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Fisherman’s Trail By Carol Pedersen Moorehead The sun warms my face, a gentle breeze plays with my hair and I marvel as I gaze up at the azure blue sky. “Another stork!” I call out to Jen, pointing toward the rocky cliffs above the thrashing ocean waves. Walking trails that originally took Portuguese fishermen from village to ocean, now link hikers to villages for lodging and refreshment. We walk over sand dunes and along the ocean for hours. We are at mile seven of our day’s hike, six more miles to Villa Nova de Millentes, our evenings’ destination. Early spring wildflowers add color and fragrance to the sandy stretches of trail, white storks pair up and nest along the craggy rocks between dunes and ocean. We amble in companionable silence, drinking in the sights and smells of this wild, yet serene coastline. Mimosa bushes line the sandy track providing welcome shade from the afternoon sun’s continuous rays. On our second day of trekking, we anticipate the same solitude as yesterday but rounding a corner at noon, we come upon a large group of hikers sitting hillside taking lunch. We count over twenty Italians. They talk noisily, gesticulate and break the tranquil momentum of our day. We stop for a quick snack then carry on as the group heads the same direction and we find later they are staying at the same hotel in Almograve. Our calm, placid and restful tramp felt threatened by this large group intrusion. Once checked into our hotel, we talked about strategy. “Let’s get up early and head out of town before them,” Jen suggests. We are both early risers so the die is cast. The nearby, small but bustling local market provided a necessity, coffee before we finished packing and rolled out of the village. Back on the trail, an early morning mist greeted us. Dunes of red sand and vertical uplifts veined with milky quartz added to the fairy-like quality of the day. The mist cleared, yet a light overcast kept the morning cool. Marveling at this spectacular coastline and reveling in the fact that our early departure brought the desired result, our contentment grew. The tranquility of our trek was preserved. Storks soared overhead. Iron-red cliffs and craggy black rocks supported nests for the pairing storks. There are more nesting storks here than anywhere else in Europe. White storks return to the same nest year after year and are monogamous breeders, only changing mates upon migration. While researching our route, I read the trail was not recommended for anyone with a fear of heights. On our fourth day, the warning resonated. We were often at cliffs edge looking straight down to the ocean 400 feet below. We started out early, greeting the morning mist. Our day’s hike provided rolling terrain along with sheer cliffs and exposed dropoffs to hidden beaches. In some areas, the cliff had fallen away into the ocean and alternate routes were required. I was hesitant to get too close to the edge lest a slip or stumble bring me crashing down in an unplanned visit to the isolated beach beneath us. But each bend in the track afforded another view of unique plant life, hidden coves, and nesting storks. I was soon so mesmerized with the experience, I forgot any fear of falling. We occasioned on a pair of hikers now and then but did not see the oversized assemblage again until we ended our hike in Odeceixe. At our lodging above the town, we had a birds-eye view of the valley and trail below. There, we saw them tramping into town long after we’d arrived. Reveling in our excellent adventure, we celebrated with dinner at Casa Domingo, where we were welcomed with a serving of Sangria and ended the meal with a glass of Port. Our cheeks glowed with the effects of alcohol and our accomplishments.