They say a pictures worth a thousand words. I was hoping to feature many photographs and thereby cut down on the amount of nimble finger work needed to type on a 2 x 1 in keyboard.
But it seems I must be very sparing or crashes occur.
Yesterday I headed off early down the pink paved prom in Morro Jable. I thought I’d have it.to myself but was busy with joggers cyclists skaters and speed walkers.
Eventually they headed back to the apartments for breakfast leaving me to head out of the urbanization and back to the wilds.
The trail played cat and mouse with the waves, leading me along the beaches and up and over small headlands. If the tide was in the cat would get you as the cliffs reared up cutting off access.
Some shorelines were covered in large pebbles that had been built into handsome shelters to protect from the ever present wind.
It wasn’t long before I was joined by the serious sun worshipers setting up for another day of melanoma.
Soon after the last beach bar things got rugged and very sandy with drifting dunes making the going tougher.
I climbed quite high for a fine view of the coastline and distant mountains. Below me a curving sand spit created a vast shallow lagoon above which the sky was dotted with the colourful kites of the tiny surfers.
One blot (or actually several) were the abandoned skeletons of massive hotel developments. It seems the crash struck hard but like the ghost estates in deeply rural Ireland it was hard to imagine some of these being viable.
As I past by one sprawling deserted complex in the desert it heartened me to see loads of little Barbary squirrels had taken up residence.
But if I thought it was desert yesterday, today was pure Lawrence of Arabia.
I got an early morning bus to where I finished last night and set off on a 17km hike across El Jable.
The problem was that for the previous 2 days my pack had been pretty much emptied. Now with water food tent etc it was about 13 kilos and the trail started with a long climb, not a steep one but enough for my back, knees and hips.
But the pure empty scenery all around soon made me forget the load and I had it easy compared to the political prisoners who had been forced to construct a road across this wasteland. I kept coming across little sections of it that the wind blown sand had revealed.
The mountains were made of fossilised sand and shells blown inland for millions of years.
In some places the trail marking posts were nearly buried and they’ve only been there a couple of years.
It took me 5 hours to cross the sea of sand to reach the little village of Le Pared where there were surfers and dune buggy riders but no where to stay so I carried on another 11 km to a trail shelter for the night.
Travelling through this land of sand and rock in its infinite variety has reminded me of the Burren and the host of forms that the limestone displays.
The moon has risen, looks full. The stars are out and the mass of Cardoon mountain is before me.
Fingers crossed while I click’ publish’