From the dormitory window of our mountain hut the breaking dawn is a symphony of colour – pumpkin, saffron and pale purple – blazing in the eastern sky. As the sun slowly emerges, it unfurls a salmon pink carpet across the limestone. That’s when I see it for the first time.
ooming behind our hut is Naranjo de Bulnes, a smooth, vertical wall of rock that rises defiantly to more than 500 metres. Naranjo de Bulnes isn’t the highest peak in these mountains, but it is the most recognisable.
The rock is inflected with iron ore and because of the hue it emits at sunrise and sunset, the peak takes its name from the Spanish for ‘orange’.
With Naranjo de Bulnes as our dizzying backdrop, we start our early-morning hike from the hut. Through a glaciated valley in the shadow of the still-rising sun, we scramble over scree, descend through mountain gullies, and cross pockets of lingering snow.
Soon, small specks appear on Naranjo de Bulnes – climbers on their way up the most prestigious rock climb in Spain. It’s then we realise we’re being observed. Skulking behind rocks a little above us, a chamois furtively monitors our steps.
By the time we start to feel the heat of the sun on our faces, we can see over a jumble of limestone spires to the Cantabrian Sea. High up, the periwinkle-blue sky is stencilled with intersecting vapour trails.
We pick our way down through a valley carved during the ice age and now studded with boulders. As we get lower, the greenery of the valley is embroidered with purple irises and pink roses. Stopping for lunch at the bottom, we take off our boots and socks and dip our feet into the coolness of a gentle mountain stream.
I’m in Los Picos de Europa (The Peaks of Europe) mountain range in Northern Spain. Sculpted by millennia of glaciation, the Picos are a rectangular hunk of limestone divided between three Spanish provinces: Asturias, Cantabria, and León.
The Picos were the first sight of land that Spanish sailors witnessed as they returned to Europe from the Americas and it’s believed that’s where the name of the mountains comes from.
With my friends Clara and Siubhán, I join a friendly group of 11 hikers led by our guide, Rosana, for a six-day trek through the Picos national park, a Unesco Biosphere Reserve. Half the group is English, but there’s also an American, Australian, German, and a Singaporean.
As we’re about to start our hike on the first day, we see two griffon vultures perched on a rock staring at us. In front of the vultures, a brindled, slightly frazzled mastiff is standing in the middle of a herd of excitable goats. “The dog,” Rosana tells us, “is there to guard the goats from the wolves.”
Under a vast sky, we watch the sun set on the glittering spires of the central massif
Established in 1918, we’re in the first national park created in Spain and the drumbeat of our trek is our encounters with chapters of Spanish history.
The hut in Vegarredonda where we stay, for example, was a munitions warehouse during the Spanish Civil War and we walk along routes used by the Moors after their defeat at a battle that occupies a central place in the Spanish psyche.
The victory of Pelayo, an Asturian nobleman, over a Moorish expedition in the early 8th century at the Battle of Covadonga in the Picos is considered the start of a centuries-long war, culminating in 1492, by Christian forces to regain control – the Reconquista – of Spain.
Our trek is an amalgam of surging limestone peaks, jade-green meadows, and serene glacial lakes soundtracked by the clanking of bells hanging from cows’ necks.
After a gentle ascent on our second day, all the ingredients from the Picos’ elemental recipe come together in a sublime tableau: beside a terracotta-tiled cabin and against the backdrop of the gnarled western massif, cows graze beside the wide expanse of Lake Ercina.
“This is Europe!” says Stacey, a former investment banker who grew up in Los Angeles. “Everything else is gravy.”
Rosana tells us the Picos receive significantly fewer visitors than mountain ranges such as the Dolomites, and it seems most hikers we meet are Spanish.
She works as a biology teacher in Gran Canaria and leads hiking tours through the Picos during the summer. Gracious, enthusiastic and knowledgeable, it’s easy to see why she has won awards for her guiding. Rosana is also an expert on the cheeses of the Picos. The area is renowned for Cabrales, a strong blue queso with a sharp taste. Such is the reverence accorded to Cabrales here that framed photos of the cheese decorate the walls of the mountain huts.
“Cabrales is made with a blend of cow, goat, and sheep milk,” Rosana tells me. “It’s aged in limestone caves in the Picos. The humid conditions in the caves give the cheese its blue mould.”
There are three massifs over 2,500 metres in the Picos and about mid-way through our trek we stay at a mountain hut from where, under a vast sky, we watch the sun gradually set on the glittering spires of the central massif.
The next morning, after a breakfast of homemade granola, infused with turmeric and cinnamon, and served with hot milk, and with a packed lunch of triple-decker egg and chorizo sandwiches, we follow a zig-zagging, former shepherds’ trail 1,200 metres down to the Cares Gorge – also called the Divine Gorge.
About 12km long, the gorge connects the village of Poncebos, in Asturias, with Caín, in Leòn. In the 1940s, engineers cut a ledge – that ranges from about one to three metres in width and has almost no handrails – along one side of the gorge for the workers on the nearby hydroelectric dam.
We walk carefully along the ledge and try to absorb the high-definition views of the river 500 metres below and the mountains that tower 2,000 metres above. The ledge tracks the path of the river and we pass waterfalls, walk through tunnels and short caves, see a bridge built for salmon to negotiate their way upstream toward their spawning grounds, and cross the gorge at the lime-green Chamois Bridge.
One of the most striking aspects of hiking in the Picos is the sense of ‘cloud-busting’. As we descended to the Cares Gorge, we started inside the clouds and walked under them. The next day we walk up to the clouds.
Starting near the village of Poncebos, we cross the Cares river and as we climb we see evergreen oak trees growing sideways out of the gorge. After about two hours, we stop for a café con leche at Bulnes village.
As we follow the white and yellow trail markings, we pass through fields speckled with shepherds’ cabins. Often, the only sound is the crunch of our boots on the path. When we reach our mountain hut, we’ve ascended about 2,000 metres. But because of the cloud, we can only see its outline. We can see none of Naranjo de Bulnes behind it.
That evening we could never have imagined what the next morning would bring.
Getting there
Ryanair (ryanair.com) fly from Dublin to Santander, the nearest airport to the Picos. Aer Lingus (aerlingus.com) fly from Dublin to Bilbao. Brittany Ferries (brittany-ferries.ie) sail from Rosslare to Bilbao.
Brendan toured with KE Adventure Travel (keadventure.com). The Traverse of the Picos de Europa is an eight-day tour, with six days hiking. Walking for five to eight hours each day, it has ascents and descents of 800-1,000 metres per day, with a 2,000 metre ascent on Day 5. Accommodation is a mix of huts and small hotels. The €1,245 price includes accommodation, meals, and guide.
