Page Type: Trip Report
Jan 1, 2001
Created/Edited: Jul 13, 2006 / Jul 13, 2006
Object ID: 207378
Page Score: 75.81%
- 6 Votes
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I am going towards Cueva Valiente. I have seen bunkers of the civil war. In this zone there were hard combats. I go up along an abandoned “road”. It is the best way to avoid a loss in the fog. The wind is very cold and the visibility is very little. I am scared of not finding the hut of the summit. When finally I arrive at the hut its aspect is unreal. I am absolutely alone and the wind strikes plastics in the windows. Attempt to drink and to eat a little but I cannot forget the terrifying situations that I have lived or others have counted to me in mountains.
Essendilene. Tassili n Ajjer mountains. Argelian Sahara.
- Let me tell you a history. Not long ago the abandoned village that you have seen was inhabited. A spiteful woman became witch and its curse extended by the village.
- Of which the curse consisted?
- The people that she watched at night became crazy and ended dying in the desert.
- There is no problem. Women do not watch to me.
- Perhaps if you are brave you dare to visit her cave, it is not far from here.
I recruited a small group of valiant following the joke. A jackal howled in the canyon.
The guide indicated the way to us but he did not approach the cave.
- “These touaregs are good actors”. - I thought.
The cave was small, only we saw rest of a fire. When we returned to the camp we did not find Teresa. I thought that the joke followed but the faces of touaregs reflected authentic terror. Teresa had disappeared!
La Hiruela. Sierra norte. Madrid. Spain.
My woman and I spent Christmas in a rural house. It began to snow and we went to the forest to make photos. Snowstorm was strong and the day died. We returned and we began to read. I read an amazing book of literary stories on vampires in front of the chimney. It was an authentic snowstorm outside. We gave a jump in the armchair:
Somebody wanted to open the door!
Route of Carlos V. Sierra de Gredos. Spain.
With my partner Jorge made the route of Carlos V in Gredos. We prepared the bivouac near the source of Peña Lozana next to a cabin in ruins, in a pleasant prairie. To three in the morning neither of us wanted to sleep. During all the night we dreamed terrible nightmares. My companion felt a sharp sensation of danger.
The wind continues striking plastics. I want to go out soon, if I lose myself in the fog I will have to cross the forest at night. I do not like the idea, but I am dry here and warm up although noncalm…
- Teresa, Teresa!
- I am here!
- Are you o.k.?
- Yes I was urinating!
- That scare you have given us!
I opened the shutter and I shouted:
- Who is there outside?
- Is this the rural house number six?
- No, it is number five!
- I’m sorry we have lost ourselves and nothing with the snowdrift is seen!
Jorge and I gathered the camp quickly and started off in complete darkness by the footpath. We did not want to speak then about our nightmares. When we did it, already by day, nightmares were strangely similar.
I left the refuge, I could be oriented through the fog, I could cross the forest and to return to house… Happened thus? Or not?