Before We Leave

There is a mountain behind Benidorm called Puig Campana which, as you can see from the photo below (taken from the internet), can even get some snow coverage. It’s 200 feet higher than Ben Nevis. I wanted to climb this beauty and one of the waiters in the hotel, Xabi, said he’d come with me. Sadly our chosen day was a washout with torrential rain which would have made the whole ascent very iffy.

A couple of days later the weather cleared enough for me to drive up to the springs of Moli, beautiful fresh water pouring out of the mountain at hundreds of gallons a minute, and park the car. Xabi was off that day but I couldn’t get hold of him. We’ll walk it together next year. There is a route which goes up to the left of the mountain, as you look at the photo above, skirts up to a ridge at the back and then it’s a steep slog up tracks, scree and rock faces to the summit on the right of the photo. It’s not difficult it’s just hard going.

On the top of the peak to the left if you look closely you can see a chunk taken out of the top. Legend has it that Roldan, a local giant, had a lover Alda who was fated to die when the last of the sun’s rays shone on her. Roldan cut out part of the mountain so that the sun would take longer to set and give Alda a few moments longer to live. The chunk was kicked out into the Mediterranean and became the island off Benidorm which appears in my last blog. I love that story. It must be true. Only the power of love could make a bloke that strong, even if he’s a giant. It’s like women capable of lifting trucks off their children.

It reminds me of the legend of the origin of Lough Neagh, a huge lake outside Belfast near where I worked in Lurgan, which was allegedly formed by a legendary Irish hunter/warrior Fionn mac Cumhaill (or Finn MacCool). When he was chasing a Scottish rival from Ireland’s shores he lifted a huge lump of soil and rock and hurled it at his retreating foe. The soil was thrown so hard that it landed in the middle of the Irish Sea and became the Isle of Man, while the gaping hole left behind soon filled with water and formed Lough Neagh. It’s true. Pat Mallon told me.

When I left the car the mountain was brooding in the clouds.

The walk was fantastic with great views inland and when I finally rounded the back of the summit there were thin patches of snow in the sheltered northern gullies.

The climb up to the col between the left and right summits was tough but the last few hundred feet was an easy walk following the yellow and white stripes, which had disappeared halfway up the mountain but now reappeared as if by the magic of Roldan the Giant. I think the stripes disappear just before you’re going to get to a difficult section so that the originator can’t be sued for leading you to your death.

The view from the top was masked by thick, freezing cloud.

However the cloud parted to the north east giving me a brief glimpse of the view past my old mate Serra Bernia, past Altea and on to the highest cliff in the entire Mediterranean next to Calpe – Ifach, seen in the distance as a stand alone tower of rock. At 1000 feet high it looks huge from below (and even bigger from the top of the cliff) but it is actually dwarfed by Puig Campana, as I was standing at 4,600 feet.

Coming down the stripes disappeared and I went astray, coming down to a 30 foot drop, which I managed to get down by clinging on to a tree growing next to it, and then boot-skiing down a long scree slope. At the col I turned right, instead of going back the way I had come, going 360 degrees round the mountain back to Moli. The views below the cloud line were great and I came upon this pine tree, being the only one I’ve ever seen with an Afro.

I drank stacks of water from the springs at Moli, sweet as a mountain stream. Well, actually it was a mountain stream. Sweet anyway.

Cheers me dears. Laters. Blog from England next on my plans.