"El Novillo/The young bull."

On a clear, chilly January morning we left the main highway and started a bumpy drive on a dirt road that meanders across the high desert country of central Mexico. The road twists across dry river beds and through small ranchos/villages with few people stirring. Only the occasional scruffy dog came out to challenge us, seemingly confused as if they couldn’t decide if we were welcome or not as they alternately barked a fierce warning and wagged their tails in greeting.

Our early morning destination was “Barralva”, a Mexican ganaderia or breeding ranch of brave bulls. It is located on a hilltop in the central Mexican state of Queretaro, an hour’s drive north of the state capital with the same name Queretaro, and not far from my adopted pueblo of San Miguel de Allende.

Today there was to be a tienta or testing of ganado bravo, an opportunity for Julian Lopez Escobar, “El Juli” to practice. The breeders of the ganaderia, Señores Luis and Ramon Alvarez Bilbao, were making available to the young Spanish genius of the world of fighting bulls the deshechos or questionable stock they had on the ranch.

The casco or main house of the ranch sits on a leveled knoll and around it are higher hills sparingly covered with cactus and mesquite trees, and wandering amongst them and in view from the main house are the ganado bravo, fighting stock.

A tienta is as formal as a ganadero wants it to be but when el numero uno, the leading matador in the world is appearing, it also becomes a social event. Today many of the conocedores, the people that know in the Mexican world of fighting bulls were in attendance. Even the vaqueros the ranch hands, had arrived early to find their places on the high wall that encircles the arena.

When the testing started I was standing in the callejon, inside the interior fence of the plaza next to a burladero, a smaller barrier. With my camera in my hand I was waiting for the first novillo or young bull to be released into the arena, my black camera bag rested on the ground to my left.

Armando Gutierrez Galan, Juli’s mozo de estoques, his right hand man is an old friend and a companion of many taurine adventures and as he passed, he stopped to talk to me. In the background we heard a door slam open as a novillo came out of the holding area and charged onto the sand. While listening to Armando I watched the young bull run around the arena looking for an exit.

A cardinal rule for being down close to the bulls in any plaza de toros or tentadero, testing arena is that you never lose sight of the animal. You must always know where he is in relation to your position and if necessary, your avenue of escape.

A healthy three year old fighting bull always reminds me of a strong confident teenager. The speed they have is impressive and at times they appear as agile as a greyhound or a cheetah chasing a rabbit, they seem to be able to change direction in mid stride! The novillo quickly made a tour of the plaza, his hoofs disturbing the sand of the arena and showering us with a cloud of it as he went by.

Armando asked me something and as I turned to look at him and answer, the novillo continued his tour and disappeared from view behind Armando’s head.

In the time it took me to open my mouth to answer, the novillo’s face and horns appeared above the head of Armando! He was leaping the five-foot barrier of the fence and was about to land on top of us!

There was no time to think only time to shout, “AGUAS! or, Look out!” in Spanish and as Armando disappeared from my view to the right, the novillo landed gracefully three feet to my left and my eyes were filled with him and his horns as I forced myself behind the barrier next to me, my camera swinging loose around my neck and banging the wooden planks of the barrier.

My camera has served me well and I always treat her with the respect her years of faithful service deserve, but there was no time to concern myself with her, my actions were pure instinct! Survival was what concerned me for those few seconds as I tried to escape the six hundred pounds of horned fury that was coming for me. The novillo was quick and strong and was armed with two six-inch horns to enforce his violent attitude.

At times like this your world becomes very small and extremely personal! Was anyone else alive at this moment in time, or had all of recorded history been reduced to nothing more than me and this beast and the six square feet we shared?

As he landed next to me, he was distracted by my camera bag and he hooked one of his horns into it, and that provided the few precious seconds I needed to get to safety. In what seemed to me a millisecond the novillo turned towards me and charged into the barrier where I was standing, his right horn entering my sanctuary but not quite reaching my leg! He backed off a few feet and then came at me again and again; repeatedly banging his boney head against the post and making it vibrate until I could feel my hands tingle!

With his forehead pressed against the barrera he twisted his head to one side and then the other, seeking me with his horn and then he stopped, he stepped back and lifting his head he looked into my eyes. And there it was again, La Mirada, the look! That very special look that only a predator can give you. It is the same in eagles, wolves, and bears. It’s a look that goes into you, a look of no quarter! A look that said, “This space is mine! If you challenge me we will resolve the issue on my terms and you will lose!”

The intensity of his gaze was his warning, his way of reminding me of how we humans with all our feelings of control and security, are feeble and ill equipped when we find ourselves in the animal world.

And then… he was gone!

Tiring of a game where he couldn’t reach his prey, he turned and went on down the alleyway to the open door that took him back into the arena.

The rush of adrenaline seeped from me and as I breathed deeply, Armando walked by with a big smile on his face and as he opened his eyes mockingly wide, he wiped his brow and laughed! In a few minutes we had shared an intense taurine mini drama and like many others we had lived, it would be just one more. A story we would relive and laugh about.

But right then for me it wasn’t so easy to laugh away! I continued living the emotion of the experience and the details that were recorded in my consciousness. The swiftness of the animal and the ease with which he had cleared the chest high fence, the graceful landing with his two front hooves perfectly placed one next to the other on the packed earth, and while balancing on them like a ballerina with his hindquarters suspended in the air, with a casual twist of his neck muscles he hooked his horn into my camera bag.

And finally, the look in his eyes, the look of predator to prey. Except for the barrier that protected me, in that brief moment I was his and he knew it!

Then one of the bull breeders sitting in safety on the balcony above brought me back to reality by calling to me. As I looked up he laughed and smiled at me saying, “ALMOST MORGAN, ALMOST!”

This is not the novillo that jumped at me that day. It happened so quickly there was no way I could have taken a picture. But, perhaps it will help illustrate the story.

Saludos,

Morgan

Campo Bravo # 1

It all begins in the tranquil atmosphere of the campo bravo. Campobravo, the fields where brave animals are raised.

Seed bulls living the good life, rewarded with a life worthy of a señor. Rewarded for a few minutes of their lives when they performed well, when they demonstrated the quality of their lineage. Allowed to live as a superior member of their breed, at peace among their harem.

It is a demanding position to be in even for a strong healthy animal in his prime, one macho/male with thirty to forty cows to attend. Recently I was with a ganadero/bull breeder touring the fields of his ranch when he pointed out a semental/seed bull with his manada/herd of cows. I was impressed with how thin the bull was! Why would they choose an animal to propagate their bloodline who appeared to be emaciated? The ganadero read my thoughts and said, "Its the breeding season, during the off season he'll rest and regain his weight."

What came first the chicken or the egg? We'll never know but life begins in campobravo with a special aroma emanating from the vaca/cow. That special smell tells señor bull instinctively that its time to comply with his obligations, life begins anew. Photo # 1




I have never witnessed a brave cow giving birth, they need privacy at that special time and intinctively find a place to hide themselves and their cria/baby. I haven't witnessed the birth but I've seen the crias shortly after, walking stiff legged, their hides damp, their umbilical cords dangling in the dirt.

One afternoon on the Mexican ranch of "Jaral de Peñas" the ganadero, don Luis Barroso Barona stopped his truck next to a corral and we walked to the rock wall that surrounded it.

There were a dozen cows inside and when we arrived they all moved to the far side and stood in a group watching us. There, on the other side of the wall and almost within our reach was a beautiful newborn. It may have been a day old, it hadn't lost it's umbilical cord.

The first thought that enters a breeders mind when he sees a new arrival is, is it male or female? Usually the babes are next to their mom's so with a glance the breeder knows that cow X was with seed bull Y during the breeding season and rumbling through the files of the original computer his brain, he reviews the history of the seed bull and the cow and considers the possibilities of this newest arrival.

Juan Pedro, the breeder's son climbed the wall and entered the corral, something I wouldn't have done because brave cows are protective and ill tempered! They may not be as large as a bull or have horns as thick but they are faster, more agile and although their horns grow in peculiar styles, they always seem to come with sharp points!

Juan Pedro lifted the front legs to verify the gender of the bawling baby and then put it down. As he laughed with nervous energy I felt goose bumps rush over me as it charged him, butting the legs of a six foot man with it's hornless head. Photo # 2

Would you attempt to explain it, try to find the words to relate the experience? Or, marvel at the predisposition of a babe fresh from the womb, still learning to walk but with the instinct indicative of it's breed. A babe not old enough to have horns but attacking with it's head as if it did, born with the courage to defend itself.

Have you looked at brave bulls, I'm not referring to the bull you see from a distance in a plaza de toros/bullring, but in the corrals or fields, have you looked into their eyes? Have you seen "la mirada", the look they give you? They do not fear humans, they tolerate us. To them, we are of little importance.

They live their lives peacefully in the campo. If someone leaves the gate open they may wander out, especially if there is a patch of grass that looks inviting. But if not, they appear to be content in their pasture. If we enter the field, they will move away and continue to until we push them into a corner and then they will turn and face us, ready for the confrontation. Its as though they are thinking, "O K, I've moved away, avoiding trouble and you've continued to follow. Now, we'll settle this!"

They wait quietly and watch until we dare to enter their space, their territory and then, they will come to punish us for being ill mannered, for daring to think we have the right to come close without being invited!

One day I was walking along a road on a ranch near Coroneo, Michoacan and peeked over a rock wall. About fifty feet from me was a cow with her cria. It was at the end of the rainy season and the grass in the corral was high and green. It was a lovely scene, the dark hides of mom and her baby seemed to jump from the bright green grass. I took a few pics, I never tire of studying ganado bravo and I'll never have enough photos of them!

I was content watching them but mom wasn't with me, she took exception to my being there. She moved into a defiant stance lifting her head, her eyes locked on me and when I didn't leave, she took a few steps toward me. It was an aviso, a warning! And then as if it were a natural act for her, something she didn't have to consider, she came for me, she charged! Photo #3

I made the smart move, I ducked and moved away! An example of discretion being the better part of valor, maybe? Could she have jumped the wall? I don't think so but that's not the point, why would I want to risk her trying? She was in her space, I the intruder.

I believe one of the details that those who do not know of the bulls and have even less understanding of them is the amount of respect the aficion, breeders, toreros have for brave animals. No one wants to think that something they did had caused them harm.

Below are a few photos taken on bull breeding ranches of moms and their babes. In the first one you can see the presence of the brave bull that this youngster will some day become. His head is up, he is aware of his surroundings while still staying close to mom. His horns have not yet begun to show. He weighs maybe sixty pounds but in four years he will pass a thousand, his horns will grow thick, long and have sharp points. He will become an adult and be imbued with a bad disposition when confronted by humans.

Saludos,
Morgan