By Zak Gainey

Hiding within the mountain that sits above the sleepy town of El Chorro, Spain, sits a short but complex climbing route made up of iron rungs. They are very akin to the famous Italian Via Ferrata’s ‘Iron Path’ routes that zigzag their way across the Alps. Last summer, I escaped England and climbed this route. I have ventured along different paths across the world, but this was by far the most beautiful. The first half of the route takes you up and over an overhang, from which you can pause, dangle mid-air, and look out over the mountainous vistas, which are only broken by the occasional navy-blue lakes and patchy sepia and tan forests.

On this trip, there were three of us: the squat but jovial Spanish guide, Roman, my equally short but decidedly grumpier mother, and I, trudging down the mountain one after the other. Riding off the euphoria of the successful climb, we talked and joked as we walked. Surrounded by good company and beautiful landscapes under a scorching sun, time seemed to slow almost to a halt. Realising that we had a long hot walk ahead of us, I decided to take off my helmet - a decision which I would come to regret only a few moments later.

We walked on a rocky, gravely path with the mountain on one side and a sheer cliff, spotted with huge boulders and olive trees, on the other. As we got near the bottom, maybe 150 to 200 feet above the road that would take us to the car and the picturesque bar which sat opposite it, I fell a few paces behind, just enough to silently enjoy my surroundings without losing the group. Continuing to walk down the path I was lost in my own world, captivated by the landscape. I was so enamoured with what I saw, in fact, that I lost track of where I was stepping. My right foot landed on a loose rock and gave way below me, and I fell…

What followed is all a blur. I tried to turn into the rock face, desperately grabbing at anything I could reach - but it was pointless. The left side of my head and chest hit one of the boulders and I started to spin. The sky, lake and rocks all revolved around me. For a moment, I thought that was it. The realization that I would never see my brothers, tell my girlfriend I loved her, or play tag with my niece again dawned on me. But something inside me told me not to give up, that it wasn’t my time yet.

A single ide kept repeating in my head, “If I can just make it to one of the bushes… I’ll be fine. I just have to make it into one of the bushes”. I began to will myself into the nearest olive bush, desperately pushing my body towards it. I crashed rather spectacularly, according to my fellow climbers, into a bush about 60 feet below where I had fallen. The fall had only lasted about 20 seconds for those watching, but had somehow felt like an eternity.

The relative quiet that we had enjoyed before the fall was soon shattered by Roman shouting, “I am coming to you my amigo, do not move”. As soon as he saw me falling, he dropped his rucksack and bolted down the path to find me. I blacked out for a moment when I landed. When I regained consciousness, I was dazed, my vision was blurred and all I could see was the prison cage of branches that surrounded me. I was covered in blood and had scratches across my body. I tried to say something, to reassure him that I was okay, but I could not form any words. I just started laughing – and once I had started, I couldn’t stop. I had come the closest I had ever come to death, and my saviour had been an olive bush. It all seemed so ludicrous! I was eventually fished out of the thorny olive bush by Roman, and taken to the bar at the base of the mountain to await an ambulance.

I hate olives, but after I had cleaned myself up, I was given a full bowl by the bartender. They were huge and green and plump and oily, and I polished them off in about five minutes, savouring their tartness. They were one of the most incredible things that I had eaten, and I don’t believe that I will ever forget them.

My family visits Marbella once every two years or so, but recently we have begun to fall out of love with the area. Sitting eating those delicious morsels staring out the window at the mountain range and the lakes and forests that softened their harsh exteriors gave me a new appreciation for the place. My apathy towards the area vanished.

Appreciate your adventures and the places where your travels take you; you never know for how long you will be able to enjoy it. Oh - and keep your helmet on until you get back to the car, for concussions are unpleasant things.

ST. ART Magazine does not own the rights to any photos used in this article.