Lunchtime in the Spanish Pyrenees. It's 39°C in the shade, with the cicadas hard at it and the midday sky blue and empty. I watch from beneath a stunted oak tree as Oscar Diez Sanchez haulsthe trailer clear of the Land Rover and releases the latch. Out tumble the goodies: an avalanche of entrails, heads and hooves - 200kg of offcuts from the local abattoir. Next comes the garnish: a deluge of blood and offal from a 50I plastic drum. "Thatshould do it," says Oscar, peeling off his gloves and stepping back to squint at the sky.A single bird appears far above us, its square silhouette identifying it immediately as a griffon vulture. Others soon drift into view.
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