El Barranco

Exploring in the extinct volcanic mountains of Catalunya.

Four months ago, I took Lupa on his first mountain excursion—a daylong voyage into the mountains of Catalunya. Merely a few months old himself, it was a rite of passage for my newly adopted sidekick. A process of initiation. Due to the whirlwind of work and travel that I was in at the time, I never wrote about that day spent exploring in La Garrotxa. Now it's time to put pen to paper and bring this story to life.

It was only mid-spring at the time, but the temperature was exceeding just shy of thirty degrees celsius. We left in the afternoon when the plasmic ball was at its highest point in the sky—not ideal, but I knew the shade of the north-facing forests would help to keep us cool. Ascending straight up through zig-zagged trails, the small village behind us became increasingly microscopic. The village dogs barked below us. Within only a couple of kilometres, we were already above one-thousand metres in elevation. Stumbling across a cattle trail, I found a small pool of water to keep Lupa hydrated. I lifted him up and dunked him in the cool waters in order to help with the mid-afternoon heat. Around us, the grazed meadows shone with vibrant hues of green grass and yellow gorse. The route I had planned would circumnavigate the ridge directly above the village where we were staying, through the network of canyons that surrounded the lower lands.

Descending now into the oak forest, the trail became rocky and technically challenging. Huge chunks of gneiss littered the path, blanketed in a layer of leaves that created a slippery layer of organic matter on the already challenging path. The deeper we went into the woods, the more the surroundings shifted into what appeared to be a fairytale realm. Strings of moss hung off the tree branches above and around us, with the light softened as it shone through the leafy canopy.

I recall seeing what appeared to be a derelict stone house in the distance. Now on the western face of the ridge, the afternoon light made this place seem inviting—somewhere worthy of exploring. We walked towards it. Surrounding the structure were a couple of ancient oak trees—judging by their size, I would estimate that they are at least one hundred years old. I paid my due respect to these wise beings, how much they must have experienced in their time here. The change of the seasons—from the emergence of new life in spring, to the long days of summer, the transition into hibernation during autumn and a return once again to the harshness of a mountain winter. How much they must have witnessed. Yet here they remain, bold and imposing. Seemingly immovable. The stone house is overgrown with ivy and empty inside, long-since abandoned. As I continue down the trail I notice the rocky track that the inhabitants must have driven to get to and from this humble abode. Incomprehensibly steep and technically challenging. No wonder they decided to relocate. 

Heading down into the valley on the opposite side of the ridge from where started, I can hear the distant rush of the river. From there, I knew we only had to follow the flow back home. Simple enough, or so it seemed. The mossy forests continued to spark wonder inside, while Lupa seemed relatively unfazed about his first wilderness excursion. He was also in his element—focused on the path ahead, sniffing with curiosity at the array of scents of which I could only dream of being able to perceive. Eventually, the vista began to open up as we hit the bottom of the valley. Surrounded by meadows, the cows grazed with their calves on the vibrant green grass. Unfamiliar with these large beasts, Lupa was hesitant to walk past them. I picked him up and we continued for a hundred metres or so until I placed him back on the ground. The valley began to narrow as the deep canyon revealed itself. We walked a narrow path along the upper edge of the barranco, between the dense forests to our left and the deep drop-off to our right. Precarious? Perhaps, but this was only the beginning. 

Somewhere along the way, the trail forked into two possible directions. For no discernible reason, I decided to take the upper path. This turned out to be both the best and worse decision that I took that day in the mountains. The rugged region of La Garrotxa is more or less a form of forested maze—a place that is scarcely populated and infrequently explored, compared to other regions of natural attraction. Pulling on the thread of the labyrinth, we climbed further up than I was expecting to go. At this point, I realised that this might not have been the intended direction that I had planned previously. The gradient became steeper and steeper, the loose leafy ground giving way easily underfoot. These two elements made the way particularly difficult and certainly more dangerous, with a significant fall below. Agile as a mountain goat, Lupa was not overly concerned. His relaxed manner encouraged me to push onward, understanding that retracing steps and heading down would be significantly harder than continuing on this mysterious, abandoned trail. Leading deeper into a side-canyon, I scanned the landscape to see if this could lead back to where we started. It seemed that this smaller ravine at one point fed the larger canyon with water, suggesting that if we followed it, then we would end up back on the trail beside the main river. It makes sense, in theory—but theory doesn't always apply to the wild world. 

Clambering down the steep leafy slopes, it became apparent that this forest didn't see much direct sunlight, judging by the layers of moss that coated the trees. The trail eventually fizzled out and we found ourselves completely immersed in the outback wilderness of Catalunya. It was just enough to generate a healthy primal fear within. Game on. Returning to the raw essence of the prehistoric human, I relied on my senses to guide the way. The river through this side-canyon has long since dried up, providing a direction to traverse back down to the main canyon. Navigating over pebbled river beds and larger boulders, we were making steady progress—until the falls and plunge pools came. Thankfully there was no water to be seen, other than some stagnant pools. This meant that we only needed to clamber down with some rock climbing technique. Of course, being the older and apparently more responsible team member, I carried Lupa under my left arm and used my right arm and both feet to navigate the rocky incline. The first couple of descents went smoothly. Satisfied with this unique method of transport, we continued further into the depths. It must have only been a couple of kilometres to merge back with the main trail, but the terrain made the distance seem considerably longer. This became more apparent when we faced the big obstacle—a three metre dried-up waterfall, slick as marble. With what little energy remained at this point, I scanned the rock for a way down. On the far-right corner, I noticed a small funnel which had been carved by the water—a small enough space to allow for a three-limbed downward scramble. I hooked Lupa under my arm once again, took a deep breath and edged down slowly into the funnel. Using my body weight, I pushed as hard as possible against the smooth rock, relying on the pressure to create some form on traction. Moving each limb carefully and deliberately—for one small mistake could result in slipping and falling, I continued the awkward pattern. Right foot down, left foot down, Right hand down. Scuttling like an elongated crab, I closed the distance between us and the pebbled floor below. With one final thrust, I released my grip on the rock and jumped. Placing the pup back on the ground, I celebrated with a unique euphoria derived from this absurd endeavour. How the hell did we end up here? I have no idea, but there’s nowhere I’d rather have been.

This pattern of movement continued for the next kilometre or so—slide, scramble, jump. Each time became increasingly difficult, due to lack of energy. I could sense that Lupa's enthusiasm was waning. Thankfully, the distant noise of the river below began to increase in volume. We were close. Really close. Within eyesight now, I could see the glistening blue waters through the trees, shining like sapphires. The thirst was getting to me now, but only one final challenge remained—the big boss, if you will. Just like the final level of a video game, it appeared that we wouldn't make it out of this cavernous gulch until we had proven ourselves worthy of escape. Below us, a large, dried-up waterfall stood imposing and seemingly impenetrable. The height must have been around five or six metres. Not impossible by any means, but without any equipment and the need to carry a small dog with me, the task was certainly daunting. The worst part was that there was no real footholds or for that matter, anything to hold onto. A leap of faith was required. I held Lupa with both hands, not needing them for this final descent. Hanging my legs over the edge, I shuffled slowly over the precipice. The rock was slightly curved, bulging outward. I made the final shuffle and began to slide down the slick rock surface. Gaining momentum, I felt the instant buzz of adrenaline, the primal rush. What was probably a matter of seconds felt like hours. Grasping firmly to Lupa, I extended my legs and braced for impact. The sound of crunching pebbles reverberated throughout the rocky walls as I bounced off the surface. Maintaining balance, I stood upright and placed Lupa back on the floor. It was celebration time. I looked back at the stone behemoth, gave thanks for the challenge and we continued on our way. Eufòria, dolça eufòria.

The final part of the journey was spent in a blissful reverie. We were reunited with the late-afternoon sun, bathing us in a warm glow. I refilled my water bottle in the river and Lupa drank also. Both of us gandered back around the ridge above with a giddiness, satisfied with a day well spent. Our spirits revived and elevated by a second-wind, the remaining distance passed easily. My limbs aches with fatigue, my stomach growled with hunger—but on a deeper level that is often hard to describe, I felt satisfied and content, in a transcendental sort of way. A particular form of happiness that only comes when you decide to move beyond yourself and into the void.