Cañada de las Siete Lagunas to Refugio del Poqueira

The Cañada from the path to Mulhacen

Taking one last look around the Cañada, I set off up the steep path that exits the valley on the South-West corner, climbing along the edge of the cliffs that border the West side. Ten minutes into the steep ascent I stopped to look at the view; I felt great, still cool.  Too cool.  Hat?  no hat.  Uh oh.  Must have left it at the campsite, so all the way back down.  But no hat to be seen anywhere.

Think very carefully and remember that I did not put the hat on that morning and it must still be in the tent – rolled up, wet and it its stuff-sack.   That was a good advertisement for my kangaroo skin hat that came out the packed tent unscathed.   Have you ever noticed that tents that are unpacked, never quite go back in as neatly as they come out?

The route up to the main shoulder of Mulhacen was uneventful.  The main stretch of path is across shattered rock and small cairns signal the route.  In the main, the path hugs the edge of the cliff turning inwards towards the West at a set of tooth-like rocks that are set back 100 metres from the edge.  At that point, the route picks up a wide track that goes to the summit.  This was once open to vehicles, but it is now closed and blocked off with boulders.

Caldera with Veleta in the background

Genil Valley from Mulhacen

The peak of Mulhacen is a popular target for walkers.  On this occasion, I met up with 2 small groups of walkers, one of whose key concern was whether there was water to be had at the Siete Lagunas.  The peak is marked with a small shrine with a rather bent iron cross on the top.  After a quick look around, I set off down the West side of the mountain towards the Caldera Refuge.  The route is very steep, zigzagging through scree and dust.  It feels great going down while other walkers struggle upward, the ascent being an un-relenting, very hot haul.

Near the Refuge, the route crosses a track and then heads straight down the valley, following the line of Rio Mulhacen.  The path is non-descript and fades in and out.  However, the occasional set of small stone cairns provide a 'confidence booster' as you descend.  The route eventually crosses the river and hugs the bottom of the Eastern side of the valley, before turning South-West to the Poqueira Refuge.

Looking towards Poqueira from Mulhacen

View back towards Mulhacen from Poquiera

Really great views; rushing streams, banks lined with flowers along the irrigation channels that take water to the villages below.  Fantastic butterflies, black and gold.  Ah! I remembered the last time I came past here, a great patch of nettles,  Now these guys were like cartoon nettles.  Dark green, hairy, shrivelled and stumpy.  They oozed 'hey man, I am the 'baddest' nettles for miles'. 

OK, I was wearing shorts, but no sweat.  Path through the middle.  On a bit of slope, soft ground, just swing the hips and duck and weave through these Mothers.

Ducking and weaving was accompanied by an 'Oh shit!' statement as I gracefully fell, or rather, plunged into the nettles.  I went down, weighted by the pack, head first into the nettle patch.  I opened my eyes to see the dust rising from the nettles in the sunlight.  My head was at root level and I was face down, heading for the river, pinned by the pack.  I could not get up as the walking poles were extended and I could not  push up on my hands. 

 My legs were on fire as was my face.  So what do you do in these situations?  I cursed every Jamaican swear word (did I mention that I am Jamaican?)  that I could recall and even some that I had forgotten existed.  I flailed around like a snapper in a boat and eventually wrenched up-right - in the middle of the nettles.  Still unsteady and threatening to fall back down the hill, I thought 'sod this', and walked out through the nettles, bare legs and all. 

I have never felt stings like that - rather like getting burnt.  It was so hot that the hairs on my legs stood out like I had an electric shock for 3 hours after this ;  I did think about looking for an antidote plant nearby.  Looking around and not recognizing anything similar to 'dock' in the UK or 'leaf of life' from Jamaica, I decided against just guessing and then ending up with compound rashes.

Nursing my stupid mistake and very tingly face and legs, I continued to follow the obvious path, hugging the contours and then on to the Refuge.  The Refuge is a modern stone building that is staffed and has clean accommodation.  On my arrival, the occupants were sitting in the shade as it was obviously too hot for walking.  I must have looked like the man from hell; covered in black dust and crud, blotched with nettle rash, legs and knees cut and scratched, wearing a hat that looked as though it had been rolled up in a wet tent.  I could not have looked that bad as no-one felt sufficiently sorry for me to bring a cold beer.  After a quick water-stop, I set off again to pick up the route South-West to Cortijo de las Tomas.