“You’re going to wonder,” explained Luis in accented English, “why I sent you to this rock. Woosh [he uses his hands to suggest a sheer vertical face], you can’t climb this. But, there is a tunnel.” Luis was right about the tunnel. He was a little off as far as how close the tram station was to the park. In highly technical terms, it wasn’t even close (see first photo). The tram drops you off in the ‘burbs of Calpe. I figured if I just headed downhill I would eventually hit the beach.
Signs pointing the way to Burger King outnumbered directions to the Rock of Ifach 6 to 1. Once I hit the Burger King, I used my finely tuned bat-sense of direction and followed the biggest road going towards the park. Walking in the man-made canyons of Calpe’s vacation towers, the Rock of Ifach wasn’t available as a point of reference. Along the way I found this cool piece of artwork (below).
After an hour walking, I arrived at the Penon de Ifach (Rock of Ifach), the largest rock in the Mediterranean. I realized I had a lot more climbing to do before I reached the summit. Referred to as the Northern Rock by the Phoenicians (Gibraltar is the Southern Rock), this rock looms 332m over the Mediterranean. The first part of the trail meanders pleasantly through low pines, carnations, and Robertonian orchids.
After about twenty minutes, I reached the tunnel (about 30m) leading to the other side of the rock. The dark tunnel provided a welcome break from the sun.
After exiting the tunnel, the trail becomes more primative and dangerous. (There’s several signs along the way that tell you just this.) A few places have ropes tied to anchors in the rockface to steady yourself as you cross a stretch with a nearby drop to the ocean below. I divided my attention between where I was placing my next step, the vertical drop to my left, and the frayed rope which looked like it last saw action in the rigging of a Spanish galleon. The trail eventually forks: one trail going to a guardhouse lookout and the other zigzagging to the summit. The trail reminded me a lot of hiking in the Sawtooths of Idaho, except for the squaking seagulls and the dull thrum of powerboats in the distance. The gentleman who strode by me wearing nothing but a black speedo and flip flops was another clue I was hiking in Europe. The upper trail is steep, mostly obvious, with several rock scrambles. Occasionally, I gingerly crossed a section with a long drop and quick stop facing me on one side. By the time I reached the summit, about high noon, I was sweating like a fifth-round draft pick at rookie camp. After congratulatory self-portraits, I enjoyed some fresh cherries I picked up at the Central Mercado before leaving.
The views in all directions were spectacular. In the photo above, you can get a feel for the height of the rock as well as how far the tram station is from the park. (Find the clouds over the far peak, then immediately in front and to the right of that peak is a long, flat outcropping of rocks with green below it. When the white buildings begin, that’s where the tram lets you off.) The way down took me about as long as it took to reach the summit (about an hour). Looking like polished bone, the granite is slick from years (centuries) of foot traffic. Momentum, gravity, and granite wanted me to take the quick way down, while occasionally trying to keep one of my Salomon trail shoes. I took the 10 minute stroll down the other branch in the trail and out to the guardhouse, which was actually a rock with a bunch of seagull crap on it. The trail was mostly flat and shaded by pines, so that was a plus.
On my way back to the tram, I took the seafront promenade. Just off the promenade are the partially submerged ruins of of an ancient fish salting factory from Roman times. Clear green water sloshed back and forth across the ruins. Very cool. I thought about snapping a few photos, but there also happened to be several topless women swimming among the ruins. Not wanting to seem like a perv, I continued walking, eventually cutting back to the main road I had walked down in the morning. You know darn well that I stopped at the Burger King and ordered a wonderfully cool cola light grande. And, then, I ordered another one, while I rested my tired toes.
