Hiking with the Mountain Goats

By: Q Winters

Last summer, I had the opportunity to live outside Madrid, Spain, and work restoring a variety of classic Land Rover products. When I wasn’t working, I tried to explore Spain as much as possible, visiting many towns throughout the country, as well as completing two hikes. The first hike was Peñalara, the highest peak in the Sierra de Guadarrama, the mountain range that runs through central Spain. It was a lovely hike with snow on the top, but generally uneventful. 

My second hike was MUCH more interesting. The area I was hiking is called La Pedriza, which translates to “rocky area” or “stony ground” and is located outside the lakefront town of Manzanares el Real. This is part of the same mountain range, just a bit southeast. The peak at the center of my route was the crag Peña del Yelmo. At the time, I expected a similar trail quality to my first hike, but I would soon find out that this was far from the case. I arrived at what I thought was the trailhead, a series of cars parked by the start of a path, yet no signage. It felt right for the map I had found online, so I took a gamble. The path quickly turned rocky, as expected by the name, and ran along the Rio Manzanares. The first sign that this hike was going to be quite the adventure came when the trail blazes were a simple red line over a white one, no bigger than an index card. Not even a half mile into the hike, I had lost the trail twice. I decided to keep following the river even if I couldn't find the blazes, and I came across another parking lot, a real trailhead that actually includes signs and maps, and fortunately, more people. 

I reconfirmed my goal with the new map and kept walking. Now the trail was much more obvious, a path cut between the trees that was gently padded with pine needles. I walked with a group of women for about a mile until I saw a small sign with an arrow pointing right and the word “Collado,” the first word of my first planned checkpoint on this hike, Collado de la Dehesilla. So I take the right and immediately lose the trail. At this point, my decision to go right took me out of the pine trees into general overgrown shrubbery, which I continued to have to navigate through until I reached an altitude where it didn’t grow. No markings whatsoever existed for this path. I was, of course, confused and walked in circles trying to find any idea of a path. I saw another hiker and stumbled through my Spanish to ask if he knew the way. He points me towards what’s maybe a slightly trampled path in the shrubs. I follow this path, having to double back a number of times because I keep getting lost due to its overgrown nature. At this point, I should mention I’m not new to hiking. My whole life I’ve grown up in the foothills of the Blue Ridge with a good hike, not but 30 minutes from my house. But this was just—foreign. Foreign language, foreign trails, and while I knew how to get back to my car, not being on a trail towards where I wanted to be was a tad concerning. Suddenly, I saw a trail runner sprint past me. In a split second, I was sprinting after him. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. I’m an active guy; I like cycling; I ran track in high school, but this guy was sprinting up an ever steeper brush-covered trail. After maybe a mile of hard running—hard running for me—we reached Collado de la Dehesilla. It felt like the whole world opened up as the high shrubs couldn't grow up here, and I was taken aback by the view. I was in a saddle-shaped valley. Before me and from whence I came, it sloped down, but on my left and right, the mountain continued up, steep and jagged with rocks. I rested, as I didn’t know the last time I had run THAT hard up something THAT steep. I snacked on an apple as I took in the rocky beauty of La Pedriza. 

Once rested, I continued up to my right, following a steep but thankfully brush-free, rocky path. This trail, much like how the hike started, was marked with small yellow and white blazes scattered across the rocks. As I climbed up the mountain, which had shifted from rocky to bouldered. I repeatedly lost the trail but knew generally which direction I needed to go, so even when I couldn’t find a blaze, I could guess the right direction. 

After climbing up and around for about ¾ of a mile, I reached more level ground. At this point, the rock formations formed tall, skinny spires like those of the Cuatro Torres in Madrid, which I could just make out in the distance. Continuing up and around the mountain, I decided I wanted to reach the highest point. You might expect this to be the goal of any mountain hike, but from the river below where I started, it seemed like an impossible task. I was adamant that I hadn’t come this far, sprinting a part of it, to not summit the mountain. It was, however, not exactly clear what the highest point was due to the extreme rocky nature of La Pedriza. Each time I reached what I thought was going to be the top, an ever taller point would arise. At this point, I saw the first people I had seen in miles and decided to follow them. They headed towards what looked like the top as much as any other boulder did. Unfortunately, the family turned back as the climb steepened. I was on my own again. I had to blaze my own trail again; by trail, I mean my own way of scrambling up boulders the size of houses. The boulders intuitively brought me back around to the north side of the mountain, where I could see Collado de la Dehesilla below me. Fortunately, it also brought me out of the sun, which at this point was high in the sky and blazing down on me. After another rest, a few carrots, and finishing the last of my water, I made the final push to the summit. This required climbing a slot between two massive rocks that made up the top of Pena del Yelmo. I wriggled and squeezed my way up the slot, willing each foot placement to hold. Pulling myself up to the top, I looked up and saw a family of mountain goats stop, look at me, and run off. Taunting me with the ease of their assent compared to the struggle of mine.

I was gassed. But standing atop this mountain was exhilarating. The view in every direction was stunning. Madrid in the distance, the lake below, exposed mountain rocks all around me. The top of a mountain on a hot Spanish summer day provided a harsh serenity for just me and the mountain goats to enjoy. A feeling of alone accomplishment washed over me. A pride in oneself. This feeling was one I felt often during my time in Spain; despite having “friends” at work and roommates, none were really my friends, none really supported me, and none traveled with me or went on these hikes with me. But I was okay with that. My time in Spain further established the value to me of accomplishing what you want, even if you have to do it alone. 

The trek down the mountain wasn’t much easier, as again the trail was lost or nonexistent. The harsh shrubs cut at my legs as I stumbled down rocky paths etched by rain. Going down, I knew that no matter how lost I was, there was a river at the bottom, and if I followed downstream, I would find my car. This again provided me with an odd feeling of not knowing where I was, but at the same time, I wasn’t lost. Coming down was much harder on the body than going up, despite being much shorter, but hearing kids playing in the river below eased my mind and told me I was close. 

This experience taught me to be comfortable not knowing where I am if I know where I’m going. We all feel lost at times, but just focusing on where you want to be and taking steps to get there, you’ll end up there eventually.