Caminito del Rey (and Cliffs of Moher)

Caminito del Rey (and the Cliffs of Moher)

El Caminito del Rey is a lengthy walkway cantilevered along one side of two sheer gorges near the village of Chorro, northwest of Malaga. It is billed, in some quarters, as the “scariest walk in the world”, but this bit of hyberbole connects to truth only in the way of fairground rides making the same sort of claim. In years past the description had foundation: the original walkway, constructed in the first years of the C20, had, as it approached its centenary, deteriorated so much that it had become lethal. Several walkers fell, and died.

The gorges are wonders of nature, narrow and several hundred metres in height or depth, depending on perspective, with rocks of gorgeous colours.

A fierce torrent flows through, down from the location of one hydro-electric dam to a lake where is sited another. The gorges are separated, for a short distance, by a wide valley, pleasantly green.

The history of the place combines wonders of nature with wonders of C19 engineering. Spanish engineers constructed dams and power stations to bring electricity to Malaga. Even earlier, in the 1860s, railway engineers had driven a line through one side of the gorges, using many tunnels and short viaducts, to connect Malaga and Cordoba. Trains still run.

The Caminito is on the other side. It was built to connect the dam installations at either end, so that engineers and supplies could shuttle to and fro. Steel stanchions were thrust into the rock; steel supports laid across those and then concrete slabs completed the surface. There was some sort of handrail. After 20 years or so, the walkway was officially “opened” by King Alfonso XIII in the 1920s. Hence the name: Camino (dimunitised to Caminito) del Rey.

Over the years, the handrail disappeared, the concrete deteriorated, especially under rockfall, and fell away in places. The Caminito became less a dizzying walk than a deadly dare to the brave or foolhardy. Finally the authorities closed it… and then, a few years ago, decide to renovate.

A new caminito has been constructed, mostly just above the old one, on the same cantilevered principle. The floor is of narrowly spaced wooden slats (so there is always a sense of what lies, or does not lie, beneath). There is a stout wire fence on the outer side. At one point there is an optional glass floor in the corner of a bend. Unless one is determined on self-destruction, the walkway is safe, with the possible exception of the danger of rockfall from above, against which risk the wearing of hard hats (supplied) is obligatory.

There is still the shiver of vertigo from the height of the walkway, often at 100 metres above the floor of the gorges, with still more cliff face towering upwards. To lean over the fence is to utter a gasp, at least inwardly, and to clutch phone or camera or neighbour’s arm more tightly.

The experience is awesome, in the original sense of that word. The Caminito  brings one closer to a dangerous and extravagant natural feature than one would think possible. It does so by means of ingenious and bold engineering, the worthy successor of over a century of similar achievements. This also inspires awe. Truly there is here a magnificent union of nature and engineering artifice.

….

Less than a week before my teeter on the Caminito, I visited another awe-inspiring place, many miles and much weather away from Andalucia. 

This was the Cliffs of Moher on the Atlantic coast of Ireland. Cliffs of similar height to the Chorro gorges, but not hemming in a narrow river – rather facing the mighty Atlantic.

The official visitor centre (both places are monetised) gives well-fenced or walled access to spectacular views, and similar vertigo.

Moher has wind. There is a particular stretch of path where the wind appears to channel up the cliff, judging by the spume, and leap the wall, such that there is space of several metres where it is impossible to keep full control of one’s movements. The wind drags and punches one into a zig zag of lurches. This was on a day of officially non-malevolent weather. The next weekend, when I was on the Caminito, Storm Ciara closed the Moher visitor centre and its cliff top walks, presumably, because visitors would be blown, not perhaps over the cliffs, but flat on their faces or backs.

February 2020