As the winter storm clouds gather over Ireland and the temperature and raindrops fall the call to Spanish adventures cannot be ignored. A 30 hour intermission in a cramped cabin surrounded by a swelling mass of moving ocean and we were once again driving into the mountains heading south.

Taking a different diversion to previous routes we drove deep into the Rioja region and up into the Sierra de Cebollera on the N 111 from Logroño towards Soria. Accompanied by rushing rivers and unbroken expanses of green,brown and gold forest of pine, beech and oak we climbed toward the snow. I had some rambles in mind in the Natural Park and we turned up to Villoslada de Cameros where the parks info centre sat next to the river below the ancient village of sturdy stone houses. Arriving at dusk we had a stroll up into town joined by some friendly hounds.

Our hiking destination, Lumbreras, was a few km down the road- but those km were up – and the snow deepened as we climbed up around the bends in the morning. By the time we arrived at the trailhead at about 1200m and struggled into our cold and wet weather gear the going did not look good.

We made an attempt but it soon became obvious that 8.6 km in deep snow was not a good plan and so had to enjoy what we could of the 23,000 hectare of well preserved forest of mostly Rebollar oak, the ones that keep their leaves, from the road.

Back in the camper and up and over the Puerto Piqueras at 1700 m, or actually through a tunnel beneath, and on into Castillo y Leon and the Reserva Natural del Acebal de Garagueta, the greatest Holly forest in Europe. Might not seem a big deal but we love our Hollys and this was special.

After calling in to the info centre in Arévalo de la Sierra and arming ourself with a map and some postcards we drove up the dirt track to the reserve. 300 h of Holly on a mountainside between 1400m and 1600m overlooking a huge sweep of Spain.

A large group of mighty vultures circled lazily above us in an improving sky as we set off down the track. Some horses snuffled in the snow for the remaining herbage and nibbled the leaves of the Holly to create an impenetrable topiary, and excluding themselves from access to its bark- saving the tree from injury.

Actually we had learnt at the info centre that it was human inhabitants that stripped the bark from the Holly and went through a lengthy process of scraping and soaking and mashing fibres to create bird lime, the sticky glue painted on branches to cruelly catch small “edible” birds, a practise finally outlawed by European law this year but frequently overlooked. In Spain the song thrush is a popular snack.

As a local resource the Holly forest had obviously been utilised for millennia for all it could supply – fuel, fodder and prey- but is now protected and the flocks of birds scattering between thick deep shelter and an abundance of berry food were impressive. The bright red berries and rose hips compete with the subtle hues of the mistletoe for the birds attention. They need to go through a gut or , with the Christmas kissing mistletoe, be wiped from a beak into a branch crevice in order to propagate. But strangely, even in this protected zone with a mass of birds and berries, there was no regeneration of trees visible.

We left the main path to follow little wooden markers half buried in the virgin snow. Not quite pristine as animal prints too vague to identify crisscrossed our route. Could be fox, deer, boar, rabbit, hare, shrew, mouse, hedgehog, badger or weasel. Snow hung in pillows on the trees and formed sensual mounds over scrubs.

We reached a lovely little circular shepherds hut finely built of stone with a corbeled roof in Celtic style. The nomadic lifestyle of transhumance was practised until quite recently with livestock being moved to these high grounds in the summer and down to Andalucia or Extremadora in the harsh winters. This hut was built in the 1930’s. The style relates to the fact that this area was the cultural stronghold of the Celtiberians for the last few centuries BC until the destruction by the Romans of nearby Numancia after a desperate 8 month siege in 133BC.

Inside someone had placed a little Christian grotto in an alcove.

Our path now swung up and around the mountain, returning towards our starting point near a large stone barn and fuente. Here was one of the few areas we could get inside the trees to admire their shade and shelter.

And so back to the camper under the watchful eyes of the vultures hoping perhaps for a fatal fall.

Onwards.