The Cap de Librell Mystery © Pablo
(Originally written for Bushcraft & Survival Magazine)
Most of my articles over the years have been about wildlife and getting closer to animals by using knowledge of the quarry, tracking and field craft skills. Woodlife is known as a Tracking, Wildlife and Natural History course provider, however; my experience as a senior detective has brought me into contact with a number of opportunities to track humans, both in a criminal capacity and when looking for missing and vulnerable people.
In this article, I’m going to take a break from wildlife tracking and observation to relate a story about tracking a human – in fact a missing person in unusual circumstances. It’s not completely off the beaten track (so to speak) because we can take away some important lessons and tips from the story and apply them to tracking wildlife. It’s also a story of an inability to survive. This wasn’t a case I was directly involved in as a detective, but I found it fascinating nevertheless and took up the reins to try and solve the case. This story is true. The only things I have changed are the names.
Tracking can be considered a reconstruction or re-enactment of a journey that someone or something has previously taken. Not having first-hand experience of the original journey, trackers must interpret what is presented to them not only in the way evidence, but whatever the environment, the geography and even the climate present. Of course, the older the original journey, the more difficult it is to find evidence (sometimes called sign or spoor.)
Tracking is also a journey through a landscape in which relationships are formed. The relationships are formed between the tracker, the quarry, the environment, and space and time. To be successful, these relationships must be personal to the tracker. It isn’t just about the footprints in the sand; nor is it just about following the signs to the quarry. Tracking is about perception, deduction, speculation and vision. When I say vision I don’t mean the sense of sight or seeing things. Vision is the ability to see what others cannot. The San bushman say it’s “putting on” the head of the animal you are tracking. In other words seeing through the eyes of your quarry. Speculation is not just guess-work. It is based on interpreting the best evidence that the landscape and the environment provides and applying the skills of deduction. All this makes a good tracker.
On the 8th July 2001 Martin Johnson disappeared while on holiday on the island of Ibiza. On 15th October 2002, 15 months after he disappeared, his body was found by people who were climbing a remote headland cliff near Cala Llonga. It would appear that he had been there since he vanished. How he got there unaided remains a mystery. Martin was a mentally handicapped man with a mental age of an eight year old child. He vanished from the reception area of the Sirenis Playa Hotel in the Cala Llonga resort while his parents were checking into the hotel.
In 2009 a family holiday brought me to the exact same area. Unaware of the story at the time, I, too, climbed the steep sides of the Cap de Llibrell and stared in wonder at the views from the top. When I heard Martin’s story on returning to the UK, the mind of a forensic tracker went into over-drive. What attracted Martin to the steep slopes and why did he choose such a difficult route? What made Martin suddenly veer off the gravel track and become lost? Why did the Spanish authorities wait for so long to start the search? Why did the UK coroner declare an open verdict even though there was apparently no criminality involved? If trackers had been deployed, would they have found Martin before he so tragically died?
In May 2012, I went back to Cala Llonga to recreate Martin’s journey. I had a number of hypotheses, but like any good detective, I put these to the back of my mind as I zoned-in to the landscape to create a blank canvass over which the journey’s map would be painted.
Using the bushman technique, I tried to put my mind into the mind of a mentally handicapped man, but, as you can imagine, this was incredibly difficult and I preferred to look through the eyes an eight year old child. I decided to try and concentrate on Martin’s abilities, not his disabilities.
I started my journey at the foot of the steep, loose gravel path leading up to the top of the Cap de Llibrell. The journey to the top would take 20 minutes of steady and determined walk. The left hand edge of the path dropped away as the steep sides fell into the bay far below. Although the path was relatively wide, a misplaced footstep close to the edge would send anyone spiralling down the hill, most probably leading to serious injury. But this was nowhere near where Martin had died. Incredibly, it seems, Martin survived this first part of the journey; apparently, and, as concluded by the local authorities, on his own.
After 15 minutes of walking I was sweating from exertion and the heat. My heart-rate had risen to 110. I knew Martin’s journey had been taken during the evening; but even so, a humid July would have been enough to cause Martin to struggle. This fact alone provoked more incredulity that he had undertaken his journey alone. This would not have been an easy journey for him.
Animals will proceed along a trail for a reason. It may be a means of travelling from one place to another for a particular purpose. It may be a track used by more than one species for ease of use, for speed or transit. It may be a run selected as a path to a home, to a feeding area or as an escape route from danger. For Martin, there appeared to be nothing that would provide an incentive or an attraction to carry on along this steep, ascending trail in the dark, particularly if taken alone.
The path continued to a lower ledge; a good 20 meters wide. One side rose to the summit which is only accessible by a small animal path. The other side provided magnificent views of the Mediterranean with the island of Formentera in the distance. This edge dropped steeply away from the path. For Martin there would only be the blackness of the sea at the bottom of this 600 foot high headland.
But, at last, I saw my first piece of real evidence; a small fragment of a burnt piece of wood. A further search of the area revealed some fire-scars. A vision of people sitting around the fire on a balmy July night quickly entered my head. The likelihood that people would meet there on an occasional or even regular basis would seem a realistic interpretation of the number of fire-scar sites in the area; however, the fires wouldn’t be visible from the bottom of the trail. A previous hypothesis returned and made its way to the forefront of my brain; but I needed more evidence.
The next part of the journey was the most difficult. I had to break off from the gravel path and descend almost vertically into harsh, low-lying scrub. The distance to travel would only be between 300 – 400 meters. I followed the GPS to the co-ordinates where Martin’s body was found. I did not have an accurate position as I had not been able to access the reports made by the authorities, but I had a rough idea of the area by open-source information provided by the family.
A tracker’s eyes searched for any evidence or sign which might give me a clue as to how or why Martin descended into this area. An old path ran to dilapidated walls of an old stone-built shelter. It was most likely a shelter originally built by Roman soldiers. There were foundations of a Roman watchtower at the top of the headland. I would like to have thought that Martin used this very shelter to protect himself, but there would have little debris or cover. Lack of water would have been the main problem in this arid climate. The location was close – but I was still too high for the coordinates I was working on.
I descended lower and lower down the face of the headland, and the slope became steeper and steeper. I was struggling with the acute angle and I was still about 50 meters from the location. 30 meters later and I was starting to slide down the cliff. I was hanging on to the low growing vegetation to stop myself slipping further down the precarious slope. I had no rope and I didn’t realise it was going to be so steep. I was now on my hands and knees shuffling backwards down the slope. The GPS told me I had arrived. Martin had been found here by climbers climbing the headland. There was no path. Martin had somehow managed to get himself down here, allegedly, on his own. There was no evidence of foul play and according to the authorities, remarkably, no evidence of torn clothes.
I could not traverse the area or search it properly. I saw nothing as I looked amongst the low, harsh, unforgiving vegetation that had already torn a speed hook from my boots. I became concerned for my own safety as I hung on to a branch and continually slipped on the loose substrate. With regret, I decided that this part of my journey was over and I ascended to the ledge and subsequently down the track to the safety of the bay below.
The next night, I decided to investigate where the Johnson’s had booked into the hotel. The hotel was on the opposite side of the bay to the headland where Martin was found. It was sprawling complex with a large reception area. I imagined the confusion as people tried to book in. Turning right outside the hotel, you are presented with a view over the bay. There are only a few lights from the hotel opposite. The Cap Llibrell headland was in darkness; an indistinct silhouette in the near distance.
I turned left and walked away from the hotel toward the little town. The town is centred at the foot of the bay between the Johnson’s hotel and the pathway to the headland and is about 5 minutes’ walk from the hotel. It comprises of a handful of tourist shops and four or five restaurants. What had attracted Martin to walk to the opposite side of the bay and commence his journey up to the top?
It didn’t take tracking skills to see what may have been the catalyst to such a disastrous journey. Behind the rows of shops on some waste ground, a small fun-fair had just started up. Dodgems, bright lights and a small roundabout spun round and shouted out to passing folk to come and have a ride.
Had Martin spotted this on the coach journey leading up to the hotel? It was certainly en route and would have been consistent with timings. Had he been attracted to the bright lights of the fun-fair and wandered down to it while his parents were booking into the hotel? Had he met up with some people who had led him up to the headland to sit around an inviting open fire? Once up there, had he fallen ill (he suffered from epilepsy) and been abandoned? Had he recovered, found himself alone, panicked, and tried to find a way down to the bay by what he thought was the quickest means, losing his way as he did? Of course, his survival skills would have been negligible.
Signs of Martin’s passing have been eroded by time; so has any evidence of the footfalls that might have accompanied his journey. What happened on the night of the 8th July 2001 is, of course, open to conjecture. I can’t even challenge any evidence that was, or wasn’t presented years ago? But my journey as a tracker all these years later has revealed that Martin’s journey simply could not have been as reported by the authorities. There are no tracks, but the landscape does not lie. Martin could not, and did not make the journey alone. His family had every right to feel that not everything was done that could have been done by the authorities. The UK coroner was correct in determining an open verdict.
In the UK a high risk, handicapped person such as Martin would have invoked a full and immediate search of the area using all possible resources. What is more a team of trackers deployed immediately or even early the next morning would have had a very good chance of finding Martin using the available tracks, signs and indicators that undoubtedly would still have been present.
I left a small memorial to Martin’s memory. It pointed down the headland to the spot where he was found. It also signified a tracker’s journey – one which formed close and emotional relationships with the landscape and with the past. It reconstructed a journey originally taken by a man who had some of those relationships disrupted in some way.
