The Straight of Gibraltar
There’s a place in the hills above Tarifa where the wind doesn’t just blow, it speaks. And every time I stand there, looking south over the Strait of Gibraltar, I’m caught in the same powerful, almost primal emotion. For me, it’s the geography that does it.
Below, the Rock of Gibraltar and its Moroccan counterpart, Jebel Musa, stand like proud sentinels, the fabled Pillars of Hercules, guarding the narrow throat of the Mediterranean. The riches of the Mediterranean and gateway to the Middle East lie to the east. To the west, the mighty Atlantic stretches out, its next stop the Americas. You can feel the weight of it: the ancient boundary between worlds.
It’s no surprise, then, that this strait has been a stage for human drama for millennia. Today, massive cargo container ships line up in patient queues, a modern echo of the Phoenicians, Romans, and Moors who once vied for control of this strategic gateway. Ferries make the regular crossing between algeciras and Tangiers watched over by old gun emplacements on the Spanish hills, a legacy to a Franco built past. It’s a marvellous, timeless place, the very point where Africa and Europe lean in to whisper to one another.
But the strait isn’t just a crossroads for humanity; it’s the epicentre of one of nature’s greatest dramas. This 15-kilometre ribbon of sea is the critical link for bird migration between the northern and southern hemispheres. On a windy day, it becomes a crucible. We watched exhausted birds arrive on Spanish shores, their bodies trembling with the effort of the crossing. Some simply don’t make it. They tire and succumb to the waves, fall victim to marauding gangs of gulls, or are singled out by the stooping strike of a peregrine falcon. It’s a reminder that here, at this pinch-point of the world, survival is a daily gamble.
No doubt Kiersten will be posting her images of the bird migration we found here. It wasn’t the best day for a “Twitcher”, as the winds were very strong and many birds just didnt want to risk the journey. We aim to return in a few days when the winds drop.
Old gun
emplacements, presumably Franco’s days
The face at the window
Looking down to Tarifa
harbour
The coastline north of
Tarifa