Vineyard at Son Bennassar (Episode 3)
Pruning the vines was an excellent start to 1997. After weeding in April, the plants looked after themselves. It was amazing how they flourished without irrigation. We could have done more for a better crop, but we only wanted to keep the vineyard tidy. This was important as by years end, we expected Tayrne to finish at Felanitx High School and enrol at the Universitat de les Illes Balears.
The University, set against a backdrop of fields of almond and the rugged Serra de Tramuntana, is situated between the city of Palma and the enchanting mountain village of Valldemosa. Tayrne would study in Catalan and Spanish, and it was wonderful that she would be staying on the island.
With permission to build two houses, we put part of our vineyard up for sale to fund Tayrne’s education. Two middle-aged German sisters, Britta and Ursula, and their husbands, Hajo and Wolf, came to look at the property. They said they wanted to buy the plot with the oak and pine wood, but first, they wanted to know how much water the old stone well could deliver. We didn’t know but told them it was always full of water, even in August. Not acceptable, Hajo worked to more exact specifications. However, the Roman praefectus fabrum who’d built the well two millennia earlier left no specification for the German civil engineer. No matter, Hajo would hire a pump and a generator for his calculations. If he worked it out, it would be useful information for us.
Two days later, Hajo, returned with a plumber, a pump, generator, hose-pipes and a forty-five-gallon drum with the top removed. He lowered a weighted line to determine the depth of water and measured the diameter of the well. With me peering over his shoulder, he started a calculation on his clipboard.
“That’s not correct”, I said tactfully.
“What’s not correct?”.
“There, you’ve put the well area is Pi times D on four. It should be Pi times D squared on four?”
It was a simple mistake that he would have identified when the area came out less than expected. However, he ripped off a sheet of paper, gave me a spare pen, and told me to go away and do my own calculations. Our answers correlated, but I expected blowback.
We began pumping out the well. When the pump water came in a constant stream, Hajo, put the outlet pipe into the drum and started a stopwatch. When the drum was full, he stopped the watch, unplugged the pump, and began a calculation. He didn’t tell me what he was doing, and pride wouldn’t let me ask. Then, I realised he was calculating the pump-out rate. Knowing this, the area of the well and the speed the water was dropping, he could determine the flow into the well without emptying it. Elegant but complicated. I would have just pumped the well dry and timed how fast it filled up. I spoke to the plumber who excused himself and drove off.
“Where’s he gone?”
“I told him we were working out the flow rate into the well, it might take a while. He’s gone to Felanitx for a coffee.” I continued “The well hasn’t been used much, it might take time before water flows in again.”
That let him know that I knew what he was doing and provided a logical reason if the well took a long time to refill. I know, the old competition, it’s sad, isn’t it.
Despite the hi-tech approach, the in-flow rate was too slow to calculate. We pumped the well dry and concluded it wouldn’t provide enough water for a house and a pool.
A few days later, the clients returned. Now, they wanted to buy the land with the vines and asked us to share the cost of drilling a borehole to supply water for both plots. We agreed as this would add value to the property.
We wanted to sell the plots divided by an existing stone wall. The top plot would have most of the vines. The lower plot, the well and a few rows of vines, the wood and scrubland.
The clients pointed out that in the deeds, the strip of land containing the well and vines below the wall was part of the top plot. This was true, but we being the owners wanted to sell the properties divided by the wall. They countered saying the council’s planning permissions were very specific, which was a valid point. Now, it was Sandy and me who had to consider things.
I wondered if the Germans had some devious plan. Why did they now want to buy the top plot? Overcoming my nationalistic suspicions, I reasoned they were simply trying to purchase the land with the original council planning permission. Sandy and I decided to sell, but with some clauses in the sales contract.
That evening we met to make a deal. The partnership to find water was agreed. The issue with the disputed strip, which I, unfortunately, called ‘No mans land’, could be resolved by selling as per the original council permission, with some conditions.
1. The plot’s border would be ten metres on from the well.
2. The well was a historical site and was to be maintained as such.
3. Both plots would have water rights for the well and the deep-pump.
4. The stone wall must be left untouched.
5. No construction was permitted on the land between the wall and the lower plot.
After reading the proposal, Hajo spoke.
“You can’t tell us what we can do with our own land.”
I took a moment to consider an appropriate response to his Teutonic logic.
“We haven’t sold it to you yet.”
In May 1997 in the Gestor’s office near the Palm Square in Felanitx, we closed the deal. Our clients returned to Germany owners of a beautiful piece of Mallorca.
Sandy and I set about finding a water diviner. I’d have been happier with a more scientific method before risking two million Pesetas to drill a bore, but a geological survey would be nothing short of heresy.
Felanitx folklore says, years ago there was a terrible drought. The wells dried up, and with no water, the town was to be abandoned. One day a horse tied close to the steps of the church, its owner possibly inside praying for rain, started frantically scraping the ground. Passersby thought the animal had gone mad with thirst, but then saw it had uncovered a damp patch in the earth.
A deep hole was dug, and a spring of fresh water was discovered, the town was saved. To this day in the Font de Santa Margalida opposite the church, you can drink from the spring that is still in use. Water divining is a serious business in Felanitx. You might think the ability to find water, through solid rock, would be a rare gift. Not true, but finding a good diviner is difficult, you’re spoiled for choice, many claim to have the gift. Finding a good diviner is like finding a good dentist, you need to talk to someone with post drilling experience.
We were directed to the renowned Pedro who lived near the church in Cas Concos. As instructed, we brought a plan of the land. Pedro had no need to visit the site, he sat in his kitchen studying the map. We watched amazed as, with a miniature brass plumb bob on a piece of cotton, he began his search for water on his kitchen table.
After a moment he declared he’d located water. I thought, drilling through Pedro’s kitchen floor wasn’t going to solve our problem. But no, Pedro was talking about our land, he’d sensed energy ripples, a message from the map. Pedro’s fee was twenty mil (one hundred pounds), but he’d visit the land just to confirm his findings before he took the money.
Some days later Pedro came to the land, he cut a branch from a bush and trimmed it into the classic Y shape, and began to follow its direction. He marked a site on each plot with a large rock, stating the top plot was the most favourable with water at a depth of 70 metres. He discarded the dowsing twig and left twenty mil better off. On that basis, we applied for a license to drill from the Department of Mines.
Six days before Christmas, Perforaciones Roig from Sa Pobla arrived to start drilling. The next day, at a depth of 157 metres, they hit water.
At more than double Pedro’s predicted depth, I figured his twig needed a little re-calibration.