I didn't mean to walk the Kastanorema gorge... it just kinda happened.
You see, when I left Mourtitsa I was only curious to see what the gorge looked like. Besides, it was a little late to be attempting an unaccompanied 4 and half hour walk up a gorge. If I did choose to do it, I would get back to the campsite at something like 7 o'clock and that just wouldn't do. You see, as is always the case when camping on the islands, I had gotten into this comfortable routine. Morning and afternoon were for walking; but 6 o'clock and the softening colours of dusk were for showering, dressing for evening, reading the paper, listening to my little pocket radio, low key socialising round the communal fridges and, or course, libations. `So you see I really couldn't set out on this walk...
But it was a terribly nice path, heading north with the sea to my right and the mountains to my left. In short, it was a coastal path and therefore just the kind of walk a like.
And the landscape was just that little bit different. Gone were the pines and olive trees, to be replaced with low lying strawberry-trees and hollyoaks. And here in the northern half of the island was an unfamiliar seascape of scattered islands whose forms I hadn't yet encountered.
And there was this surprisingly appealing sense of isolation, made more intense with each step away from Mourtitsa.
In short, I wasn't focused on any goal and so time seemed simply to fly by until such a point when the landscape opened out in front of me to reveal an extensive area of flat pebble and boulder strewn land sandwiched between two low hills and the sea. I had reached the mouth of the gorge.
It occurred to me that now that I knew just how pleasant a walk it was I could come back next year with my wife and walk the rest of the way together. But I should probably find the onward path through this mass of pebbles and boulders to the start of the gorge proper, there had to be some way markers here somewhere. Perhaps if I follow the thin depression of the river bed?
Heading inland on the dried up river bed, the slopes of the low hills on either side of me gradually began to close in and rise above me. As they did so, the sound of the waves disappeared and the clicking-clacking of the bone dry pebbles displaced beneath each step I took got louder and louder. If silence can have a sound, this was it. There was no one, not a soul around.
Now this was beginning to feel a bit special, a bit like you feel while standing on a cliff top looking out to sea; a bit like being drawn inexorably into something wild yet totally alluring.
And it got better. Down in the gorge, things started hotting up as the walls closed in higher above me and the pebbles beneath my feet gave way to sheer rock face gouged and polished by heaven know how many years of flow, and it was round about when I took these two photographs that I decided to hang with the evening ritual; this was simply too special a walk to turn back on.
Stream channel, Kastanorema gorge.
Overhanging gorge wall, Kastanorema gorge
So I ended up adding the Kastanorema gorge to my list of conquests upon the island, and it was quite fitting that this last walk should be the most dramatic.
Other than extol the drama and thoroughly romantic sense of isolation that the walk engenders, I should probably give the prospective walker a rundown of highlights and advice:
1. The walking guides are right: once you are in the gorge there is no way you can get lost. Also, for the most part, the terrain is smooth rock or boulders. I walked up the gorge in a pair of trekking sandals so it really isn't the most demanding of walks underfoot.
2. There are snakes in the gorge. I disturbed a couple on my way up which slithered away as I clumsily came tramping through their domain. They looked to be the same species and of a light turquoise colour. I've just done a google image search to find out what species they are and if they are poisonous but to no avail. Very beautiful though.
3. At about the half way point, the stream bed becomes quite shallow with scrub and shrubs to the sides which at some points meet overhead forming a little arboreal tunnel for you to walk through. Further on, the stream bed becomes shallower still to the extent that you can see the landscape clearly on either side. At this point you should look out for a daub of red paint on a rock to your left indicating that you should leave the stream bed. It's quite obvious but best to be extra aware when the landscape starts to flatten out.
After this point, you walk through a little olive grove to emerge at a dirt road with a watering point for goats facing you. At this point, there is a sign post directing you up onto a little path which gently ascends the hill in front of you.
Now at this point I had been walking for about 3 hours or so having made good time in the gorge. I was, however, a little disorientated having been effectively blinkered by the high walls of the gorge such that I didn't know in which approximate direction the sea might be found. It was far from a worry however as the path was obvious as well as being periodically signposted.
In fact, it made the scene that greeted me as I rounded the crest of the hill all that more impressive for being unexpected:
As the landscape flattened out at the crest of the hill, I was greeted by this field of wild thyme and the realisation of just where I was. Here in front of me I could see the familiar form of Peristera: I had reached the top of the hill behind Agios Dimitrios, which was spectacularly confirmed when I walked down this path and looked down:
Like I said, Agios Dimitrios is best viewed from above.
If ever you find yourself on Alonissos with your own transport at dusk in late June, you could do worse than drive up here (a dirt road off the island's main road north terminates just beyond this point). If you do, I would heartily recommend a bottle of chilled white wine and the company of someone special to share the view and what must be a royal carpet of wild thyme in bloom.
The final leg, down off the hill and back to Mourtitsa where I had left the Vespa was accompanied by a song and the inquisitive looks of mountain goats. Slowly, the triangle of land that was Agios Dimitiris grew bigger and closer until I was a matter of minutes from the coast. Unfortunately it was at this point that the surrounding scrub grew tall and so thickly knit that the path was at some points virtually unpassable. But passable it was, and jumping down onto the dirt road along which I had driven about 3 and 3 quarter hours before, I met a Greek couple out for a stroll.
"Apo poy pidixes?" = "Where did you spring from?"
"Molis ekana ligo kyklo edho gyro gyro" = "I just did a little circle hereabouts..."
And with that they wished me kali ekdromi, took their leave, and left me to pick up the Vespa to drive back to Patitiri... by way of just one final distraction.
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