After ending up changing our walking plans last week, we decided to have another crack at our original idea to walk the Ruta de las Xanas and treat ourselves to lunch at the restaurant half way round. With it definitely open this time (nothing to do with the festival of San Juan last week apparently, they are actually closed every Wednesday!) and a comfortable 24°C with sunny intervals forecast, we set off in anticipation of another lovely day out.
We were planning to do a 9 kilometre / 5.6 mile circular walk, but I would recommend the first section which climbs from the car park and picnic site at Las Xanas up to the village of Pedroveya as the most perfect walk for anyone who wants a little taster of Asturias, a sort of perfect essence of the landscape distilled into a relatively short distance. The gorge, cut in places to a depth of 8o metres over millennia by the río Viescas, is not as long or quite as spectacular as the iconic Cares Gorge in the Picos, but I think it is prettier, far richer in different ecosystems and is definitely much, much quieter. As with so many of our walks here, we hardly saw a another soul.
The walk also has the added benefit for us that I can actually do it without too much trouble, unlike Cares Gorge which I have attempted from both ends, stepping out merrily for a couple of hours before collapsing in a vertigo-induced freeze. The only thing for it then is to find a ‘safe’ place to sit off the path and let my companion(s) carry on without me. I wouldn’t dream of spoiling the walk for anyone else and learnt a long time ago to always pack a good book in my rucksack on those kind of jaunts! It is the most ridiculous thing, I know, but that’s just how it is sometimes.
Anyway, there is only one short stretch of the Xanas Gorge which I don’t enjoy much and the trick for me is to hang on to Roger’s shirt tails for a few moments – well, at least, to tuck in close behind him so I can focus my gaze on his sure and steady footsteps and ignore the sheer drop which my subconscious mind is convinced I’m going to inexplicably tumble down at any given moment. It might seem like a waste of good scenery but I think of it as a little bit of hiking mindfulness that gets me up there! It’s most definitely worth the effort because when I can lift my eyes again, the scenery is completely stunning.
Given that this walk is literally spitting distance from the Ruta del Oso where we cycled a couple of weeks ago, it was fascinating how the sides of the path bloomed with an almost completely different range of wild flowers. It never fails to amaze me how so much life seems to spring from the rocks!
The gorge is two kilometres long and towards the top, we caught our first glimpse of the river tumbling energetically in tiered waterfalls to crystal clear plunge pools below; this is reputedly the haunt of the mythical xanas after whom the walk is named.
When Annie visited us last year, we walked through the woods from home to the little río Caliente (literally ‘hot’ or ‘warm’ river – although it very much isn’t!) and being the proud owner of an enormous and very active imagination, she became captivated by the idea of such spots being inhabited by water nymphs. As none seemed interested in gracing us with their presence, she spent a long time weaving intricate decorations of flowers and foliage into Sarah’s hair and mine, which ~ as we both lack the necessary long flowing locks to be proper xanas ~ was obviously the next best thing! I’ve yet to see one of these enchanting beauties but I really can’t blame them for choosing to dwell in such magical spots.
Leaving the gorge, the path climbs steeply through a delightfully tangled swathe of broad-leaved woodland decked out in its full summer green and bristling with bird life. Eucalyptus and pine, those thuggishly scented big hitters, are both absent and so the air is filled with a more subtle perfume here, something lightly spiced, fresh and green with mushroomy undertones of damp, mossy earth. Amongst the lush undergrowth there are the faintest sketches of past human activity, tiny overgrown meadows and a tumbledown stone mill, which speak of lost years and changing times; how quickly nature reclaims the land once it is left.
More climbing and we emerged out of the trees to bright sunlight and breathtaking views. The meadows here were completely stunning, rippling with rainbows of flowers amongst the silvery grasses and shimmering with the haze of thousands of dancing butterflies. It’s impossible to do justice to the scene with words; I simply stood and stared.
The church of San Antonio occupies a beautiful tranquil spot where it’s possible to sit and rest or eat a picnic on stone seats and enjoy the surroundings. No sheep or dogs this time, their meadows are soon to become hay . . . and no picnic for us because we were almost at the village of Pedroveya and that promised lunch.
Now at this point in our walk we realised that we were, quite honestly, a complete pair of numpties. For starters, it hadn’t taken us anywhere near as long as anticipated to climb the gorge and consequently we were way too early for Spanish lunchtime service. Also – can you believe this? – neither of us was particularly hungry, as Roger had eaten his hobbit’s second breakfast after a long early morning run and I had tucked into my favourite super-sustaining brekky of oats, nuts, seeds and dried fruit. We know that the restaurant serves generous helpings of hearty Asturian dishes, true fill-your-boots comfort food indeed, which suddenly seemed far more suited to the end of a long walk in much cooler weather. Now, anyone who is beginning to feel we never actually stick to Plan A could be on to something, but hey ~ life’s more interesting that way and predictability is so outdated in my book! We have certainly sat in worse spots to ponder our next move, that’s for sure.
As we have something of a track record when it comes to near starvation on foodless hikes (sorry, Sam and Adrienne!), we had packed some emergency apples and plenty of water, so we decided to carry on with our walk and top up our tummies a bit later. It’s a steep climb from Pedroveya to the neighbouring village of Dosango but gives rise (if you’ll excuse the pun) to some utterly spectacular views; the sky was definitely doing its best to impress, too.
When we walked these lanes in January, the verges were studded with primroses and violets but now they were bursting with the dainty floral beauties we’d seen up the gorge ~ scabious, campanula, astrantia, pinks ~ and a supporting froth of yarrow, St John’s wort, Queen Anne’s lace and valerian amongst others.
There was a gentle busyness to Dosango; a chap quietly and rhythmically scything grass in an orchard and a lady bent double, pulling weeds from between the rows of glossy maize plants and the climbing beans that are planted to scramble up them. A seemingly ancient lady sat on her balcony, face turned to the sun and simply enjoying the incredible view; well, who could blame her?
From the village, the walk follows a road for a while then turns across country once more; it’s pretty much downhill all the way back to the start from here. This stretch reminds me slightly of the South Shropshire hills ~ the Stiperstones, perhaps? ~ with wide, close-cropped paths of springy turf and waves of bracken blanketing the rock-encrusted slopes. Just a few tough little mountain sheep required!
Time to act daft for the camera in a little burst of playful energy . . . personally, I blame those oats.
Down, down, down, and the last stretch happily passes through another area of deciduous woodland; not so happily, the camera battery died just as I was about to take a few close-ups of that chestnut tree by the side of the path. What an ancient and incredibly statuesque creature it is with a huge mossy-furred bole and limbs so twisted, heavy and stretched they seem to defy gravity. Never mind, I love this photo anyway; in a few days’ time we will be celebrating our 35th (!!!) wedding anniversary, and a little research tells me this one is ‘jade.’ Well, I have no desire for precious stones but for me, time spent walking with my Best Beloved in this landscape of countless greens is a priceless treasure indeed.
Back to the car and the briefest of stops on our way home soon had the (lack of) dinner situation sorted. We might have missed out on hefty tureens of steaming pote, fabada and arroz con leche but a couple of barbecued local steaks, homemade pitta bread and an abundant salad from the garden didn’t feel remotely like a disappointment. There’s not a bad view from our outdoor dining room, either. As for that promised restaurant meal ~ third time lucky, maybe? 🙂