The Angler’s Path has an unclean little secret no one alerts you about. It’s not the elevation modifications or the distance that gets you– it’s the sand. Miles and miles of deep, energy-sucking sand that turns a beautiful seaside walking into a fight of wills. But here’s the thing: those views make every trudging action worth it.
Early morning Chaos: The Excellent Passport Hunt Our Porto Covo hotel room had no airflow– no fan, windows that didn’t truly open, just a still-air patio that not did anything. My 6 AM alarm went off, we rolled out by 7, but didn’t hit the trail up until 8 due to the fact that I managed to lose my passport in my own baggage.
Used thirty minutes tearing through every pocket, every compartment, getting that special sort of travel panic where you picture yourself stuck in Portugal permanently. Found it buried in my wire bag with all my computer system cables. How it arrived? No clue. But that’s travel for you.
We ‘d scheduled a luggage transfer service– genius move for multi-day walkings where hotels shuttle bus your main bag to the next stop. My sibling had her pack all set like the experienced traveler she is. Just one catch: no electronic devices allowed transferred bags (theft danger), so my laptop computer and tablet entered into my day pack. That heavy device plus water turned my pack into a 15-pound anchor I ‘d carry for the next 20 kilometers.
Legendary Breakfast, Heavy Choices The hotel breakfast spread was absolutely stacked. Not your basic continental rubbish– appropriate prepared eggs, quality meats, fresh breads that would make a baker weep. As a vegetarian, those hams nearly broke me. Nearly.
I packed up on fresh bread, oatmeal, got some extra bread for the path (rookie move not packing more treats– everything in the area was closed when we left). My sister was already placed at the restaurant, properly fueled and prepared.
Pro suggestion: When treking the Rota Vicentina, stock up on trail snacks the night before. We learned this lesson the tough method.
The Trail Begins: Appeal Before the
Monster The very first extend of Porto Covo lulled us into false confidence. Nice coastal paths, manageable surface, dipping down into little coves, scrambling over some rocks. Basic seaside hiking things. We passed a group of 20-something Italian travelers in their 60s, all sporting gaiters on their boots.
Gaiters– those little fabric guards that keep sand out of your shoes. We ‘d see the wisdom of that equipment option very, soon.
The coastline was sensational. You round a bend, drop into a tiny inlet, climb back up to clifftops with turquoise water below so clear you could count the rocks on the bottom. An old fort appeared in the range, developed perhaps in the 13th century to protect this coast, basing on its own little island like something from a fantasy book.
Go into the Sand: Where Joy Goes to Die After that fort, everything changed. The path developed into sand. Not jam-packed beach sand you can walk on easily. Deep, loose, 4-inch sand that steals your momentum with every action. Your feet slip backwards on climbs up, slide sideways on traverses, sink deep on flats.
Two miles of this? Manageable. 4 miles? Character structure. However this went on for what felt like eternity. The spectacular views kept coming– dramatic cliffs, hidden beaches, rock formations sculpted by Atlantic storms– but the trudging turned appreciation into endurance.
We dipped inland through a pine grove where I ‘d hoped (based upon reviews) the sand would end. Nope. More sand. Plus a brand-new feature: bathroom tissue scattered along the trail where hikers had responded to nature’s call.
Here’s some path etiquette for you: pack it out or bury it appropriately. Do not leave your used paper embellishing the Portuguese coastline. It’s ill-mannered and ruins the experience for everybody behind you.
Middle: The Boardwalk Break About 10-12 kilometers in (approximately midway through this 20-kilometer phase), we hit a boardwalk near a swimming area. Both people were prepared. Viewing families roll up in automobiles, walk to the beach in their Sunday clothing while we sat there sand-blasted and exhausted– not gon na lie, I felt some kind of method about that.
We emptied what felt like half of Portugal from our shoes, drained our water bottles, and pressed on. Need to’ve loaded more treats. Ought to’ve had gaiters. Ought to’ve, might’ve, would’ve– the hiker’s lament.
The Last Push: More Sand, More Pain, More Appeal
The second half delivered more of the very same gorgeous penalty. 6 more miles that seemed like twelve. Every bend exposed another postcard view– cliffs dropping into difficult blue water, weird coastal plants you will not see anywhere else, rock developments that looked hand-carved by giants.
However likewise sand. A lot sand. Uphill sand that had you taking two steps to make one. Downhill sand that threatened to send you toppling. Side-hill sand that worked muscles you forgot you had.
The truth about the Fisherman’s Trail that Instagram doesn’t reveal you: it’s beautiful, but it’s likewise a correct grind.
Salvation at Path’s End Finally, mercifully, we found a restaurant near completion of the coastal area. Ian with his neon green glasses was already there with his other half Martha. “Hey, we know you!” Perfect path timing.
Cold Heineken never ever tasted so excellent. My sibling opted for a mixed drink. We swapped war stories with Ian and Martha– learned he’s a designer, she’s an artist, their kids are designer doing fascinating things. You actually never know who you’ll meet on the trail.
Charged but still dealing with 30-40 minutes more treking, we pressed on together, talking about everything other than the sand. Eventually rolled into Vila Nova de Milfontes around 2:30 PM– about 6.5 hours of treking including breaks.
Vila Nova de Milfontes: Healing Mode
Our accommodation, Charm in the Center, was a little Airbnb-style area with gate codes instead of keys. Modern, efficient, precisely what we needed. Bags tossed, shoes off, immediate priority: ocean swim to relieve destroyed muscles.
My sis wasn’t feeling it however occurred anyway– that’s sibling uniformity. The beach here was more protected inlet than open ocean, not as dramatic as earlier areas. I pitched in belly-deep while she declared an area at a beachside bar. The cold Atlantic worked its magic on my legs while she began on the olives and cocktails.
Supper Hunt: Third Time’s the Appeal Post-shower, the dining establishment hunt began. Found a vegetarian location online– closed. 2nd option– also closed. Welcome to small-town Portugal on shoulder season.
Finally stumbled onto a spot called Tension Free (ideal name after our day). Strong supper– pasta for me, turkey and rice for my sibling, bottle of outstanding Portuguese white that would’ve expense triple back home.
Met an older German female at the next table who had actually hiked the exact same route. We bonded instantly over the sand scenario. Two guys behind us who ‘d passed us in the last mile signed up with the discussion. The sand had actually distressed all of us similarly. Absolutely nothing builds path friendship like shared suffering.
Nightcap at the Shark Bar Ended the night at Blue Azul, this strange shark-themed bar with a mannequin’s arm hanging from a shark’s mouth on the ceiling. Portugal’s seaside towns don’t do subtle when it pertains to ocean themes.
One nightcap, fast chat with the bartender, then back to crash at the hotel. Tomorrow would bring Day 3 of the Rota Vicentina, and we required every hour of sleep we might get.
The Reality Examine Porto Covo to Vila Nova de Milfontes: About 20 kilometers (12.4 miles) of spectacular coastline and character-building sand. Start early (we left at 8 AM, arrived around 2:30 PM with breaks). Pack extra treats. Think about gaiters seriously.
The sand will test you, but those clifftop views and hidden beaches make this one of the most incredible areas of Portugal’s Angler’s Trail. Simply do not state no one alerted you about the sand.
Preparation this walking? The travel luggage transfer service deserves every euro. Simply keep in mind: no electronic devices in moved bags, and your day pack gets heavy fast when it’s carrying your whole digital life.
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