The journey only demands half hour until the position The Prunings, a small place located to the foot of the mountains of the cord of the Famatina. There our walk begins. It is seven in the morning and the sun collapses on the mountains, lighting the valley of an intense greenery, while the last drops of dew survive on the leaves of the bushes. In the distance, under a mantel of fog, we see appear the first towers of the cablecarril.

In scarce minutes we arrive on two rivers that intermingle tracing capricious scrabbles on the plain of a wide valley humidified by the recent rains.

The shine of the sun is reflected in the water of the Yellow river that acquires a tint color brilliant ocher when traveling the gulches and tunnels of the area, abundant in minerals. To this height, it is necessary to cross the river and, for not wetting us the pants, our guide, I Move away Pihel it improvises a "gangplank '' of colored rocks of yellow as the same river. To a side of the road, a hill of calcareous stone has changed color in the last days until taking a dark gray tone, due to the humidity of the rain.

Our walk continues for a rubble path until arriving to an extensive carpeted plain of grass, where we decide to rest a little. Reclined face up to the shade of an enormous tree of four meters, we discover two superb condors that drift with their extended wings, tracing circles in the air until becoming a tiny point in the sky. When recovering the energy we continue the walk, to the vera of the one spread of the cablecarril. On the edge of the hills we see the enormous towers of braided iron, to the style Eiffel that unite to each other for steel cables until getting lost in the bowels of the mountain.

As we ascend, the vegetation is more and more dense, and the trees of plum trees, wickers, acacias, poplars and walnuts, deck out the foot of the mountains. The landscape emanates a similar aroma to that of the orange tree, incayuyo mixture and cedrón that grow in the whole area.

At noon we interrupt the march and, to the foot of a hill, in a small plateau covered with grass, the guide deploys the lunch. Two giant and solitary chestnut trees offer us their fruits scattered on the grass. In front, on a mountain, we see the third station of the cablecarril: a hut of rusty foil with a chimney covered with soot, next to an iron tower.

After the lunch we follow the walk and, when entering in a gulch, the sun hides behind a thick mass of clouds. Next to the breeze, we have enough pleasant freshness of the rain. Sheathed in the raincoats we travel a path of ascents and lowered by the edge of the hills. To our backs we see open up a great packed valley of gigantic mountains.

Each point stops the walk to rest some minutes and to enjoy the show of the landscape: the aroma of the wet earth, the freshness of the streams with their crystalline torrents the bowels of the gulches and the humid scent that it emanates of the rain traveling. For parts, the path is not more than an escaloncito on the edge of a sharp very deep rocky slope. There, the thick foliage of the trees hardly allows that the sky is strained by some cracks, and makes shine the trunks renegridos and the gray leaves of the wicker trees.

In the high of the mountain, among a profusion of ferns, an extensive and thin thread of water hurtles to the hole in a suicidal jump