There may be a few of us whose memories are still robust enough to recall that, way back in November 2015, sixteen hardy AWWs set out on an expedition to tackle the Trilho Histórico for the second time. And there may even be some of that very same sixteen who can still remember actually doing the walk. It´s not clear exactly why this particular trail is called Histórico. But, since this report is now being published as late as February 2016, what follows is itself of necessity a little bit historic; to misquote William Wordsworth, it´s “Motion recollected in Tranquillity.”
And now - to the report.
(David Littlewood is your narrator)
A Triumphant Return: TH2 2015. Porto Covo – Cercal – São Luis – Odemira.
´We shall return´ they said with General McArthurian bravado, as they retreated in a monsoon from Odemira in November of last year – but so we did indeed, almost exactly a year later, to walk in conditions that could hardly have been more different. But I already run ahead of myself…
Sixteen pairs of eyes had been glued to weather forecasts for weeks in advance of the start of this year´s AWW away match, a repeat of the rained-off fixture of 2014. The signs were increasingly good as the day of departure approached, and although the temperatures plummeted with around three days to go, there was no indication of rainfall.
Day Zero: Monday 23rd November 2015
Fourteen were due to spend the first night in Porto Covo at Zé Inacio, with two more due to arrive before kick-off on the Tuesday morning. The party assembled by twos and threes as the afternoon advanced with, sadly for bloggers, no tales of awful journeys or missed turns to relate. Maria´s was the only tale of woe, having left her walking boots behind. (Hazel´s spare pair came to the rescue, but Maria´s own were more sorely missed as the days went on.) Lynne and I were the advance guard, allowing us plenty of time for a walk by the sea and a relaxed lunch. There were fewer shops open than last year, so browsing was limited.
Russell grabs the opportunity to top up the carbos
Check-in proved a lengthy business, as the lady i/c was not in attendance, and her replacement had a considerable struggle with the computer. It finally yielded up the required data and we all adjourned aloft, but Geoff and Sue were forced into hasty retreat from their room, holding their noses against the eau de drains. (Never did discover who finally got the dreaded Room 6.)
Dinner in the restaurant adjoining the Residencia was once again enjoyable and reasonably alcoholic.
Which drink will JohnH choose? I don´t believe it ! He chose the water!
That fooled you. He chose the red, of course.
The Troika cooking up some fiendish plan for the morning, no doubt.
Theo was unable to persuade Manuela to keep better time, so, as last year, she (and he) arrived well after nightfall, when the rest were well into their cups. (That explains any blurred photos)
Did you get lost?
And so to bed – creaky ones, smelly ones, ones with noises off – all part of the experience, so they tell me. At least the heating was on.
Day One: Tuesday 24th November 2015
(David continues his narration)
Departure for Cercal do Alentejo was scheduled for 09.30, and indeed, following a good and very cheap breakfast, all were assembled ahead of time.
Early morning and the troops start to assemble
Ros and Marian completed the party, striding down the pedestrian way having risen at some hour nobody ever heard of – Marian in fact had only touched down in Portugal the previous evening on a flying visit especially for the walk (there´s no accounting for it, they tell me). John H marshalled us all with the usual difficulty for the starting photo and off we went, under clear skies with a cool edge to the wind early on.
The 16 Starters Day 1
We had advanced only three kilometres at a good pace, to the cove opposite Ilha de Pesseguero with its forbidding fortress and tiny holiday cottages, when Theo announced that he could go no further. An ongoing lower limb problem had resurfaced and made it plain that he was hors de combat with battle scarcely joined. He returned to the car and spent the rest of the time sightseeing and reading.
The fifteen marched on over the coastal plain which seemed to have much less loose sand than last year, for which relief much thanks. One missed marker led us astray for a few minutes (I´m sure we did the same last year) but we soon recovered the trail.
More alarming shortly afterwards was the attack from right field by a veritable swarm of young black pigs (not wild boar thank goodness ) who burrowed under a fence to run amok down the path.
So disconcerted were we that I called a lunch break immediately afterwards to enable us to recover. No sooner had we sat down than another assault began, this time from an oversized labrador/retriever hound who clearly wanted to consume our lunch packets. Probably playing truant from guarding a flock of sheep spotted in the distance, he persisted without success for some time before slinking off unrewarded.
After lunch we faced the longest climb of the day, but also the most attractive section of the stage, up through beautiful woodland and over the ridge to begin the descent to Cercal. Approaching the town we came across the cottage with the well-remembered avocado sink sitting outside, complete with delightful old lady using said vintage artefact. The Portuguese platoon broke away for a conversation at this point.
(From the Archive) At the Pousada do Sossego in 2014
And at the Pousada do Sossego 2015 - Auld Acquaintance Not Forgot
Cercal was then reached without further incident, but with various muttered memories of last year´s Day Two departure, when the party – in persistent rain – became divided, leading to some delay – responsibility is still the subject of debate.
We had arrived well ahead of schedule, so once appetites had been serviced at the best of the cafes facing the central roundabout, the search began for the taxi driver in charge of the transport arrangements. He was not to be found until the pre-arranged time, quite understandably, but once on board, the drivers were whisked back to Porto Covo at hair-raising speed by Sr. Filipe and his colleague. A slightly later collection time was arranged for the following morning, and then all adjourned, after picking up passengers in Cercal, to the sanctuary of Naturarte, near São Luis.
Most of the group had not had the benefit of Naturarte hospitality and comfort, having stayed at the alternative accommodation last year, so expressions of delight at the welcome drink, the relative opulence of the rooms and the tasteful décor were plentiful. All then retired to sleep, read and/or repair until time for dinner.
JohnD undergoing running repairs
The meal lived up to last year´s standards, and with wine thrown in this time, it seems that everyone felt we had value for money. A very pleasant interlude in proceedings came when Ken gave a eulogy for the absent Rosie, Sue read an ode to Rosie´s Owner, and I was presented with a most handsome gift of wine and port. (Both eulogy and ode can be found as part of this report , but the port has already disappeared down sixteen willing throats and the wine is in a secret location under triple lock. ( See Appendix 2.) )
The Eulogy and The Ode
Rosie´s Owner reads the tributes to Rosie (and himself)
After dinner, we were entertained, as last year, by Sr. Rui, architect/designer of the hotel and co-owner. His gentle guitar and vocals are exactly what is required after such a day, and complement the ethos of the place to perfection.
And after a special guest appearance by the one and only Willie Nelson look-a-like
we retired to sleep knowing that another day of perfect weather awaited us…..
Day Two: Wednesday 25th November 2015
(David is still your narrator.)
After breakfast we were ready to go, but the taxis had not arrived at the agreed time. A search party was setting off for São Luis when they finally arrived. It seemed that it had not been understood that we wanted to be picked up at the hotel. Two cabs only would have meant two trips and a further delay, but as by now we had two spare drivers, since Lynne had decided to conserve her energies (didn´t she just! See later – much later) for the final day, so she and Theo drove the rest of the party back to Cercal to start the stage.
The 14 Starters Day 2
This was the day last year when the heavens had opened overnight, turning paths into rivers and rivers into torrents. Many were the comparisons made as we covered the first few kilometres up the gentle rise from the town and down the steep hill past the old iron mines into what was last year almost a lake, where Sue did her famous baptismal plunge, to be rescued by the chivalrous Nick, sadly not present to revisit (re-enact?) the scene. (Some had even likened it to that iconic From Here To Eternity frolic-in-the-surf between Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster.) When we finally reached the river crossing point where we had been forced to turn back, we now found little more than a trickle of water, crossed in a stride.
A raging torrent? You must be joking.
We were now in unknown territory, but the way was as well-marked as ever, so we pressed on in excellent weather, climbing slowly into an area of open meadows and large plantations, mainly eucalyptus, with some really fine views towards Milfontes and the sea.
On the way we took a signed detour to a clifftop viewpoint where in rainy conditions there will be quite a spectacular waterfall.
Looking down into the Rocha de Agua d´Alte
But some preferred not to make the 600 metre detour
Lunch was taken by the walls of an enormous ruin whose original purpose was very hard to divine – possibly a religious house, possibly some kind of agricultural processing factory.
By possibly the old warehouse
Then we made our first – and in truth only – big mistake of the trip. We had barely left the lunch-spot when we passed a crossroads and headed on downhill at a merry pace, finding ourselves on level ground and encountering a few dwellings. Eventually it was remarked that we had not seen any trail markers for a while, and doubts set in. Asking a local working in his garden revealed that we had left the trail some two kilometres back, and we were forced to retrace our steps over that distance to the aforesaid crossroads. The markers were all clear to see, but every one of us had cheerfully walked past them, full of sandwiches, nuts and cake and engrossed in our usual chatter.
How could we have possibly missed that marker? But we did. It cost us an extra 4km.
What was worse, when we finally resumed the correct path, it quickly turned into the longest and steepest climb of the whole trip, making the hardiest among us puff and pant. The views at the top were worth it however (weren´t they?). We were soon able to see São Luis in the valley ahead, and we were able to identify Naturarte as well, but our GPS holders informed us that we still had 6-7 k to go.
Looking down towards Naturarte and, beyond it, São Luis
The route wound around the hills, describing a wide semi-circle before descending to the village, and we wound with it for a considerable distance. One turning point had us discussing a short cut back to base, which we discarded, only to realise that JohnH was nowhere to be seen. Shouting, whistling and the odd curse finally got a response from some considerable way along the main trail and the tramp went on (not you John, the walk, the walk). (John had committed the cardinal sin of getting out of earshot and well ahead of the Leader. He was in total disgrace as a result, and Hazel wouldn´t speak to him for hours.)
At the next short cut opportunity, a tarmac road, several members called it a day and set off for the hotel. The rest went on for a short time, but a local circular walk pointing to São Luis proved too much of a temptation and we quite gratefully descended a rocky path into the valley and then walked on smoother tracks into the village. Yet another schism took place here, with some opting for a small café and the rest sitting with beers outside the market hall. Then followed the rather painful business of re-girding the loins for the walk back to the hotel. Even with wrong turnings and stops, we were still in good time for naps, showers and prettification before dinner. The evening went much as the previous one, with an excellent meal followed by entertainment.
The guitar and songs were augmented by a tango, performed by Rui and his wife Pamela. I tried to respond to the kindnesses of the previous day with my thanks, the presentation port and a song (Tom Paxton, was it not?).
David about to burst into song
I then rather unkindly revealed that Geoff, who had instigated the idea of the wine and port, had failed to take my email off the list in posting the circular. (my apologies, Geoff, you took it very well!). I was, by that time, suffering from a nasty sore throat that had been bothering me all day, and I was beginning to wonder if 25k the following day was going to be a little too much.
Day Three: Thursday 26th November 2015
And so it proved. The story of the walk will now be taken up by JohnH, as I spent the day slowly mooching around Milfontes, nursing a blossoming cold, before driving to Odemira and finishing my book while I waited for the walkers to arrive. Over to you, John!
(So JohnH is now your narrator.)
What a turn around. From complete ignominy the night before to now being asked by our Great Leader not only to narrate the events of the last day but also to be the actual Walk leader for the day. Wow! What a responsibility.
The 14 Starters Day 3
Actually. it proved to be a piece of cake. After an ample breakfast and a bright and early starter photo, Russell shot off to the front and stayed there as far as I could tell until near the end, while I strolled along near to, or more exactly, in the rear, blowing my whistle every hour or so to signal a refreshment pause, in accordance with the Littlewood action plan. The route proved to be exceptionally well sign-posted. The first 7 or so kilometres, which we had covered the year before, are easy walking, through gently rolling countryside and, generally, gradually downhill.
There were some minor alarms and excursions when Sue apprehended that she had left her camera back at Naturarte after the previous night´s festivities. No problem, said Geoff, we´ll ring David – which he did, but David had checked out and was already well on the road to Milfontes/Odemira. No problem, said I, Manuela can phone Theo - which she tried to do, but her phone battery was flat. What to do? 10 minutes later, somehow or other, the camera miraculously appeared from some hidden pocket in Sue´s gear. Just as well, given her contribution to the photo galleries in this day´s blog.
Soon after this flutter of technological excitement, we came to the crossing of the river Torgal which the previous year had been an impassable torrent of swirling eddies a hundred yards or so across, no bridge in sight. And look at it today – laughable! What an anti-climax!
You can tell that JohnD can´t understand what all the fuss had been about.
And then into new territory once more. The trail continued to be benign; indeed several people remarking on the clarity of the water in the river and the greenery of the surroundings. We could have been out for a stroll along the banks of a trout stream in rural England.
But then, at a pause on the concrete bridge at Pego da Laima when we were still about 18km from Odemira, two of the more observant in the group pointed out that there were no water weeds in the river, there was no inscct life, no bird life, along its banks. The river was in fact dead, for all its attractive appearance. Wonder why.
We carried on beside the sedate river for some distance, with only an occasional stop or two.
Thank goodness Sue found her camera
We then swung east away from the river and, working our way round a large hill, tramped along some fairly broad country tracks, beside which we eventually paused for lunch. Some had a snooze……….
…………….while Lynne, for some reason, practised walking around bare-foot. (The attentive reader will remember that she had rested the previous day and that the Day 2 blog had cautioned us to keep an eye on her. The best is yet to come.)
Shortly after the lunch stop, we came to an optional detour. To use the words of the Rota Vicentina blurb sheet:- “Ahead, diverting from the main path for just 1 km, once again to your right, you reach one of the ex-libris (sic) of the region, Pego das Pias, an area of monumental rocks and lush vegetation.” Somehow I persuaded 11 of the group to accompany me on this small exploration, only Hazel and Manuela resisting the sales pitch. Off along a small valley we went; luckily it was flat and then we came to said monumental rocks which we clambered over for a few minutes. It seems that our sedate little Torgal trout stream had at some time in the past managed to carve its way through the hillside leaving crags and deep pools. By and large the extra 2 km walk there and back vaux le détour.
Diversion over, the end of our trek beckoned and all now seemed plain sailing, pleasant country, level paths – nothing to worry about.
There was a minor hitch when we missed a rather obscure way-sign and tried to cross the main road a lttle bit too early, but we corrected ourselves readily enough and began to climb a bit through some sheep fields. We walked through a small holding where a somewhat decrepit elderly local citizen was sitting in the sun watching his chickens scratching in the gravel. Maria, as is her wont, stopped to wish him well and to check that we were on the right path to Odemira, whereupon he went down on his knees, figuratively speaking, (had to be figuratively because if he had done it for real it looked as if he wouldn´t have been able to get back up again) and offered to share all his worldly possessions with her if she would move in with him. Maria, presumably not being overly impressed by the sum total of his assets, gracefully declined his offer and moved on. But when she told Ros and Marian what had happened, they teased her unmercifully over a lost opportunity.
We had by now travelled some 20 km or so from our start at São Luis and, judging by the blurb sheet, had lost some 180 metres in elevation. The sting of this stretch of the Rota Vicentina is in its tail. Odemira seems to be surounded by a ring of hills covered with eucalyptus, and the last 5 kms involved some considerable ascents, some steep descents and even on the final tarmac sharp climbs and the result was that we had had to climb back up 100 of those lost metres. Tough going for some, but this is where Lynne´s energy reserves suddenly kicked in. As far as I could tell, from the rear, she overtook Russell on this home stretch and positively raced into Odemira, winning the race into the cafe by the proverbial mile, while Geoff and I plodded in at the back to be greeted by David.
The muddy River Mira near Odemira
Welcome refreshments all round, although no duck soup was on offer this year. Sr Filipe arrived with the necessary two taxis at about 3.45 pm, ferried our drivers back to Naturarte, and then departed well satisfied with his wages and his gratuity. And so the group went its various ways at the end of a good three days.
Appendix 1 – Statistics
The distances walked were:
Day 1, 18km; day 2, 21km + 5km extras = 26km; day3, 25km + 2km extras = 27km. Total = 71km.
Appendix 2 – Eulogy and Ode
If I can get copies of these and the authors´ permission to publish them, I will be able to do so as follow-ups to this blog.
