In the mornings I try to find that sweet spot in the daily peregrino exodus from town– after the sensible early birds and before the college kids & tour groups. 

When I achieve it and I have the path and the silence to myself I often stop to just listen. It’s then I can really hear the songs of the birds and the footsteps of a thousand years.

   

 

Today was an amazing day — on all levels. The path climbed up and over Monte Irago to the highest point of the Camino. I was unprepared for the beauty of these mountains, so different from the Pyrenees.

Dare I a pun? Why yes, I think I will. Today was the peak experience of my trip. 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 
 

 

 
 

 

I’ve had many wonderful days in the mountains but I’m not sure any have matched this one. 

As I was heading down a particularly steep section of the trail (still gluing my head back together) I rounded a corner and came upon a man in trouble. And two men who were trying to help him.

Apparently the heat and strenuous trail were too much for him and it was clear he wouldn’t get down off the mountain without help.

Thankfully, I always carry extra water and food so we got him into the shade and got him cooled down a bit. And then we started the slow trek down, with the Italian father and son carrying our Irish amigo’s gear and supporting his weight.

It seemed to take forever but we finally got off the mountain and into town. And got him a room at an inn where he could rest. Of course, as soon as he was feeling a bit better he insisted on buying us a pint to celebrate. 

Cheers to the kind-hearted Italians, the brave Irishman and the beautiful mountains. ¡Salud!