Day 6: unexpected blood

In Pamplona, they always run bulls from the Miura Ranch on the weekend because they tend to be "noble": generous and forgiving to runners. Exceptionally big, these bulls usually race through the streets like snow plows, pushing aside runners, but they rarely attack.

Not today.

A black and white bull named Ermitaño (Hermit), 575 kilos/1,265 pounds, caused most of the five gorings and other injuries during the five-minute run. Two were especially serious, and the last news I heard, three hours after the run, said both men were not in danger of death, which is a relief and a surprise.

The most serious injury came at the entry to the bull ring, when Ermitaño gored a runner in the thigh and threw him, then gored him in the chest, then attacked him again. The man was dragged from the street to safety with his chest spurting blood.

You can watch it here from Cuatro TV. There are other serious attacks, but this one begins at 3:35. You will see several runners grabbing the bull by the tail to try to pull it off. This is the right thing to do. The runner in white pants and a green and white shirt is especially experienced, and this is not the first time he has put himself at risk to help other runners. He's not the only one, just the easiest to point out.
http://www.cuatro.com/sanfermines/videos/sexto-encierro-ganaderia-miura/20090712ctoultpro_2/

More Cuatro footage of the goring. Not suitable for children or anyone troubled by violence and bloodshed.
http://www.cuatro.com/sanfermines/videos/imagenes-exclusivas-ermitano-encela-mozo-entrada-callejon/20090712ctoultpro_1/

TVE video with commentary, and the attack and events leading up to it are more clearly observed. I say that as a warning.
http://www.rtve.es/mediateca/videos/20090712/sexto-encierro-infarto-sanfermines-2009/542697.shtml

Miura bulls are usually run on weekends because, instead of 2,000 runners, as there are on weekdays, there may be 3,000, which causes security concerns. July 14 is Bastille Day in France, so it's a long weekend there, and French tourists arrive for the fiesta.

After the run, TVE interviewed an experienced runner who was at the attack. He thought today's injuries and the death on Friday might have a positive aspect. He worried about the size of the crowd and about the ignorance of many runners. "Son toros. They are bulls," he said, and not everyone seems to understand what that means. "Es importante que sepan en dónde se meten. It's important for them to know what they're getting into." Perhaps this will remind them.

Was he afraid of running now? No, nothing had changed. "Voy todos los días con miedo. I come every day with fear."

That was my Sunday morning breakfast.

— Sue Burke

Hemingway's first running of the bulls

This is from the report Hemingway filed in 1923 about his first running of the bulls in Pamplona, when he and his wife (Herself) were the only English-speakers in town.

--

... It was really a double wooden fence, making a long entryway from the main street of the town to the bull ring itself. It made a runway about two hundred and fifty yards long. People were jammed solid on each side of it. Looking up it toward the main street.

Then far away there was a dull report.

"They're off," everybody shouted.

"What is it?" I asked a man next to me who was leaning far out over the concrete rail.

"The bulls! They have released them from the corrals on the far side of the city. They are racing through the city."

"Whew," said Herself. "What do they do that for?"

Then down the narrow fenced-in runway came a crowd of men and boys running. Running as hard as they could go. The gate feeding them into the bull ring was opened and they all ran pell-mell under the entrance levels into the ring. Then there came another crowd. Running even harder. Straight up the long pen from the town.

"Where are the bulls?" asked Herself.

Then they came in sight. Eight bulls galloping along, full tilt, heavy set, black, glistening, sinister, their horns bare, tossing their heads. And running with them three steers with bells on their necks. They ran in a solid mass, and ahead of them sprinted, tore, ran and bolted the rear guard of the men and boys of Pamplona who had allowed themselves to be chased through the streets for a morning's pleasure.

A boy in his blue shirt, red sash, white canvas shoes with the inevitable leather wine bottle hung from his shoulders, stumbled as he sprinted down the straightaway. The first bull lowered his head and made a jerky, sideways toss. The boy crashed up against the fence and lay there limp, the herd running solidly together passed him up. The crowd roared.

Everybody made a dash for the inside of the ring, and we got into a box just in time to see the bulls come into the ring filled with men. The men ran in a panic to each side. The bulls, bunched solidly together, ran straight with the trained steers across the ring and into the entrance that led to the pens.

That was the entry. Every morning during the bull fighting festival of San Fermin at Pamplona the bulls that are to fight in the afternoon are released from their corrals at six o'clock in the morning and race through the main street of the town for a mile and a half to the pen. The men who run ahead of them do it for the fun of the thing....