Summer has passed and the weather is still good for surfing in Tarifa; that is, as long as the recent oil spill off the northwestern coast of Spain doesn't seep its way into the Straight of Gibraltar. As long as it's still a potential threat, maybe your best bet is to take up roots on land without leaving yourself to the whims of the waves (or what might be floating around in them). Lucky for everyone, there are just as many things to do on land as in the water both in and around Tarifa.

You won't need a wet suit to explore Parque Natural los Alcornocales, a natural park just north of Tarifa's city limits. The park is known for contributing to about half of the country's cork resource as well as for the large quantity of hawks, eagles and vultures that can be found in the area. You can reach the park from various entry points, one of the closest to Tarifa being near the small town of Facinas, just a few kilometers north of Tarifa.

When my friends and I took off for the park we hopped on the daily bus to Facinas from Tarifa. There were only a few other people scattered in the bus, and we were the only ones equipped with tents and a camping stove. The rest of the people were coming back from doing their daily errands in Tarifa. When the bus stopped, the other passengers shuffled off as if they'd made the trip a million times before. We didn't know until the bus driver yelled at us from up front that it was the last stop and we'd have to get off. When we finished unloading all of our gear, everyone else had disappeared into their homes, and all we could do was stand there dumbstruck, wondering what to do next.

The town was so small that the bus barely had room to turn around before it left us in its dust. There was a mule standing in someone's front yard, staring at us as if he were wondering what we would do next. We wondered too. The bus driver had told us that the park was just down the road, but from where we stood all we could see were rows of broken-down, white-washed houses and stretches of farmland. Before we did anything, we had to get gas for the camping stove, so two of my friends headed down the main drag in search of a fuel station.

The rest of us just waited. Soon, we saw a young couple pull up in front of the house with the pet mule, so we decided to ask them what they knew about the park. They had a friend (everyone knows everyone in Facinas) who worked in the park and was an expert on the goings on there. Before we knew it, a young man wearing a brown bandana appeared in the street and began to telling us everything we need to know about the park and more. His name was Guillermo, he told us, his brown curly hair peeking out from underneath the bandana. When he found out we were American, he suddenly inundated us with a series of questions about Native Americans. That was when I noticed his T-shirt featuring a head-dressed native with an eagle flying majestically in the background. He seemed disappointed when we told him about the reality of Native American reservations, but remained adamant about his love for nature and enthusiasm for the park we were about to enter. With Guillermo's help, we now had a plan.

When the other two members of our group returned unsuccessfully from their gas mission, we got some help form Guillermo's friends, some Dutch hippies who let us make lunch at their house before getting on our way. The campground that Guillermo told us about, Camping Los Tornos, was a few kilometers down the road, so we decided to start hiking in order to get there before dark.

Los Tornos was a large campground with fire pits, picnic tables and lots of trees to shade away the afternoon heat. We didn't find out until later that evening that it also has spooky horses and a herd of cows that roam freely around the area (just imagine heading off into the bushes to relieve yourself and having your flashlight illuminate something with glowing eyes and horns).

The next day, upon Guillermo's recommendation, we hiked to the park's reservoir and went for a swim. The only other souls around were cows and horses grazing by the lakeside and a French family sunbathing on some rocks that met up with the water. We staked out our own area and spent the day relaxing. The lukewarm freshwater was a refreshing change from the wind-chilled sea we'd become accustomed to.

Guillermo dropped by the campground later that night to see if we wanted to go on a hike the following day. He was an aspiring tour guide and wanted to show us around the park that he considered to be his second home. We accepted, thinking that we were up for the adventure.

Early the next morning, he rustled us out of our tents and waited bright-eyed as we slowly got our things together and had our morning coffee. Then, we headed back toward Facinas.

The hike started out perfectly. We stopped at some prehistoric caves, spotted some hawks, learned about cork tree harvesting and I didn't even mind that my feet were soaked with manure that I'd somehow forgotten to step over. We weren't on any particular trail, but we were all confident that Guillermo knew exactly where he was taking us

When we reached the watch tower that was our turn around point, we were all exhausted. The view was spectacular from the mountaintop, and you could see all the way out to the ocean, with only windmills to obstruct your vision. After checking out the view, all we could do was eat and nap to prepare for the trip back down. We assumed that was going to be the easy part.

Guillermo was still bubbly and energetic when he roused us to begin the trek down. Everything was fine until we meandered off the beaten path, and then everyone began to get a little worried. Guillermo claimed to be taking a shortcut, but when we found ourselves leaping across streams, fighting through thorny bushes, climbing back uphill and avoiding cacti, we weren't so sure anymore. The sun was blazing hot, we had no more water and there was minimal shade. Everyone, except Guillermo, was moving slower and slower with each excruciating step. This man had to be crazy.

"We're almost there," Guillermo kept reassuring us, but at this point we didn't know what to believe. If we didn't get water soon, one of us might pass out. The hawks we had seen earlier began to look more and more like vultures circling above our heads.

Thankfully, after a couple more hours, we finally reached Facinas and refilled on water. Not long after, we thanked Guillermo for his services and hunted down the nearest corner store to stock up on food and beer to celebrate our survival. There were still those couple of kilometers to walk back to the campsite, but the trail was marked and there would be no perilous shortcuts. The park had been amazing, the views fantastic and the wildlife definitely worth the exhaustion.

If you decide to visit Parque Natural Los Alcornocales, the good news is that fending off overzealous locals will probably be the worst of your problems. Still, if I were you, I'd just stick to the trail.

Questions?
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