Hike to the Green Cauldron

...avoiding a place called Hell's cauldron, 1.5 km.further. As you will notice if you read on, the walk was not without its hellish components.

On arrival in Funchal, I'd booked a walk along the levada no. 9, from Queimadas in the forest to Caldeirao Verde, the Green Cauldron. It hadn't been my first choice, but it was what was available. H chose not to go because she doesn't like tunnels, and there were four of them.  I'm not sure which part of me chose to ignore the description in the guidebook: "the levada pushes through some impossible Territory, clinging to the sides of vertical rock faces...". This was after I'd strained the tendons in my left foot on the very first day! Goodness knows how. I've done it before, though. For some reason it usually happens in September.

There were around fifteen on my tour, and all but me were German-speaking, but the guide was good enough to keep explaining things to me in English. We started at a delightful forest park, and walked briskly along a red earth section with lots of tree roots: looking down is a requirement. Photo opportunities are rare. There were two gorges with bridges and beautiful wild flowers, then a very long section with a very narrow pathway where we had to walk in single file, with the levada (watercourse in a concrete channel) and mountain on one side, and a sheer drop on the other side, with only a thin wire barrier which, as the guide had warned us, offered little protection against falls. I thought I had a good head for heights, but I found it hard to look down the valley-side. Am I finally beginning to realise my limitations?

Madeira now has mass tourism all year round, and this means that the levada walks operate on a conveyor belt system. One has to keep going. There are tour groups in front and behind. There are, on this walk, parties coming thr other way almost constantly. There's a safety rule about leaning into the rock face, straddling the levada, to let others pass. One false move and you've had it.

This became clear as we rounded a bend somewhere after the first tunnel, and saw a party waiting anxiously, leaning against the rockface. On the cliff-side, a small person had slipped through the wire, and and lay perfectly still a few feet down. Something had broken her fall.

We couldn't speak to each other, because of the challenging terrain, and the language barrier, so we carried on walking, through the three tunnels, and eventually to a dry river bed strewn with vast boulders. From there we were told to go up to the green cauldron, a pretty looking pool formed by waterfalls crashing down  the mountainside, and take photos before returning to the rocks for our picnic lunches.Everyone needed a rest, and most wanted a few shots or selfies.

The guide told me I could go back alone, but I opted to go with a German couple, just in case. My left foot was hurting, despite the paracetamol and pain relieving gel. My right knee was  beginning to ache, too. As we approached the scene of the earlier accident, there was a long hold-up. Finally the way cleared, and a group of smiling paramedics or mountain rescue people dressed in red uniforms greeted us genially, as if nothing had happened. There was no sign of the girl, nor stretchers nor ropes nor other rescue paraphernalia. We were all visibly shaken.

By this time I'd made friends with a hardy bunch of female hikers from Lancashire, who walk together regularly and go abroad on a hiking holiday once a year. They all had walking poles, but were considerably older than me. I mrtally took my hat off to them.

Around five hours and 13 km after we'd set off on the trail, we were back at the starting point. The thatched-cottage cafe was doing a roaring trade in coffee and enormous slices of cheesecake (this is another food that I just don't get, but it seems to be massive here in Madeira). The drive back took about an hour, and I was surprised to find it was warm and sunny in Funchal. We'd had cool and cloudy conditions all day in the mountains.

The first thing I did on my return was to ask reception to cancel my mega-hike for the following day! I knew my foot wouldn't tolerate another day of 10 or more km of hiking, and the sight of the accident, coupled with the hours of walking along a narrow ledge with a vertiginous drop, had shaken me.

My travel companion, H, is nervous, so I didn't mention the accident, just that the day had been a bit of a relentless route- march. I didnt want her to cancel her Tuesday trip too, as she had booked a half-day levada walk.

We went out for dinner, and I had a bath to try to relax my aching muscles. As I tried to drop off to sleep later, my mind kept leading me along a narrow ledge skirting  a deep green ravine...