Getting Off the Map

Sunday morning found me walking through the pouring rain while it was still dark to catch a bus to the mountains with Auseva, the hiking group my Tuesday morning tandem recommended to me. Definitely a morning that seemed better suited for staying in bed with a book, but it ended up being well worth the separation from my pillow.
I feel like, for me at least, far too many of my excursions into nature are only fully appreciated after the fact. Don't get me wrong - I love camping and hiking and playing in the woods. But you inevitably end up spending a lot of time hungry, cold, wet, tired, etc. and it seems like I can only get to the point of "That was awesome!!" once I'm back to my creature comforts and the edge has worn off that part of the experience. So I promised myself I'd make a conscious effort to enjoy this excursion in the moment. I wasn't going to spend the whole day wishing my feet weren't so tired only to turn around and realize I'd had a great time the moment I got home.
My good attitude kicked in on the right trip apparently, because the line between adventure and disaster sure did get awfully blurry at times....

Up the Mountain
I'm a little hazy on where exactly we went, but I am fairly certain it was somewhere in the Picos de Europa National Park. We had to ditch our planned route last minute on account of the weather. As the bus wound its way up into the mountains, the snow progressed from a picturesque dusting over the clay tile rooftops of the completely still little villages we passed, to a 3-inch blanket camouflaging the last of the fall colors in the woods.

Our group consisted of about 20 adults with a median age somewhere in the 40's. There were certainly some in their 30's, but I was clearly the baby. As soon as you put them in the woods, however, age disappeared. As we progressed upwards, the snow deepened to mid-calf, to knee-deep, and finally to mid-thigh. Everyone's sense of mischief apparently increased proportionally, because people were constantly shaking branches to create mini avalanches, throwing snowballs or shoving people into snowdrifts as our path meandered between sweeping vistas and wooded stretches.
It never stopped snowing once the entire day. Big, fat, lazy, storybook snowflakes the whole time. Everyone fell silent as we climbed and there was that complete, soothing stillness you can only find in the wilderness, broken only by the muffled squeak of our footsteps. By the time we reached our highest point, the whole world was a whitescape. The separation between the silhouettes of the surrounding peaks and the flat, white sky was indiscernible.  

We Arrive in Narnia 
We dropped down from the peak into an unbelievably beautiful stretch of forest. The bare branches of all the trees were perfectly iced with a thick layer of snow, that occasionally came down in a sparkling shower when a breeze moved through. The snowflakes continued to fall unceasingly around us. We alternated between awed silence and childlike joy. As our route continued steeply downwards, we frequently gave in to the temptation to run downhill in flying leaps. The drifts were thick enough to cushion any misstep, and occasionally someone's miscalculation would leave a colorful streak of upturned fall leaves.

Things Go Downhill (Literally and Figuratively)
I never thought this would happen, but I seem to have gained a reputation for being exceptionally cold tolerant. Maybe it was inevitable after living in the U.P. for 4 years (in a drafty, old house we were too cheap to heat properly, no less...), but I had certainly never noticed it. The temperature hovered around freezing. I was NOT prepared for an all-day snowstorm in the mountains - both through my own fault and an unfortunate lack of available gear. On the way up, I was able to compensate for my lack of boot gaiters (polainas, en español. Adding that to my list of weird words I never expected to learn.) by following closely in the others' footsteps. But on the way down I had to compensate for my lack of trekking poles by not following the packed path, so I was less likely to slip. By the time we were coming out of the enchanted woods into open ground, I was soaked through to the skin, including my boots. Fortunately I wasn't cold in the least thanks to the lack of wind and our steady pace.

The trouble started when we got lost. Between changing our route last minute and landmarks disappearing under the drifts, there was a lot of room for error. While the leaders debated, the rest of us milled around in the snow and my imagination started to run wild the second I started shivering. I might impress the Spaniards with the fact that I don't feel the need to wear a down coat when it's 45 degrees outside, but I'm a gecko under a heat lamp in my soul. I know all too well that wet clothing is one of the biggest dangers of winter hiking. I immediately started picturing what would happen when it got dark and we were still lost in the mountains and... that's where the better part of my brain went, "WHOA. Shut up, eat your cookie, and wiggle your damn toes."
Finally we bushwhacked our way down a steep bank and quickly found the little clump of cabins that were our landmark to stop and eat. I would have much rather kept moving, but even shivering through our rest period, it was a huge relief knowing we had found a clearly marked path again.

Final Stretch
The last hour or two took us through a winding country road, past mossy stone fences and placid cows wearing old-school cowbells. I warmed up again as soon as we started moving, and just did my best to ignore the extremely unpleasant sensation of sopping wet socks and boots. We met the bus in an adorable little village where we stopped for drinks and snacks at a little bar where the power had gone out. I had a cup of instant coffee with milk that came directly from Heaven itself. Predictably, my chill set in for good once we weren't moving, but I tried to socialize and avoid thinking about the long bus ride in wet boots ahead of me. But you know - just when you think you can't wait another second for a hot shower and a warm pair of socks - leave it to the Spanish to break out the orange liqueur on the bus...