Day 16. October 15, 2016. Berducedo to Grandas de Salime. 20 kms

                                                     Once again I see

These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines

Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms,

Green to the very door; and wreathes of smoke

Sent up, in silence, from among the trees

 

It was spitting rain as I left this morning, but the rain couldn't compete with the very strong wind, so cold, that for the first time ever, I walked in my down sweater.

I walked down the road, up a path on slabs of slate, and then along a lane with a hedge of gorse and broom, the latter as high as I have ever seen it, small trees in fact, and on to the road where in the lee of the hill it was almost eerily quiet. Oaks and poplars and mountain ash grew along one side of the road; on the other, heather was blooming in purple profusion. A large mountain loomed up on the side of the valley. This country is rather like the Lake District in England. 

I walked into the hamlet of La Mesa, where the little church  blends in perfectly with its background; it is almost camouflaged against the landscape.

 

 

I passed through the village, up the road, and around to the top of the hill and into the wind, gale force now and threatening to blow me off my feet. It was eight degrees, but Winnipeggers would have said it was minus twenty with the wind chill factor. I passed through the shadows of the wind turbines above me which seemed to give me a pat on the bum to hurry me along. What amazing machines they are, turning energetically in the wind! They are everywhere in Spain, but must be especially productive in this windy region.

I left the road, passed a little chapel, and then walked along a fence made from the slate which is the bedrock of the region. Then I looked down on the the reservoir of the Ria Navia in the the valley below, 800 metres down where the Ria Navia has been dammed. That was where I had to go.

 

Never before have I gone downhill for so far and so long. Literally, anyway. It was a three hour descent, zigzagging down the slope, then following the contours of the valley above the reservoir, and then zigzagging again down to the road. A different set of muscles began to ache.

I walked across the top of the dam and up the road on the other side, another long climb, to the town of Grandas de Salime, where we are staying in the municipal albergue, no frills, six euros, full dorm. 

It was a short distance, but a hard day: two moderate climbs and one major descent.