Ides of March.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Friday’s run for me was a long run. I rarely run for longer than an hour and a half, and never more than two hours unless it’s a marathon or something like that. A longish run and a longish entry.

First 20 minutes along the road to Toral de Merayo. At the entrance to the village I passed an old fellow sharpening a humungous sythe. He looked like the grim reaper, especially when he grinned at me. I lengthened my stride. Heard the strange rhythmic clicking sound that storks make and glancing upwards I see 6 or 7 storks circling the village like vultures....the grim reaper, storks like vultures.... “beware the ides of March?”

Took the wooded valley that runs behind Monte Pajariel and which after half an hour of gentle climbing would eventually take me to the village of San Esteban. The last time I came along here the second half of the trail was an attractive path that wound its way upwards through the rocks and holm oaks of the steep-sided valley. Now the JCBs had done their dirty work and the path had widened into a muddy, characterless track. The encroaching city extends its tentacles a little further. I passed another old guy near some allotments and was going to ask him why such a nice path had been destroyed but thought twice on seeing that he wielded a fairly mean-looking sickle. Perhaps he was the grim reaper’s little brother. I’m joking of course, the real reason for not stopping was that I probably wouldn’t get started again. I try not to stop when I’m going uphill.

Just before San Esteban I saw a couple of old friends. First I saw the solitary heron through the silver birch trees by the river . It was taking flight and the elegant bend of its neck as it gained height distinguished it from the storks. I'd never seen it so far up river before. Then, a huge buzzard (eagle?) which hovered overhead. I always see one along here and it probably nests in the rocks nearby.

Still no sign of Spring (where are you ides of March?) Looking at my old notebooks It seems I did this route exactly a year ago.
7/3 San Esteban route. Sunny. Butterflies...yellows and blacks.
This year, no butterflies, no cherry or almond blossom, no budding branches. Only ice, which hangs like stalactites from the massive concrete water pipe I must pass under and the leafless riverside trees which enabled me to see the heron.

At San Esteban I stopped to drink, but the fountain was frozen. Managed to slurp at an icy trickle of water. Then started a steep 10 minute ascent up to sunnier slopes where the vineyards are, leaving the steep-sided valley to run along the eastern flank of Monte Pajariel. From here you can see the whole urban sprawl of Ponferrada with the chimneys of the power station on one side and the little village I’d just come through with its allotments and orchards on the other. Urban and rural. Chalk and cheese. Present and Past.

The final section is all descent. It’s not exactly what a local fell runner would call “technical” but care is needed to tread carefully with the stones and furrows that litter the way. I soon reach the rickety bridge and 5 minutes later arrive home, more tired than usual.

Route; Toral de Merayo-River Oza-San Esteban-Monte Pajariel-Otero.
TRT 1hour 36minutes (exactly the same as last year).