but there were no water birds at all as the marsh had dried up.  

However, we were excited to find that Acebuche was a captive breeding centre for the famous endangered Iberian lynxes.

These creatures are so well camouflaged with their spotted pelts that we were unable to see the one in the enclosure. Even with the help of a professional naturalist and a telescope trained on the creature, it took several minutes of us going '¿donde?' and her going '¡alli!'

Finally, a patch of dappled sunlight resolved itself into a sleepy great cat.

'There she is!'

So if it was that difficult to see the lynx  - the large iconic animal of the area, just how difficult was I going to find it track down flamingos tomorrow?

No holiday from climate change

Always conscious of climate change, Nigel and I came on this trip by train not plane - we no longer fly. Despite the challenges of Andalusian cuisine, we have been eating as vegetarian as possible. But we had planned to enjoy our holiday and for a few days to forget about our worries, including climate change.

Nigel's Spanish colleagues had recommended we visit Doñana National Park on the Atlantic Coast west of Cadiz. Here, acres of marshland play host to thousands of water birds migrating north from Africa. Many breed here on the edges of the fertile lakes. There would be flamingos!

However, when we reached the Achebue Visitor Centre, all was not well. The map showed a series of blue splodges with bird hides beside them. But where these lakes should have been there was only dry heathland. Tiny pink and yellow flowers had grown on long, wispy stalks and stone chats abounded everywhere. But there should have been water.

The rangers in the visitor centre who seemed friendly, but distracted and a little sad explained to us.  

Apparently, climate change meant the rains had been too brief. Plus agriculture had then extracted too much water from the aquifer. Instead of being a marshy paradise, the area was threatened with desertification. 

We went on to find a river which still had water, and consequently a wildlife spectacle worthy of Attenborough, but we were mindful we might be seeing some of the last of this special area.

It seems none of us can take a holiday from climate change.