The first half of today’s 25km trek was about as thrilling as watching moss grow on a damp tortilla. Rolling countryside, pleasant enough, but uneventful. I was warned, somewhere between a guidebook and a fellow pilgrim with wild eyes that services were scarce, so I stopped at the 8km mark to perform the sacred Camino ritual known as the Impulse Snack Grab. Orange Juice, cafe con leche, tortilla, and TWO mystery meat sandwich to go, I was provisioned and ready to make poor decisions deeper into the wilderness.

And then—bam—like stepping through a wardrobe into a Narnian fever dream, I left the Camino del Norte and joined the Camino Lebaniego. It was not a subtle transition. One moment I was gliding along on neatly paved asphalt, and the next I was ankle-deep in what I can only describe as nature’s revenge: a pungent blend of mud, cow pies, and the kind of squelch that makes you check if you still have toenails.

This trail did not mess around. It was single track, overgrown, and designed by someone who clearly hated knees. There were climbs that required more prayer than traction, descents that defied geometry, and sections so steep I briefly considered installing a rope system and selling rappel tickets to passing goats.

And yet, good Lord was it beautiful. The forest was a swirling kaleidoscope of green: mossy rocks, fern canopies, ivy-laced trunks, and fields that looked like Disney animators had sketched them at peak whimsy. I half expected Bambi himself to prance out and offer me a protein bar.

The trail snaked along the Río Nansa, which was either beside you, far below you, or taunting you from a hidden ravine. At one point I found myself clinging to a safety cable bolted into the limestone cliff, contemplating life choices and trying not to sneeze in case I launched myself into the abyss. The cable was more of a polite suggestion than a safety measure. OSHA would have needed therapy.

By the 20km mark, I had begun negotiating with my thighs. They had unionized and demanded a siesta. So I honored their demands with a riverside lunch: a ham and cheese sandwich that had spent the morning marinating in backpack heat and friction. It emerged looking like it had been sat on by a medium-sized bear, but let me tell you—it tasted like victory and questionable choices.

Today may have been the most breathtaking, bone-rattling, mud-caked segment so far. It was quiet, wild, and absolutely unfiltered. Bridges were made from rebar, branches, and (possibly) hope. The trail was both punishment and reward—like being mugged by a forest elf and then hugged by it afterward.

And so I rolled into Cades muddy, tired, and completely alive.