We continue to hike frequently in this fascinating region that experiences much rain, little sunshine, occasional bouts of wind and always beauty, tranquility and an Eden type of feeling. While we have no experience of paradise, we have enjoyed parts of the world that are beautiful, tranquil and we suppose most important of all, they do it for us. Geres and its surrounds within the Peneda National Park is one such gem. I feel most fortunate that Jenni discovered this region, my Vasco da Gama.
Probably a region where (weir) the water never stops flowing. The other day, we noticed that whomever we 'bumped' into, that is locals, they seemed to be rather downcast. We are not sure why, but we think it's because it hadn't rained for 2 days.
Another thing we have noticed over the last month is that invariably there's a controlled fire burning somewhere. We are puzzled how they are even able to light a fire in this environment.
We rest and are 'blinded' by the color.
The mountains and valleys are covered.
Of course, this does necessarily deal with the quality of the hikes and terrain. Suffice to say, many outings have been testing, especially when combined with wet underfoot on rocks, thorn bushes and steep inclines, particularly on the way down in wet weather and tough conditions. Having said that, while we would gladly accept drier days, we have adapted, in our opinion, comfortably to the frequent rain. As mentioned, we have actually enjoyed it.
One hike that was particularly difficult in places was the Calcadonia, only on the way down. It was a fascinating experience as we climbed quickly, followed part of the way by a large herd of goats ably shepherded by 2 dogs. The human shepherds, a married couple, waited to ensure all was well, then left the 'gang' on their own—well, with us. The woman could not speak English and while we of course speak French, Hebrew, Russian, Bulgarian, cockney and a host of other languages, including an improving Australian, mate, are unable to converse in Portuguese. We gathered that she was reassuring us that the dogs would not harm us. They were rather loud and of course they suspect we are a threat to the goats. While Jenni is known to lose her cool occasionally and wrestle a kid or two to the ground, I’m rather docile and would never act without the correct decorum. Jenni often calls me ‘an old goat’ which I take to be an address of respect.
Although I commenced writing about the great hiking opportunities in the region, we do often come across animals that join us, in particular, dogs. They will string along, sometimes for hours. We tend not to seek the company of shepherd dogs as we don’t like to distract them from their functions and mostly, to avoid being bitten. I took a light bite in Bulgaria recently; we were stalked in Romania by rough dogs and Jen was butted by a cow in Nepal.
It was a good experience following the herd for a while and then passing them, showing off a little, we suppose, but then Jen is inclined to be rather rough on me. After all, I like to keep those kids in their place. The dogs kept an eye on us and periodically barked when we lost sight of the team. At one stage, the lead dog began barking loudly, close to Jen. No goats were in view. I suspected it was calling out to the herd to let them know to speed it up and where to head. Jen had a better idea: She guessed it was informing us that we had lost the trail, thereby herding us back on track. While this happens frequently (losing ourselves), we diverged from the group because the trail took a sharp turn. The dog accepted our independence and returned to its flock. We continued toward a peak, as yet undetermined.
Because we need to write something that appears intelligent and thoughtful, we felt that we had enjoyed reasonable communication with the dogs and goats as well as creating an environment in which we could build further upon this budding relationship...ahem!
We liked the hike that much to consider a second attempt with some personal nuances.
Unfortunately, a light rain began falling which was actually pleasant but invariably ends up soaking us and our backpacks. We usually fit raincoats at that stage or earlier, but needed our bodies to be free of encumbrances while moving down the very tricky decline. Once we approached what appeared to be a top, the trail, well a sort of trail, took us in another direction where we climbed boulders and rocks through overgrown areas.
We thought we'd taken a wrong turn until we noticed the appearance of an infrequent marking. We continued to bush whack, which took us to a peak with a difference. We entered a cave that had a rear ‘door’ through which we bowed, bent and scraped in order to reach the peak. This is known as Calcadonia Gap, 'go at your own risk'. (The area has a traditional Roman flavor of structures/walls on granite covered land.) Thereafter, it was downhill all the way through narrow overgrown paths containing thornbushes, great rocks and boulders but including hazards. We love boulders but these were steep, wet and thus slippery, many on low cliff edges. It was a challenge but one we are pleased to have completed. Our next attempt will return the same way we ascended, we think, and add some other features at the top which we noticed.
The following day, we found an interesting hike which ‘floored’ me regarding directions. It appeared to be totally illogical, this coming from a directionally challenged guy, but I believe my logic was nevertheless sound. It helped me not (my logic) but at least Jen was around to sort things. (The reason I bring this up is because I was short of at least thirty words to complete the essay; my editor is harsh about minimums.)
On our hike, we bumped into the same herd a couple of miles from our departure point of the previous day. We determined they were the same bunch although we did not notice dogs. We were probably a little disappointed that they ignored us completely. So much for the rapport we had developed and the relationship we envisaged.
We are descending to cross a stream after which we will rise but not before negotiating a way past the kids. This is one of the puzzles of 'spot the dawg' (New Yorkers only).
There's the protection and its assistant. Not unlike my 'protection', to which I'm an assistant.
'Water, water everywhere.'
The leader of the pack.
We're getting high, in a manner of speaking, while the low clouds hamper the views.
A glance at one of the peaks we'll reach.
Is it something we said that's got you displaying the 'inquisitive look'?
This is a segment of the downward route. Looks pretty but also pretty dangerous, too.
Jen catches me in an easy, open and dry section after we separate from the kids. It was a delightful stretch which of course proves the adage: 'Life begins when the kids leave home'.
One of the obstacles.
Pre-historic man.
Facing a tough challenge, she regains her smile. I'm safe for a while.
Rather disappointing that they're not big on trail lights.
Jen takes the 'gap' to try to reach the peak.
Heading toward the final climb but having no idea where it was leading, hence, the confident stride (I think).
'Oh dear!' This way up.
Reaching the cave.
'Ouch! My back.
Somewhere on the way down as we notice a village...where did that come from?
Yet, another waterfall.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey