Nature Along the Way: Birds and Wildlife on the Camino de San Salvador

“Eye and foot acquire in rough walking a coordination that makes one distinctly aware of where the next step will fall, even when watching land and sky.”

Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain
 

Between Earth and Sky in the Cantabrian Mountains

 

By the time we turned north from León onto the Camino de San Salvador in the spring of 2022, walking and observing nature had become inseparable parts of the way we travelled. Having hiked trails across France, Spain, Portugal and Canada, we had come to focus less on the distances of the stage or the need to complete a section as quickly as possible.  Instead, we increasingly allowed what we encountered along the way to shape the pace of our days. Birds could draw us to a stop beside a hedgerow, an unfamiliar call might keep us searching the branches above, and streams, wetlands, flowers, insects or changes in vegetation could become as memorable as the villages and landmarks through which we passed. Over time, paying attention to the natural world had simply become part of how we understood a place on foot.

 

Earlier in the spring of this year, we had come back to Spain and walked the Camino de Madrid from the centre of the capital to Sahagún before briefly reconnecting with the Camino Francés.  From there, however, the character of the pilgrimage changed completely. Rather than continuing west with the larger flow of pilgrims toward Santiago, we turned north toward Oviedo and the Cantabrian Mountains. The Camino de San Salvador would cover far fewer kilometres than many of the routes we had previously walked, but almost immediately its topography and natural wonders made it feel disproportionate to its length. It climbed out of river valleys, crossed rugged passes, followed old roads through mountain forests and repeatedly plunged into valleys only to climb out again. Within only a few days, elevation, weather and terrain would transform the landscapes around us several times.

 

Typically, many of our days on a trail give way to us stopping for birds, investigating waterways and wetlands, listening to unfamiliar calls and noticing how vegetation changed around us. The San Salvador tested those habits in a different way. Its steep climbs and descents, rocky tracks, mud, flowing water and occasional uncertainty about where the trail actually went often demanded more of our concentration. There were places where birdsong surrounded us, and wildflowers covered the hillsides, yet we had little opportunity to stop and identify what we were hearing because watching our footing mattered more.

 

Recently, we returned to our original blogs, travel journals and photographs from this journey. They do not provide anything approaching a complete record of the birds, mammals, insects or plants encountered between León and Oviedo, and we have no intention of reconstructing such a record years later. What survives is much closer to how we actually experienced the mountains: detailed observations when conditions allowed, unidentified birds when they did not, and vivid memories of rock, spring flowers, grazing animals, butterflies, rain, frost, and rapidly changing vegetation as we crossed from Castilla y León into Asturias. Yet what follows is less a species inventory than a naturalist’s account of moving through the Cantabrian Mountains on foot. On the San Salvador, nature was not simply something beside the pilgrimage that we occasionally stopped to observe. For us, the Camino’s natural world was inseparable from the physical experience of crossing it.

 

Leaving León Beside the River

 

Our departure from León began gently. Near the Parador San Marcos, one yellow arrow pointed west along the Camino Francés while another turned north toward Oviedo, and (knowing our destination) we followed the second one onto the San Salvador. A paved cycling route soon brought us to a river alternative through a green city park, where residents were already walking, cycling and jogging beneath the trees. After several days reconnecting with the busier Francés, the Camino San Salvador was a wonderful return to hiking in nature without crowds.

 

Beyond the suburbs of Leon, however, that gentleness disappeared quickly. A red dirt path climbed into dry, sandy hills above the Río Bernesga, where yellow-flowering gorse spread across the slopes and scrubby trees occupied the rocky ground. Below us, the river followed a much greener corridor through the valley while the outskirts of León gradually receded behind us. The guidebook had suggested that the stage would be relatively straightforward, but the repeated climbs and descents over rocky ground soon challenged that expectation.

 

Along one stretch, shiny holly trees arched across the path and created a cool green tunnel. Birdsong seemed to intensify inside the enclosure, and birds such as European Robins and Common Chaffinches were actively building nests among the branches. The contrast with the sunlit slopes outside was striking.  We slowed repeatedly - partly because of the climbing and partly because the landscape kept giving us reasons to look.

 

Butterflies  such as the Adonis Blue with brilliant iridescent blue wings appeared among flowering shrubs, and one sunny hollow was filled with white blossoms whose strong sweet scent carried along the trail. Bees and butterflies gathered around them in such numbers that their collective buzzing became audible before we reached the flowers. It was one of those small encounters that could easily have disappeared from memory behind the larger mountain scenery ahead. Instead, it remains one of our favourite moments on our first stage of the San Salvador Way.

 

Beyond Cabanillas, the river accompanied us again, its white rapids visible through trees while the sound of rushing water filled the shaded valley. Even the less attractive sections provided wildlife. During a road walk toward La Robla, we noticed a glossy legless animal moving beside the pavement that we think might have been a slow worm (Common Slowworm). A striking lizard appeared not long afterward, turning an otherwise unremarkable stretch of asphalt into another place where we stopped.

 

Into the Cantabrian Mountains

 

North of La Robla, the Camino led us into the mountains which soon began closing around us. The route continued beside the river, highways and railway lines while grey peaks rose increasingly steeply from the valley floor. Birdsong mixed with the sound of cowbells, and cattle grazed on slopes so steep that from below it was difficult to imagine how they maintained their footing. Human routes through the landscape had clearly followed the same constraints as everything else: river, road, railway and Camino all threaded through the available valleys.

 

Near Buiza, chestnut-coloured horses and their foals grazed beside the village. Beyond the stone houses, the road disappeared, and serious elevation began. We passed through pasture after pasture, repeatedly opening and closing pasture gates while the route climbed above the valley. With each increase in elevation, vegetation changed.  At first we walked among green meadows and delicate yellow flowers. Higher up, rocky outcrops broke through the slopes and patches of white blossoms appeared beside the trail. As the air cooled, shrubs carrying purple flowers spread across the mountainside. By the time we approached the pass, bees, beetles and butterflies were moving among them beneath great walls of grey rock.

 

The geology of the region also became increasingly dramatic as well. Striated rock faces seemed to rise almost vertically from the grass, their folded and fractured surfaces making the mountains reveal the enormous forces that had been required to push them directly from the earth.  Beyond the pass, the Camino briefly resembled an old stone road, formed from irregular slabs over which water had begun to run downhill. Scattered pines indicated another change in vegetation, and farther ahead the first snow-covered summits appeared above the ridge.

We eventually descended through taller pines and stopped in a grassy opening simply to sit and enjoy the moment. Later the route narrowed dramatically, contouring along the side of a steep slope.  Here wildflowers bordered the narrow tread. 

 

Frost, Wildflowers and Meltwater

 

The following morning brought one of the most beautiful stages of the Camino de San Salvador. We left Poladura de la Tercia beneath a clear sky while early sunlight warmed the western peaks and the eastern slopes remained in shadow. Frost covered grass in the cold hollows, while vegetation already reached by the sun carried glittering droplets of water. Spring and winter seemed to occupy the same valley.  For the first several kilometres, we climbed through green meadows completely surrounded by mountains. Amid the morning’s beauty, a cuckoo called repeatedly from somewhere below,  and cowbells sounded from animals grazing on the surrounding slope.

 

White rock broke through the green hillsides in great exposed fragments while tiny wildflowers in white, yellow, pink and purple lined the path. Broom, dense gorse and patches of purple mountain heather created broader areas of colour. As the sun climbed higher and the air warmed, bees became increasingly active until their buzzing joined the sparse mountain soundscape.  Not for the first time on a trek, I remembered that at times there are moments and landscapes that are so beautiful that they do not require a rare species to make them more memorable.

 

Crossing into Asturias

 

Crossing into Asturias brought another noticeable change. Waymarking became less frequent, and vegetation periodically closed around us. At one point we pushed through broom, tall gorse and spiky holly while trying to determine where the Camino had gone. Rows of newly planted pine striped some hillsides, evidence that these were not untouched landscapes even at high elevation, while other slopes remained open meadow.  Soon after we entered an oak forest filled with birdsong. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, and under different conditions it would have been an ideal place to stop, listen and search the branches. Instead, cattle had churned the route into a deep ribbon of mud and manure, while water flowed freely down the path. Dry leaves concealed slippery ground, ditches cut across the slope, and every step demanded attention.

 

The birds such as Whinchat, White Wagtail and Dunnock called out and flew around us, but identifying all of them ceased to be the priority. Years spent hiking on pilgrimage routes and trails have taught us that stopping often reveals what speed conceals, but long-distance walking also teaches that attention is finite. There are times when twenty minutes spent following an unfamiliar song is possible and rewarding. But there are other moments when safely crossing wet rock or finding the next marker matters more.

 

Beyond the forest, the Camino crossed a reserve and continued through steep valleys occupied by cattle and horses. Here small fieldstone huts stood beneath the mountains and fruit trees carried pink blossoms near villages. The landscapes remained magnificent, but repeated descents were followed by equally substantial climbs. Beauty and fatigue were increasingly difficult to separate – and unfortunately the more that was required of us physically the less energy we devoted to admiring the region.

 

At Pajares, the settlement clung to a steep mountainside before the Camino plunged downhill again. Water fountains became especially welcome stopping places, and runoff frequently occupied the same route we were trying to walk. By the final approach to Llanos de Somerón, the path had effectively become a rocky stream. Water ran over the stones while we climbed, and the last kilometres seemed to require more energy than was suggested by their measured distance.

 

The natural world was still there - birds calling from slopes, livestock grazing in pastures, spring flowers around villages and water running from the mountains - but our capacity to investigate it had been reduced considerably. Some stretches of this journey are remembered through complete observations and photographs of specific species.  But others are only fleetingly remembered through vibrant colours, the sound of insects and birdsong. At times both hiking and observing are not possible, and your energy needs to be entirely focused on one or the other.

 

Slow travel creates opportunities for deeper attention, but it does not turn walkers into endlessly receptive observers. Hunger, sore feet, tired legs, weather and the accumulated effort of a route shape how landscapes are perceived just as surely as season and light do.

 

Mountains in the Mist

 

The following morning showed us another version of the Cantabrians. Peaks that had stood sharply beneath blue skies disappeared into fog and low cloud. Green pastures climbed toward invisible summits while bird calls and cowbells travelled through the mist. After the clarity of the previous days, the range seemed to have withdrawn behind weather. A reminder that while nature and wonder are in the world, they are not always visible in the moment we are there.

 

Descending toward Puente de los Fierros, we crossed a fast-flowing river before immediately beginning the next steep climb. Water poured from pipes beside the path and turned portions of the trail into slick mud. Soon we entered a forest that felt almost subtropical compared with the exposed passes behind us. Young ferns covered the ground, their fiddleheads still partly furled, while ivy climbed old trunks and hung from branches.  In other areas, slender plants carrying white and purple flowers filled portions of the understory. Through openings we glimpsed green valleys and cloud-covered hills, then lost them again as the trail turned. At the crest, pasture briefly opened around us before the Camino descended through yet another saturated and lush forest.

 

The trees in this section were particularly striking. Some had enormous trunks with branches reaching almost vertically upward; meanwhile, their bark had taken on a softer texture, being covered in mosses and ivy. Meanwhile, large slugs and snails crossed the forest floor while a small Western Roe Deer grazed in a nearby field. 

 

Rivers and Green Corridors

 

As we descended from the higher mountains, rivers became increasingly important to the nature of the route. The Camino repeatedly crossed water, followed valley bottoms and moved between forested slopes and increasingly settled communities. Highways and railway lines often shared those same narrow corridors, yet the rivers continued creating ribbons of vegetation through landscapes shaped by transport and industry. 

 

At the same time, old stone walls and homes were thick with moss, and ferns grew from cracks along shaded slopes. The moisture and dense vegetation made Asturias feel dramatically greener than the open country we had crossed only days earlier.

 

The final day toward Oviedo intensified that mixture. Small roadside pastures held horses, donkeys, cattle and sheep. Vegetable gardens surrounded homes, orchards climbed the hills, and low cloud hung above treed slopes. Near Ujo we joined a paved cycling path beside the Caudal River, and despite the proximity of towns, railway and industry, the waterway gave us some of our better opportunities to watch birds, and we watched White Wagtail and Eurasian Moorhen as well as Cetti’s Warbler eat and fuss along the shoreline.

 

Farther downstream, Mieres brought us near to mines, factories, roads and urban development - each crowded into the valley. The mountains had dictated where settlement and development could occur.  It would be easy to view these highly developed regions as leaving nature – but the same vegetation filled the valleys and cities alike.  There was no clean division to be found.  In this way, the San Salvador had never followed a simple progression from city into wilderness and back again. Its natural character reflected the reality that each was shaping the other.  

 

Nature at the End of the San Salvador

 

Walking into Oviedo meant that the Camino de San Salvador at the Cathedral was at its conclusion, but we stayed for a rest day before going anywhere else. After several days of mountain terrain, that break offered a chance to explore without our backpacks on. In Campo San Francisco, mature trees shaded an urban park only a short distance from the city centre, and a small pond drew birds such as White-faced Whistling Duck, Cetti’s Warbler and Common Redstart  into an easily observed space.

 

For the first time in several days, we could simply stand still and watch without needing to reach a pass, negotiate a muddy descent or determine where the next yellow arrow had gone. The setting could hardly have been more different from the high meadows above Poladura de la Tercia. Yet the park did not feel disconnected from the nature experienced along the route. It accompanied the river leaving León, was amid the flowering hills with insects, occupied mountain pastures, persisted in wet oak forest, followed rivers through industrial valleys and remained present in a green park at the centre of Oviedo.  There was no point where the natural world ended, and the human one began.

 

A Short Camino Through Immense Landscapes

 

The Camino de San Salvador covered far fewer kilometres than many of the pilgrimages we have undertaken, yet its natural landscapes felt disproportionately large. In only a handful of days, we moved from León through pastureland, pine forests, and climbed mountain passes into Asturias. En route, we spotted birdlife, iridescent butterflies, and bees. We had admired the diversity of colours on wildflowers and the lushness of the forest ecosystems.  And we had met chestnut coloured horses, seen cattle grazing improbable slopes and heard a cuckoo calling.   We remember pushing through gorse in search of the trail, birds singing above a path churned into mud, mist erasing entire peaks and an unexpected deer grazing beside a saturated forest.

 

None of this forms a complete natural history of the Camino de San Salvador, and our observations would pretend otherwise. Many birds remained unidentified. Some wildlife appeared only briefly, while difficult terrain repeatedly prevented us from stopping to investigate what surrounded us. But that imperfect record may actually be more representative of walking than an exhaustive species list would have been.

 

On previous hikes and recently on the Camino de Madrid, our ability to stop repeatedly had become one of the defining characteristics of nature observation. The San Salvador showed another side of the same practice. There may well be plenty to wonder about, but ongoing weather, the effort required to continue on, and the trail conditions invariably shape what is seen, what can be photographed, and what can be recorded.  Paying attention to nature is therefore not always about standing still, capturing an image, or positively identifying something.  Sometimes it shifts to the changing colours in the landscape, the smell of damp vegetation, or recognizing how rain changes the trail you are on.

 

To this end, the natural world shaped this Camino physically. Elevation determined vegetation and temperature. Snowmelt redirected water across the route. Rain changed footing. Forests enclosed our view while valleys dictated where rivers, roads, railways and communities could exist. In such a landscape, nature could never be reduced to the things we happened to see beside the path.  It was too varied and too challenging for such a simple understanding.

 

Having reached Oviedo – a place where one route concludes and another begins – we were soon ready to continue on and set out on the Camino Primitivo.  Which would be another journey unto itself.

 

See you on the Way!