Muros de Nalón | Here Comes the Rain - Day 109

It's Monday morning around 740 am when I leave. Already the streets are busy with activity. Locals are setting up vending booths in the rain for what appears to be a farmer's market this morning. 

Day 24 takes me from Avilés to Muros de Nalón. The stage is 22 km (13.7 mi) long and has several climbs. The biggest one reaches 180 m (590 ft). 

The rain starts only 5 minutes after I leave the Albergue. I find an eve, open my pack, and put on my rain pants. I've been fortunate thus far. The forecast keeps calling for rain, but I've had only lovely walking weather. Overcast cast skies are my favorite for walking, it keeps the sun at bay, and the temperatures are usually cooler. Plus, it reminds me of other beautiful coastlines in Ireland, Wales, and the Pacific Northwest of the United States.

While leaving town, I stop and take a picture of this old church. The streets are quiet this morning, and I am having trouble following the clamshells in the rain.

I finally spot one. High up on the building. Finding my way can be problematic in the first 30 minutes when leaving a city. I frequently rely on the Buen Camino application on my phone to help me find the Camino while it is dark.

My feet and shoes are soaked, and I haven't been walking for 20 minutes yet. The rain is coming down hard, and I am glad to be warm. I am a bit surprised that my feet are not cold. It pays to have fantastic wool socks. My Darn Tough socks are hands down the best socks I've ever owned. I've been rotating between three pairs every couple of days, and they still wear as if they are brand new.

I find it interesting that when I leave in the mornings, I seldom see other Peregrinos on the Camino. It usually takes me a couple three hours or more to encounter them. I do not know where they come from, but they magically appear on the Camino. So, I spend the first part of the morning walking in solitude, often wondering what the Camino will provide for me today. Sometimes, I have no meaningful encounters until late or even until I reach the Albergue. Other times, I can meet someone early, and we'll chat for hours. This is what makes the Camino so enjoyable and the reason why I love the experience.

Around a quarter to 9 am, I enter this tunnel. I love this image. Where does the road in the picture lead you? Filters are a fantastic tool; I love how it has improved my photos.

About 30 minutes later, I pass this old camping trailer parked in a garden, and it catches my eye with the green house behind it. I am just about to enter the town of Raíces-Nuevo. 

At a quarter to 11 am, I notice the trail is becoming very steep, and I haven't seen a sign in a while. I could have sworn the Clamshell was pointing me up this way. So, I turn around and walk back down the hill. I encounter two other Peregrinos from Poland and one from Mexico. They all confirm that the Clamshell points this way. We all review our various apps and confirm we are not on the yellow line (below); however, the road appears to rejoin the "Official Camino" once we cross the Interstate. 

Rather than turn back, we all decide to forge ahead. Soon, Pedro and I quickly outdistance the couple from Poland. Pedro lives and works in Philadelphia but is from the eastern part of Mexico, north of Mexico City. We spend several hours talking together and walk all the way to the Muros de Nalón together. He only has three days left to walk, then he plans to rent a bicycle to complete the journey to Santiago before returning to work. "We don't get much vacation time in the US or Mexico," says Pedro. Yes, I know, we work too much. "In Mexico, people work longer than anywhere else, but they aren't efficient. We get nothing done," he laughs. 

I enjoy walking with Pedro, a fellow Peregrino that loves color! "Where are you going after the Camino?" he asks. I need a place to relax, where I can let my body recover without trying to do too much. I really like the idea of the Western Balkans, like Croatia. "Can I make a suggestion? Think about Morrocco. It is so easy to get around, the people are great, they speak English, French, and Spanish, and it costs nothing." he says.

We talk bout the environment, how anthropods (i.e., bugs) will become common in the diets of people across the world, and his love for musicals.

It doesn't take long before we see another familiar Clamshell. We are on the Camino, but maybe this is an abandoned braid. An old version of the Camino. The Camino Del Norte is constantly evolving. As variants spring up, older, less efficient, or more challenging terrain is abandoned. I wonder if this is what we followed today. I am reminded of the mural I passed a few days ago, All Roads are the Right Road. The rain last night and this morning has turned this part of the Camino into a muddy mess.

A good portion of the Camino passes thru a managed forest today. Clear-cutting, a technique whereby all vegetation is cut, and trees are harvested, is common here in Spain. Native tree species are cleared and replanted with the more desirable exotic Eucalyptus trees. These plantations are then "farmed" on a rotational basis. The primary use for Eucalyptus is pulpwood. Pulpwood is ground-up trees that are used in manufacturing paper products. 

Seeing these clear-cuts reminds me of my time as a wildlife biologist working for a private timber company in Northern California. There, Redwood and Douglas Fir were the prized trees. Other species like Madrone, Black Oak, Myrtle, Tan Oak, and big Leaf Maple were byproducts of clear-cutting and used as pulpwood. 

It is still difficult to see the carnage of the aftermath from a clear cut. It is an efficient technique for harvest. There's no disputing that. It is, however, an eye sore that is eventually replaced with a bigger eye sore, a uniform monotypic even-aged stand of trees. In Spain, there is another more significant problem. These exotic plantations impact wildlife that depends on native plants that produce mast (i.e., fruit and nuts that accumulate below native trees). The disappearance of the mast is directly related to declines in wildlife abundance. 

Welcome to a paradox or conundrum that I live with as a wildlife biologist. It is easy for me to see the beauty in wild things and places that others miss. I understand our appetite and need to exploit natural resources. Unfortunately, I also feel the scars of humanity and the impact it has on living things. 

Before arriving at the Albergue, Pedro and I encounter Erin. She joins us for the short walk into town. When we arrive at the small Albergue, we part ways with Pedro. Erin stops at the Albergque too, but I sense she would rather walk. I'm committed, my pack is here, and I have a reservation. The host asks Erin for a reservation, she shakes her head no. "Sorry, I am full," he answers. "It times like these where I just walk on," Erin says. I can see the frustration on her face as she grabs her things. "You have my contact," she says. I'll email you after I get settled and watch her head down the street. Later, I get word from Erin. She decided to continue to the next town, Santo de Luiña, my destination for tomorrow night.

"I make a pretty good Fabada if you want some. It will be ready around 2 pm," Raphael, the host, says. I start to settle in. Shortly after, Timo enters the Albergue, and we have a few exchanges while we dry some things outside. He's a friendly kid, a bit introverted. It will take some time to coax him into his comfort zone. Already at the Albergue is Jean Pierre, the "Pilgrim Guide" I met yesterday. He is part of a group of guides that help Pilgrims along the way. He adds me to his Facebook group and shows me a variety of tips and new apps. "met du papier journal dans tes chaussures le soir pour les sécher [put newspaper in your shoes to dry them at night]," he says. Newspaper is an old Peregrino trick. You put newspaper in your shoes at night, and it draws out the humidity. In the morning, you have dry shoes. You don't even need to put your shoes in the sun or near heat. It works great!