Trails Upon The Rolling Mountains

I honestly have no idea where we went

We got into the cars at 9am, pre-coffee me was not happy, and he wouldn’t be for the rest of the day because coffee was not on the agenda and neither was successful instinctual direction.

I woke up to the fattest amount of fog swallowing Santander. The sky was this gorgeous shade of pink, the kind of pink that makes you believe in something greater than yourself. It looked as if some enormous pink cloud had engulfed the city and we were being digested by it. Beautifully apocalyptic.

We drove about 45 minutes outside Santander. Packed into three cars were fifteen sleep deprived new friends who were en route to the wilderness. We arrived quite quickly, again I didn’t actually know what was going on because I still hadn’t had my coffee at this point.

We get to this place and we start walking.

Let me tell you, this shit was UP. And UP. And UP. There was no negotiation with this big hill (or small mountain, I couldn’t really measure it properly) [I can’t do a lot of things without a morning coffee]. Anyway, there was no gentle introduction by the scenery, just relentless upward insult to my legs and lungs.

We finally made it to the top.

And you know what I did when I got to the tippy tip top?

I had a cigarette.

While everyone else was eating lunch, chatting, and enjoying the achievement of having reached the top, I had my little sweet vice.

Felt very Armstrong-on-the-Moon, the cigarette being my flag, the inhale being my first step, and the top of this Spanish geographic beast was the moon. Far far away.

After my little damaging, dangerous reward we tried to find our way back…

“FIND” is the right word because none of us were sure of where to go.

While walking, a small tick had landed on my SOCK, wish something more human wanted me that badly, as it would not let go. So I panicked and was rushing to get off that fucking mountain (or large hill) [again was unsure of what makes a large hill and what makes a small mountain]. As we were trying to get down this heightened piece of land, vultures began circling above. Oh, forgot to mention that we were walking through a cow field (hence these photos) [so maybe it was a good thing we got lost so I could have these photos to photograph and edit for you all].

SO, not only was I scared of the ticks coming for me, I was scared a cow would get territorial, or a vulture would swoop down (even though they’d prefer me dead, I know they’d still want me alive). Now, you tell me what was more dangerous: having that cigarette or this situation?

But we finally made it down, literally slipping down dried leaves, nearly ending up like Jack and Jill. We did get split up from half the group and had to walk back to find the rest of them, but at least at this point we knew where we were going.

I don’t think I will ever take a route like that again, unless its purposeful. But the most important thing is that the cigarette I had on that mountain followed me until I threw it in the bin, because even when you stare at the face of death on a mountain, you should never ever litter.