Refugi Font Ferrera to Vallibona – Another Epic (second blog today)

We woke up this morning to a brand new day which promised rain, and it delivered, but not in abundance. An early start in the Refugi, breakfast at 06.30 and on the hills by 07.00. We’re having a great trek and we are good mates, which makes it even more enjoyable. Gary is great to walk with. We don’t talk or eat between breakfast and evening meal unless it’s necessary. It takes away energy and focus on the next step. We’re like minded on what is great and good, food wise, country wise, culture wise and people wise. It’s like walking with a brother that you like.

On a wet day I’m afraid I don’t take many photos. Stopping to get inside my rucksack’s rain cover to whip out my iPad to take a photo of something obscured by clouds, thanks Pink Floyd, is too much effort when we need to be heads down crashing on.

It took us the best part of two hours to get to Fredes, a tiny village way up in the mountains where we came across the Portell de L’Infern. The gate to Hell. In fairness it felt like it. Barbed wire blocking the footpath and dogs howling behind fences.

The place is deserted, apart from mushroom hunters who are flocking up the country roads past the village, with nothing to attract them to stop here.

We hiked down the road to a restaurant in nomansland which seemed to be a commune for hunters and mushroom gatherers sheltering from the rain. After hanging around for ten minutes to get served we buggered off and headed down the road towards El Boixar, our next waypoint.

Unfortunately we took a wrong turn down a mountain and we were over a mile down before I realised we’d missed a turning. When you’re in the rain, looking down at your iPad and it takes a photo of your feet, you need to put it on your blog. Rude not to.

We tried to cut up the mountainside directly through the forest but we went four yards and slid back down the sodden soil. So back to the road and as a car came past I flagged him down. The driver was an old hunter who was going to have refreshments with his mates and then go home because it was raining. I explained where we had gone wrong and he started to direct me to it. I managed to summon up enough Spanish to say ‘No you silly old flag we want a lift’ and he invited us in and took us back to the junction we had missed.

We picked up where we left off, but by this time Gary’s knee was giving him trouble again. The problem seems to kick in after five or six miles with the rucksack, and particularly when we’re going steeply downhill.

Poor dear. The pain is etched in his face sometimes.

We cut across hilltops towards Villabona, a village en route to our destination of Morella. By this time we had been on the go for four hours and the rain was beginning to ease. A footpath sign said that Villabona was less than two hours away. We’d be there by 13.00.

Rounding an old ruined farmhouse we stumbled across a huge bull laid down next to his harem of cows. He was stretched across the path and was clearly spooked by our arrival in brightly coloured waterproofs. Jumping up he shook his head and snorted aggressively, stamping a warning on the ground.

We froze and slowly eased back behind the farmhouse. Once out of sight we quickly slipped downhill away from the top of the field and made our way around the rocky hillside. Nervous, breathless and gutless we took off our bright tops and weaved through spiky gorse bushes hanging over a significant drop. We could see the roof of the old farm and could hear the bull walking around his territory. He had a bell around his neck and the noise as it came towards us was scary and spooky. We caught a view of the top of a big beast and backed down to the edge of the cliff drop.

After around thirty minutes we completed a circuit of the hilltop and rejoined the path, setting a faster pace to get away. Our relief was palpable.

The sky cleared and suddenly it was a hot summer’s day again. The rocky surface of the path made it slow going and certainly didn’t help Gary’s knee. At 13.00, when we were supposed to be in Vallibona, according to the earlier signpost, we were beginning to drop down a dry river gorge.

The air was still, hot and seemed to lack oxygen. The sounds of our clambering were dull. For two hours we made our way over bedrock and boulders.

At long last, at around 15.30, the gorge began to broaden.

And climbing the side of the valley we finally saw Vallibona in the distance.

By the time we got to the village we were done in. The sun was slipping down over the horizon. I know Teresa, the owner of La Carbonera, the hotel restaurant in the village, as I’ve stayed there before when I’ve been trekking and with Maggie when we toured northern Spain. She didn’t have any rooms, which is why we were booked in to a hotel ten miles away in Morella.

A path sign said Morella was a six hour walk. Four of those hours would be in the dark across rough country. We’d blown it. Nine hours continuous walking and scrambling and that’s it. Too dangerous to continue. Let’s be sensible here.

Teresa’s kitchen was closed but her bar was open. And she knew a bloke thirty miles away who would drive over, pick us up and take us to Morella. We look forward to the opportunity in the future to visit Vallibona, stay at this wonderful woman’s hotel, arrive when her kitchen is still open and bridge the gap by walking to Morella.

Thanks Teresa. We were dropped off at our hotel in Morella at around 19.30. Wow! I never fails to disappoint.

Spag Bol and we slept well.

Night night.