Estrela: Into the Valleys

I wake up to the white noise of the river humming nearby. The time is four in the morning. Not my usual waking hour, but the rainfall is heavy and finds it way through a ventilation hole in the tent. Each drop hits my face with increasing intensity and volume until I have no choice but to do something about it. As I sit upright, I notice that the entire floor of the tent is submerged in a puddle. Thankfully, the water level is low enough that it doesn’t seep over the outside of the tarp and into the tent—but it’s quite a comedic feeling to be sloshing around on a floor that feels like a water bed. I wasn’t expecting the rain to arrive so early. Such is the unpredictability of high mountain weather.

I sit in the tent for a couple of hours, stuck between contemplation and procrastination. Realising that waiting is futile, I decide to bite the bullet and pack down the tent in the rain. There is a resounding stillness that surrounds the valley, shrouded in mist. Even in the discomfort, it is also incredibly peaceful. I am now feeling the opposite polarity of what I felt to be so deeply unpleasant during summer in the south of Portugal. Instead of piercing heat and dryness, there is only a permeating sense of cold and wetness. The rain is set to continue for the entire day.

I decide to rent a small house for the night to take shelter from the brutal weather conditions. Craving warmth, I go straight to ignite the wood burning stove. As I sit in front of it, basking in the heat—a sudden realisation occurs. I observe how the entire surroundings on the opposite side of the valley are completely charred from the wildfire that happened in summer. Considering this paradox leaves a strange feeling. An element that is so essential to survive out here, is the same as that which almost brought all forms of life to an end. I continue to absorb the heat and take a moment to appreciate the irony. Here I remain for the following six hours. Lost in a half-asleep, half-awake daze—a combination derived from sleep deprivation and fatigue, as well as a blissful comfort.  

Blue skies today. I slept for what felt like eternity—much needed, considering the duration of the journey back home. The question of how to spend my last hours is easily answered when I look on the map. Studying the course of a river through a valley, I notice a waterfall called Poço do Inferno. Having successfully dried out my belongings beside the fire last night, I pack up the car and embark into the forests. A combination of the morning light and the ancient woodland creates a magical ambience—I am suddenly transported into a fairytale land, surrounded by species of trees which I haven’t seen for a long time. Sycamore wearing coats of gold, yew draped in strings of moss. The light filters through the canopy, casting the celestial beams onto the road in front of me. I stop the car and get out for a moment to fully absorb the mystical atmosphere. My reverie is disrupted by a couple of motorcyclists who are descending down the mountain, so I jump back into the car and continue upwards. Lupa sits patiently in the back, most likely wondering what all the fuss is about.

I park up on a lay-by between a towering rock wall and a steep drop into the valley below. The hissing sound of a waterfall reverberates through a rocky enclave behind me. A couple of tourists making their way down from the trail are ambushed by an enthusiastic Lupa, who can barely contain his excitement. I get ready quickly to spare any other passersby from being leaped on by an oversized puppy.

We follow the trail markers up a rocky path, aiming for the direction of the morning light. At this altitude and time of year, anywhere in the shadows is considerably colder. Stones crunch beneath my feet and the sound of rushing water becomes increasingly louder. Cresting over a small ridge, the majesty of the waterfall is visible below. We are now in the sunlight and the warmth is a welcoming sensation—contrasted by the cool mountain air, it feels to be the perfect balance.

There is no real plan for this micro-adventure, other than to enjoy the last hours in Serra da Estrela. We continue upwards, and as is so typically the way, I find it difficult to turn around. Pulled upwards by a magnetic curiosity, it seems futile to resist. The landscape changes form like a chameleon—shifting between mossy crags, autumnal forests and wide open vistas. As we emerge above the tree line, the distinct aesthetic of the high altitude reveals itself once again. Rounded granite boulders stacked on top of each other create a unique texture—an otherworldly, extraterrestrial view. I take a moment to study the map and notice that the trail creates a loop, following the course of the river down the opposite side of the valley. Often the best experiences are the ones that don’t contain so much vigorous planning.

Descending back into the earthly realm, I wonder—if this is what I knew and lived each day, would it lose its magic? This is a place that shakes me out of slumber and brings me deeply into the moment. I find myself merging with the landscape in a way that dissolves the hard edges of individual identity. I feel the earthly elements course through me, as a high mountain stream finds its way through the granite rock. The reason for this trip was the purpose of finding a new region to call home, somewhere that has more water, forests, mountains and natural beauty. A place that invigorates the senses, creating a feeling of awe and wonder with each journey into the wilderness. I have certainly found it here—but one thing this area lacks is the sense of community that I have found in the south. One answer gives way to five new questions, it would seem.

Lupa doesn’t want to go home either. I pick him up and put him in the car, reassuring that we will back soon to play in the mountains. When a spark is lit in a way such as this, there is little chance it will go out again.