A MOUNTAIN EXCURSION

In a convoy of private vehicles we set off in high excitement for our next village excursion, an exploration of the mountains. We headed south, zig-zagging up the steep, stony tracks above the forests of pines. Our first stop was to admire the view; below us lay Guájar Alto with its clustered, white buildings with their bright, red rooftops, as tiny as a toy village, and in the distance, beyond our own, familiar Sierra de las Guájaras (note the feminine ending here, to correspond with the word Sierra) the great Sierra Nevada itself, looking curiously naked without the snow which clothes its peaks for much of the year.
We continued our ascent, by which time all sense of direction was lost, and reaching the summit of a hill, through a billowing cloud of sea mist, we found ourselves looking down upon a sprawling urbanization which, we were told, was Molvizar. On clear days it is possible to see the whole of the Costa Tropical and the coastline as far as Málaga but, on this morning, there was not a glimpse of the sea to be had. Undaunted, we had elevenses, sharing wine and sangria.
Turning northwards, we continued our journey. We passed many plantations of vines, as well as olives, almonds and chestnut trees, and were intrigued to see that there appeared to be no means of irrigation. Because of the high humidity, it wasn’t necessary, we were told. We stopped to look at a great chestnut tree, reputed to be a thousand years old; it took five big men with arms outstretched to span the width of its huge trunk.
Heading in the direction of Lentegí, we halted again to admire the view. The scent of aromatic herbs - marjoram, lavender and rosemary - filled the air. It was all very green and lush compared with the parched, summer landscape we had left behind. All the while we were pursued by the white sea mist, as dense as blown smoke. At last, turning back towards the way we had come, the sky cleared. Guájar Alto was below us again, bathed in a pool of sunshine. Only another half an hour of driving, we were told, then we’d be stopping for lunch.
From my cortijo I can see the next track along which we continued our adventure. It is carved into the sheer, precipitious side of a jagged, white mountain and should not be embarked upon by the faint-hearted. Nearing the end of this rocky and terrifying pass, we stopped to climb a ridge and admire the scenery. Sure enough, there was my cortijo in the distance and, to my surprise, I suddenly realised that we were actually only a very short scramble from the flat summit of El Fuerte, the towering mountain which is Guájar Alto’s most distinctive feature.
At last, we joined the steep road which descends to Guájar Alto, following the course of the River Toba. At the junction we passed the remains of a stone-built kiln used for the extraction of herbal essences, once a major industry in Los Guájares. The kilns were fuelled with dried scrub layered with heat-retaining stones and our passengers told us that this particular kiln was used for extracting juniper essence. Although this plant is now scarce and, as a result, protected by law, we have a number on our land and I’ve often thought it a shame that the berries should go to waste. I think I’ll have to set up a gin distillery.
Leaving the road, we turned off down a track and on to the land belonging to a member of our party. Here, in a shady oasis, we set out ou