The Penultimate Adventure
Once a year, as the years of my life become ever more limited, I like to undertake a silly adventure. Every one could be the last. This autumn, the annual adrenal outing produced an extraordinary experience, which I will never forget.
It happened in the Alcornocales Natural Park, among the Serrania de Ronda. There is a limestone gorge called the Canyon of the Vultures´ Eyries, or Cañon de Las Buitreras in Spanish. It forms the channel through which the Río Guadiaro rushes on its way from Ronda to the sea and is two thousand metres long, between white rock walls three hundred metres high. Its average width is no more than ten metres.
There is a modern sport, canyoning, practised throughout the world wherever torrents have carved channels through limestone hills. It is like caving in the daylight. Its devotees delight in following the water through such defiles, dressed in neoprene wet suits, helmets and harnesses.
Recently I joined a group of enthusiasts from Seville, eight men and two women on a well-organized excursion to traverse the famous canyon. We met at Estacíón de Gaucín, were briefed by two professional guides and climbed into our cars to drive to the footpath high in the forest that would lead us down to the river bed. We parked the cars and changed into outfits suitable for the trip ahead. then set off to walk. On the way down we stopped to photograph the breathtaking surroundings and to look at the threadlike river bed far below. Soaring above, the vultures were already on watch, waiting for a false step by any unwary interloper. We took a breather near a tunnel that led to a structure called the German Bridge that spanned the gorge and from which it is possible to rope down one hundred metres to the river bed. Our guides however led us on to the point where we could enter the gorge on foot, after final adjustments to suits and harnesses.
We clambered over and under water worn limestone boulders. Twice we had to rope down, rappel, pitches of five or six metres, and other times we descended similar pitches without ropes, wherever there were pools with sufficient depth below when our guides told us we could jump into the water. Easy!
After about three hours of such travelling, we came to several large, deep lakes along which we could swim, assisted by the buoyancy of the wet suits. In the third and last lake I chose to swim on my back to look up to the sky above, narrow between the walls of the gorge. What a sight! Many metres above I could make out a multitude of vultures circling and soaring, slow and easy, dark against the blue Spanish sky .How good to be alive! It was the last lake, I was feeling contented, comfortable, and the view and the situation were perfect. It was well worth the effort and would last me for years, stored among my finest memories.
We landed on a pebbly beach. The walls had lost height; the sun was hot and welcoming. All that remained was a charming upward walk on a well marked and ancient looking mule track to the Ends Substation, where transport awaited us with dry clothes and fortifying celebratory drinks.
Over a typical evening meal in the village we learned that the trip can be impossible at times of heavy rain. At any time it is best traversed in a party organized by a qualified adventure firm. To reach the start it is necessary to pass through a finch where a fee is payable.
Article by John Thurston