To begin…

The Fanal forest perches high above the surf beaches of Madeira’s north coast. The first section of the run to its hights, follows the coast on the old road above the boulder strewn pebble beach. The road, now abandoned and pot-holed, has been superseded by new EU funded highways and tunnels. The run gives an interesting insight into life in Madeira in times gone by and how it had changed. A few kilometres to the east at Praia Ribeira da Janella the valley of the Ribiera (river) da Janella cuts deep and forest green into the central massif of the island and essentially marks the route to Fanal. The road rises in a series of egregious switch-backs up into the forest and beyond. The alternative route is to take the ancient pathways that climb brutally up the steep hillside without the respite of switchbacks.

These are the paths that the farming families of old Madeira had to traverse, produce in sacks on their backs, to get to market. Their precipitous character attests to the hard life led by these immigrant colonisers of these previously uninhabited as they struggled to make what is a land of fantastic climate into a productive human living space. This said, this is not an ancient forgotten life but rather one that was maintained until tourism came to the island after the fall of the Portuguese fascist dictator Salazar. This opened the way to EU membership with its funding for roads and other infrastructure that built the current prosperous economy. But as I say, much of the old network of paths was in use until the 1970’s or 80’s.

From here it enters the thick forests that cover the entire slopes of the island and finally to to the levada that climbs to the summit of Fanal and the ancient Laurel forest at the top. The levada system is a complex network of mini-canals that track round the contours of the islands steep slopes. Built for irrigation they are now used to make hydroelectric power as well as their original use. Beside each canal is a trail that give the rare chance to actually run through virgin forest that would otherwise be inaccessible. They have awesome views, skirt around sheer cliffs, descend into tunnels and pass beneath waterfalls. We climb dramatically to the magical laurel forest and then descend in a perilous gravity driven dance. During the descent, I get lost, risk my life and enjoy a cafe stop before returning to Porto Moniz for pizza.

Essential Preparations

It was still dark as I began my yoga and stretching routine in preparation for my run adventure to the ancient laurel forest at Fanal, Madeira. This is 35km (22miles) with an elevation of 1200m (4000ft) of steps and steeps rising to 30%+ and a 1.5km (1mile) sting in its tail. I have a tough day head.

Luckily there was enough space on one side of my bed in the small studio apartment had rented to accommodate the downward dog and other basic poses. I am not very skilled at yoga but its great for tight muscles and mobility especially in the shoulders, hips and preventing and preventing lower back problems, from which I have suffered. Its great practice for good breathing habits too.

My run vest, poles, waterproof, head torch, map, compass, watch, phone, powerbank, basic first aid kit, a sandwich, bananas, gels, bladder and flasks full, vest, cap and lovely baggy shorts and trail shoes are laid out on the bed. Have I forgotten anything? No ummm No… OK so lets go!

On the old coast road

Day was breaking as I crept as quietly as possible out of my hotel, down the steps and onto the road. It is still that time of day when colours haven’t really emerged fully and everything hangs in a pale grey torpor awaiting the day-light. I enjoy the sonorous click as each section of my excellent and beloved ‘black diamond run poles clips into the next. Running nice and easy at first, for perhaps a kilometre, following the road past the harbour with its mixture of high powered ribs, brightly painted traditional fishing boats and its brand new lifeboat station. Another benefit of EU structural funding and handy for shipping plying the central Atlantic. Madeira and the Azores archipelago form minute points of land in a giant ocean, like the brightest stars breaking through the glow of city light pollution. The path finally passes the gaping entrance to the new tunnel that has sliced a dual carriage way through the mountain to the switchbacks of Ribiera da Janella and beyond to 25 Fuentes and the South of the island.

Tracking left along the battered coast road with its crumbling tarmac and places where grass and other vegetation have taken back the road from civilisation, one wonders whether the effort required to build the tunnel was worth it given the beautiful views from here. It was, however, made for the endless coaches that bring visitors to the gem that is Porto Moniz and assisted the prosperity of the island, but it’s not for me. So they have left the original road to me and a few sunset seekers, explorers and lovers who have parked up, secreting themselves there for the night. A brief set of warm-up exercises at about a kilometre and I pick up the pace a bit. The sun rising behind me turns the almost pan flat ocean orange and red. It casts interesting shadows on the rock walls that are the product of a previous, probably altogether more challenging and manual, road excavation. The going is easy until I make the headland at Janella where the road kicks up steep through the tiny village build around a small factory that seems to have no connection to the tourist economy. Crossing a bridge the battle begins.

UP

A concrete staircase on the left indicates the start of the climb. From here the ancient narrow paths rise hundreds of metres from the coast to villages and farmsteads high in the mountains. They are often at well over 30% incline, and have a variety of pretty poor surfaces – gravel, concrete, cobbles and earth. This used to be way most people got around this island.

My run poles catch path securely. meanwhile glutes, quads and carves, are working hard to drive me up these vicious incline. Soon they are screaming for me to stop. That’s it, focus on breathing and keep going. The paths, span each level of switch-back, taking the direct route upward and crossing the switchbacks of the highway at regular intervals. In between they pass through the back alleys of tiny hamlets and farms giving glimpses of backyards complete with flowers and chickens, and precarious terraces planted with green vegetables.

I reach the village of Ribiera da Janella emerging in front of a church. The the gradient is thankfully shallower through the village. A larger path exits the village and becomes a wide track which enters the forest after about a kilometre. This is called ‘the levada’, although this a levada by name only, not by nature. It is not a trail along the side of a mini-canal as levadas proper are, but more like a green lane walled on either side. It is wide and with a reasonable incline but neglected and blocked by fallen trees. There is a better kept mountain bike path that snake through the trees above. I opt for the this although its longer and muddier but clear. After a while running through deep green and sun dappled virgin forest on this lumpy but at pretty seriously steep path, I reconnect with the wider path. For a while the vegetation changes to a low scrub and its not so steep now. Finally it opens on to the road and a steep section of tarmac that leads to the Levada de Cedros and on to Fanal. Levada de Cedros is a proper levada. It is a canal about 30cm across and 45cm deep that was cut through the forest by settlers to irrigate their terraced fields. Each has a reasonably well kept path along side but occasionally pass an open drop off protected only by a flimsy guard rail. Here there are invariably magnificent views over the forest far below. They also pass beneath refreshing waterfalls that cascade unhindered from hundreds of feet above. Later they may plunge into the pitch black of a tunnel made for the diminutive workers of yesteryear. Current adult humans risk sore heads and a head torch is compulsory kit as they can be 100s of metres long.

On the right then, I see the entrance to the levada that originates in the springs of water of Lombo do Cedro deep in the forest.  Built in the 17th century, this is today one of the oldest canals built on the island.

I stop to organise myself and move on…without my poles eek! Three hundred metres later I realise and return to find them by the side of the track phewwww. The trail is a typical levada, reputed to be one of the prettiest in Madeira. From a running point of view the path is fairly wide and rising at 3-4% and without dangerous precipices. I pick up a nice rhythm losing myself in the forest and the majestic views. Part way along way along I meet two German women with the biggest backpacks you have ever seen. We share a joke. Apparently they like luxury camping and find their packs an easy load. They cast kindly appreciative aspersions on my spindly runners pins and lack of equipment. We laugh and I move on. I have many micro-encounters like this on the trail – fun, silly and generous. Most of these groups are amongst the large number of, especially German students, crossing the island on foot. This is quite a thing now enabled by a series of free camping locations some with a shop or cafe that mark out the route. This runs from Porto Moniz to Funchal via Fanal and Pico Ruivo the highest peak on the island. To run it becomes an aspiration.

I have been in and out of the clouds for a while now. Not rain or drizzle but just water that gets in everywhere. Thankfully its warm so the shade provided by being in the cloud is a blessing. It also brings a spooky primordial ambiance to the forest.

This benign trail, however, flatters to deceive. It surely has a sting in its tail. After about an hour I was confronted by this staircase hewn from the forest and retained by wooden logs. The visible part looks OK but starting to climb the staircase goes on and on and the wood and mud steps deteriorate. Running involves leaping from wooden lip to wooden lip and ignoring the mud in the middle. Soon my legs are beginning to suffer but the climb goes on and there is still a long way to go. Quads burn and carves feel about to rip open but it still doesn’t stop. Now the only chance is to let the mind take over. I relax letting the feelings of pain be only a thought. I let them flow past me it is as if my consciousness is in my legs and feet, Somehow unconsciously my feet find solid landing safely on the next stair. I focus on the deep dank green of the forest and proceed – UP and UP and UP. In total it is about 1.5km (1mile) long. But like everything it thankfully comes to an end and soon I am on the road again and my legs can recover a bit.

I have been in and out of the clouds for a while now enjoying the spooky but ethereal atmosphere being in the clouds brings to the forest. Not rain or drizzle but just water that gets in everywhere. No nook nor cranny is dry. Thankfully its warm so the shade provided by being in the cloud is a blessing despite being soaked.

Following the road I come to the far end of the area called Fanal Forest and cut back across heathland that has replaced the tree canopy and toward the the ancient laurel forest of Fanal. Soon I come across a series of camping huts and the free camping area. The clouds have now risen for a while. Beyond this there is a fantastic viewpoint out over the valley below and down to the blue ocean. In front of me the forest and above me the curved outline of the peak of Fanal – more a very high hill than a mountain proper but non the less impressive.

Ancient forests

I am soon dropping down a narrow trail towards the famous Fanal forest. In the forest the trail winds through massive ancient Laurel trees some with trunks more than 20ft across. The forms of the trees speak of their great age. Not only their massive moss covered trunks but the complexity of the canopy with its gnarled network of branches and large dark green leaves. The place has a kind of primordial smell of dankness and perhaps as the earth would have smelt at the time of the dinosaurs. These ancient beings have grown, cracked, broken and grown back in ever more incredible shapes over centuries blown incessantly by the high winds found at these altitudes. These are the ghoulies that have blown clean across the wide Atlantic shaping the land and bringing the giant surf that pounds and sculpts the shores. Their ancient gnarliness remind me of the Yew tree groves planted many centuries ago near my home in Lancashire England.

It is raining properly as I leave the fantastic forest behind. Huge swathes of water descend in giant droplets and batter exposed parts of the body driven on the wind. As soon as they have arrived they are past. This though is also an effect of altitude and will stop as I descend. It will however be replaced by sweltering sunshine and I will be wishing for cooling rain and the shelter of cloud cover before long.

Emerging from the forest the trail follows the top of a ridge with the kind of inland drop offs that are reminiscent of the film ‘the land the time forgot’. The views are magnificent from the plunging valley to the high rocky tops of the valley’s opposite slopes. The wind is terrifying, running at an angle it is hard to stand. Unfortunately I am unable to summit the mountain as a result but at this point it hardly matters. Finally sheltered by the summit I descend, yomping, helter-skelter down a steep grassy descent whooping and hollering as my legs struggle to keep up with gravity. The path levels at last and I run into some hikers I had chatted too on the trail earlier on.

Ahead of me their is a strange chirping sound. At this distance and in the wind I have no idea what it is. I soon arrive at a large muddy pond. It is literally full, of frogs singing loudly and looking for a mate. Their mud covered bodies writhe, entwined, climbing one over the other as they shout at the tops of their voices…pick me…pick me. I stop and just stand and laugh at the strange spectacle. Nature is amazing. You never know what you’ll find on the trail.

Descending

Soon I am back on the road and decide that I’m better descending that way. It is steep and fast. I’m more than ready for a bit of help from gravity. Soon enough the trail turns to the left and, as it turns out, unwisely I take it. Just out of sight, more steps. These are in worse repair and more dangerous as a descent than a climb. The tread part barely exists and the log retainers are often rotten . The only option is to skip from log to log and hope for the best. Relax and concentrate, it will be OK. The sections where the stairway has completely broken down are better – super steep but not many rocks and surrounded by soft vegetation. I finally conquer this obstacle but the path I take disappears, becoming a dry river bed full of vines and trees and totally impassable. It is an Indiana Jones moment but I have no machete. I calculate that the road must be just above me so battle up a steep hill covered in thick scrub (oh for that machete). I have the continual worry that I might be going in entirely the wrong direction despite have checked the heading carefully. I hear a car pass with a massive sense of relief and soon I’m back on tarmac.

Pizza in Moniz

From here there begins a steep 14km tarmac switchback descent to Praia Ribeira da Janella at the coast. After several kilometres I see a traditional workman’s cafe up ahead. I stagger into the its dark cool interior under the sceptical eye of a couple of locals. Not surprising really, I must look a bit odd (see below). After a minute, they turn back to their strong black espresso like coffee called bica and ignore the strange interloper. I feel a bit uncomfortable until finally I catch an eye and a nod is reciprocated. The relief from the heat which I’ve been running in for a while is well worth it. I sit in the darkness of the interior of the cafe with a bica and an ice cream and enjoy a few minutes break before continuing down to the coast. More switchbacks follow, each brings a different perspective on the panorama below. They are just the right gradient, enough to take any effort out of running but not too steep to be demanding in any way. I am moving easily and fast with that wonderful sense of unstopability that kind of descent allows. At last back at the rocky shore there no more climbing except a steep kick-up over the headland at Janela village and then its along the road I had come along that morning. By now darkness is gathering and I am glad of my head torch. It is almost dark by the time I return to Porto Moniz. I get someone to take the traditional victory photo and go for pizza which is too big for me to eat.