This Wednesday’s walk was up Butterfly Gorge and we were
aiming for the second church up near a place called Orino, after which we would
either walk all the way back down again, or walk a further two kilometres to the road and call for a lift back down. I’d
already heard that it was going to be hot on this day and as Chris, Brian,
Kostas and I set out through Koutsouras Park I was already broiling.
This wasn’t a great walk. Yes, there’s beautiful scenery and
interesting stuff to see, but a number of factors killed the pleasure for me
and the others.
There’s a lot of growth in the gorge which would have been
fine if we were walking in the winter. As it was we were in shorts and after
stomping through low thorny growths, occasionally going off-piste to end up in
Livingstone territory, and pushing through bushes and bamboo to try to locate
the trail, there was not one of us who wasn’t leaking the red stuff.
Add in a steadily
climbing temperature, my hangover and general bad temper, and this wasn’t a great walk for me. I couldn’t even
shed my shirt because of the protection it offered from surrounding growth or,
for the same reason, my sunglasses when we were tramping through gloomy areas.
Even Brian, ex Royal Navy and ex Glasgow riot cop, was flagging by the time we
reached the first church. I think being speared in the back and nearly through
his ear by the rough end of a bamboo didn’t do his demeanour any favours either.
From the first church we tramped onwards, but no one was
having any fun, especially when we kept losing the trail. Also, the next stage
of the walk was in the open and partially mountain climbing, while we were running
out of water and it was very hot. We turned back ... except for Mad Dog Kostas
who decided he was going to go all the way to the top and try to catch a lift
down on the road.
On the way down, and after I nearly keeled over with a dizzy
spell, I knew we’d made the right decision, though there was some guilt about
allowing Kostas to continue by himself (this started as a walk in the park but
certainly wasn’t one later, and such walks can be dangerous). Back down in a
bar in Koutsouras Chris remained in contact with Kostas and, as he reached the
top of gorge some twenty minutes after we reached the bottom, we set out to
pick him up.
As we drove back to Makrigialos the temperature was such
that if you put your arm out the window it was like putting in front of a fan
heater.
After cooling down a bit in The Rock, with a beer, I looked
at the flat calm sea and knew that despite being knackered I had to have a big
swim. I did my usual route: to the harbour back along the buoys to the point
where the jet skis go in then back to the beach (maybe three-quarters of a mile
or a mile). Kostas was there, and is a good swimmer, so I suggested we have a
bit of a race around the same circuit at some point. He was a bit blasé about
the idea whereupon I made the mistake of making chicken sounds. He went off
after his swim and I crashed on the beach. An hour or so later I heard a voice
behind me, ‘Hey, poseur.’ Oops.While I had been expecting some race in a day or so he was
all, ‘Let’s do it now.’ What the hell.
We raced around the circuit again, the winner the one who
touched a Carlsberg sign on the beach first. I started off pulling ahead a little
but then he accelerated. By the time we reached the harbour he was twenty feet
ahead. Later, so he tells me, he saw someone swimming to shore and thought it
was me giving up. As it was, I was on the other side of him. Still, he reached
the shore about 30 feet ahead of me, sauntered up the beach with a big grin on
his face and touched the sign. In my favour I have to point out that I was four
beers ahead of him, and am 15 years older...
Next time.
Oh, and in the gorge I only saw one butterfly, so I don’t
know what that’s all about.
1 comment:
Perhaps it looks like a butterfly in plan from a certain height perspective.
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