Foxes and Wolves and Boars, Oh My!

The countryside village of São Martinho do Campo is a mere 30 minutes outside of Porto. A pleasant enough train ride and far more remote feeling than you could imagine. The roundtrip fare for the two us is less than 8€ and I am quite proficient in Portuguese when buying tickets. This is my second time, and I successfully say roundtrip (ida e volta) in Portuguese, not Spanish!

After a rather uneventful arrival, we desperately search for the trail to take us along a 9 mile trek. We see the hilltop - it's just right there, but there's a slate factory and a cluster of houses blocking any entrance to the other side. We attempt to go through the grounds of the factory. Nobody is fazed and neither do they ask where we're going. Despite the posted mandates for safety gear, we casually walk through without an utterance of caution from the workers. The trail is not heavily traveled, and there are likely few travelers who have attempted to go through the factory. But they must know there's no way through...and so they wait until the gated perimeter forces us to turn back. The chain-linked fence encloses the factory from nature and the stream following behind it - although I strongly suspect chemicals used to refine the slate rock seeps into the flowing water.

We somewhat aimlessly wander to find an elusive street - the name of which escapes me now. Rua Santa Ana or Santa Maria or Santa (saint) something or other. A narrow alley between houses seems like a reasonable assumption, but an elderly Portuguese lady starts yelling at us. From what I could gather, she was informing us that it was not a through way. Spontaneously, Deezy blurts out the name of the street as a question, and the woman points us in the direction of this supposed gateway to the trail.

There are no street signs. Zero. And the GPS we're using is telling us that streets exists that, in reality, do not. I see a pathway blocked by three enormous slate rocks and figure, "It must be the path." It's dirty - littered with all sorts of trash: bottles, bags, clothing, plastics. The grass is trampled and in various states of growth. "Okay," I think, "This could be a good sign. Life has come through here." Then out of the corner of my left eye, I see it. You know the fight, flight, or freeze response? I freeze. Dead in my tracks. Only to see more. Just above a whisper I say to Deezy, "Boars," and I point to the left where there is a slight incline in the terrain and a family of - what I think are - boars are staring at us. Deezy heads forward through very thick brush. I follow with the absolute fear of getting rushed by the boars. I don't remember the last time I had felt a surge of such panic. As we edge around a dried rock well, Deezy says, "Stop. There's a fox." The thorns from a bush are stuck on my pant leg, and unease has escalated to terror. I say as steadily as possible, "It's probably rabid if it's out in the daytime. Let's go!" Fortunately, we didn't have a choice. We couldn't move forward any farther, as the stream was quite wide and natural brush so thick that it would have been a challenge to traverse.

We turn around. The boars have now descended and are in our path. There are a lot - two adults and multiple children of various sizes. "This is not good," I think. When animals sense danger or their babies are at risk, they fight. Deezy is completely undisturbed by the scene but stops alongside me to ask what I want to do. "Leave. I want to leave," I calmly say. His face is glowing with a smile. He proceeds on the path. A boar grunts. "Stop," I demand in a low voice. Grunting and growls are not good signs. Deezy says, "I don't think these are boars." With this revelation, I look closer and the fear dissipates considerably. I slightly chuckle. "They're potbelly pigs!," I exclaim with relief. The closer they are, the better you can see no protruding teeth and fattened bellies ever so close to the ground. "Still, I think we should go around them," I suggest after some brief deliberation.

Deezy moves to the right to go up and around the pigs. I do not immediately follow. I'm still assessing the situation. Just as I start to take a step to the right, Deezy says, "Just come now. Stay calm. Don't look right." This has the opposite effect on me. I ask what he sees, what might attack me, if there is another route - to the left through overgrown bushes - that I should take. He assures me, "It's fine. Just walk." I hurriedly race over the small mound, bypass the pigs, and I'm safely at the opening to - what we had wrongly assumed was - the trail. "What was it?," I ask breathlessly. "A wolf," he replies calmly but with wide eyes.

We get back on the street. Mind you, we haven't even started the hike yet and all this excitement has happened! As we turn right onto the street, we walk by a gate. Behind the gate is a rusty, neglected but active farm. On the farm are more potbelly pigs and guard dogs - not wolves but appearing just as menacing. We both laugh. We were walking adjacent to a derelict farm, and the animals can easily breach the boundaries to wander into the pass-through we mistook for the trail. To our defense, the potbelly pigs are huge, and they do not appear like you run-of-the-mill farm pigs. There was none of that "oink-oink" and pink rolly-polly playfulness as depicted in Charlotte's Web. And although the wolf turned out to be a dog, it was a dead ringer for a wolf. Fortunately, it was chained but could roam quite generously across the yard. As we caught our bearings, Deezy turned to me and said, "But I really did see a fox." Indeed. And let's be honest - the title of this blog wouldn't have the same effect if it were: Foxes and Doggies and Piggies. Oh My!, now would it?

FINDING THE TRAIL

We found it! The trail. It was just a few more steps away from "the farm" and quite distinct in its markings. It begins as a road, but its doubtless that a vehicle has passed on it for many weeks...or months. The view is already extraordinary. We can see slate rocks building up the hillside for miles. Slate is everywhere, and I'm thankful that it's a sunny and dry day less we'd be slipping and sliding on the slate. Purple flowers and lush greenery emerge along the trail, and the vegetation becomes more verdant as we slowly ascend.

The first remarkable place is a suspension bridge, but because we're doing a 360°  we will not officially cross it until the end. I can't wait and eagerly start across the bouncing surface. It sways back and forth, side to side. On the other side is a serene area along a flowing stream (it might actually be a river) and quite suitable for a picnic had we packed one. Anyways, my attention is brought back to our mission: the hike. We cross back over and climb a few rocks to proceed onto the trail. All of the sudden, the trees part and the elevation from the stream is significant. The sound of the water dancing along the way and crashing into more generously sized boulders is peaceful.

The photos from the hike don't really reflect the true beauty of this place. The solitude. The fresh air. The verdant surroundings. The tranquil ambience. The sound of flowing water. It's all so peaceful. As I walk along the trodden path, I find myself falling into a meditative-like state: The sun strongly beaming and the soft wind gently dancing on my skin. I realize that this is "forest bathing." I turn to Deezy and say, "We need to do this more." He gives a smile and nod of agreement. We do hike whenever we have the opportunity, but I mean that we really need to make this a habit. There are three things in the world that really make me feel alive: 1) a good hug; 2) traveling; and 3) being in nature...outside, breathing. I live for these moments, so I take a beat to make sure that I am not taking it for granted. (This sentiment creeps into my mind around mile 8. At this point, the sun has gotten the better of me, I realize the sunglasses I bought to replace my broken ones are not polarized - ouch in the eyes!, I've slipped on lots of slate, and two painful blisters have formed on the sides of both of my big toes - apologies if that's TMI!) Yet, I've hiked through worse, so I decide to approach it with gratitude.

Back to the hike. We walk through narrow paths, beside the stream, and up vertical hills to see the most magnificent views. Along the path, we find some ruins. For years Deezy and I have watched YouTube videos about Portuguese real estate, all of which always have a ruin or two on the land. And all of which the realtor or YouTuber tries to convince the viewer that the ruin can be "easily renovated" and proceeds to point out the location of a non-existent kitchen, future bedroom, or potential bathroom - all amidst a bunch of crumbling stones and protruding trees growing in the middle of the aspiring living room. See an extraordinary villa in the photos below. 😉

There are so many things to see as we continue to walk. The most curious is a small village tucked neatly into the reserve, complete with a church. Stones are precisely stacked up to create tall, thick structures. We can hear a woman on the phone; her voice bouncing off the stone and echoing in the narrow pass-through. There can't be more than 5 people living in the village, but there is a working farm. And I'm completely charmed by the goats, horses, and random cats.

At the end of the "village" and church is the farm. A genuine farm. I don't know who is more excited - me or the animals. I take a good several minutes - maybe 15 - to capture some candids, but it's Deezy who points out the horses that are on the other side of a tall fence and just on the perimeter of the grange. (Yes, I extend my arms above the fence to capture shots. I can't see the horses - even on my tip toes.)

The trail continues to deliver surprises of vast vistas and interesting activities. Things like the felling of trees (no photos) - which I had never previously seen live, and a couple hot and heavy in the backseat of a car in broad daylight and in the parking lot of a small church tucked on a dead end road. (I say a little prayer for you...)

As we make our way full circle, we end up at the train stop back to Porto. We wait a good 30 minutes or so - enough time for a gypsy couple to pack and unpack their many bags, set up their radio, and have a snack. Some other folks are waiting, too, but are not in the least entertaining. After a long day in nature, people watching is the perfect ending to a perfect day.

(And, um, don't forget to validate your return ticket. Despite trying to find the machine at S. Martinho on the way back, we couldn't find it and got a stern finger wagged at us by the ticket checker.)