And so it begins
And so it began, starting off in Bubión, at 1,320m, right on 8.25am. I was 'eased' into the hike by what seemed to be an interminable slope that never averaged below 20 per cent. At least I didn't have far to go back if I gave up. Scant consolation when you still have 2,200 metres to climb and breathing comes in short, sharp. lung-jabbing bursts.
Here's one thing I learned about myself during my Annapurna Circuit hike in Nepal some years previously during a five-month tour around the Indian subcontinent. When I'm physically fit I'm also mentally fit: I don't break: ever. I need an objective, in this case the Mulhacén ascent, and I'll keep trudging on, machine-like, until I get there. There is no quit, there is no bending to the rising pain. Well, that's what I kept telling myself...
The cool mountain air and initial adrenaline pushed me over the worst part. Looking back down from an altitude of 1,650m and spotting another weary soul coming over the hill that I'd just crested, I knew the work had just begun.
The view made it all worth the effort.
Taking the direct route meant leaving the road and hiking through the edge of forests, up 20 per cent-plus inclines, as you see in the above picture. At this point I'd walked around 3km and ascended some 600 metres in 50 minutes. I was going significantly faster than planned. Would I pay for it later? For now, who cared? I was making great progress up the steepest sections.
Skipping over a stream at 1,950m and still feeling (relatively) fresh.
Another short-cut and another lung-busting effort up to the next hill. Believe me, dear reader, it was helluva lot steeper than it looks from the usual depth-flattening pictures.
It's funny how you can become accustomed to a series of pain-inducing assaults up the sides of cliffs. But a new enemy was surfacing - the sun's rays were becoming more of an issue than the gradient.
A little shade offered time to remove some of the small stones that periodically smuggled themselves into my trainers. Yup, I was wearing trainers and not a pair of hiking shoes. I was going to pay for it later.
My GPS wristwatch indicated that I was at 2,352m. I'd been going for 90 minutes and had gained over 1,000 metres in altitude. Happy days.
At 2,400 metres I rejoined the road, more through necessity than choice. The following 5km would see a rise of just 300m. Time to recover, yes, but frustration that Mulhacén's 3,485m wasn't coming nearly quickly enough.
Here's was the minibus making its way down to Capileira. It had just stopped at Puerto Molina (2,420m) to hoover-up any tired, bedraggled stragglers.
