Walking the Pirate Route from Las Negras to Cala de San Pedro

After our first rather lazy day of settling in and adjusting to the increase in sunlight, we were eager to get our walking boots on and start our adventure in the wilds of the Cabo de Gata. Fuelled by several cups of Paqui’s excellent strong black coffee with a few aniseed scented tortas de aceite, we set off down the hill, stopping to stock up with water, dried figs and roasted marcona almonds at the tiny supermarket on the way.

Today’s walk would take us along part of the ruta de los piratas, to a tiny cove accessible only on foot or by sea. This remote cove, Cala de San Pedro, has the only fresh water spring along the whole coast which made it an ideal refuge for sailors. But this scarce resource and the difficulty of access also made it a perfect hideaway for pirates, so much so that the authorities tried to counter this by stationing coastguards there in the early 1500s, building a watchtower to house the men and protect the spring. Despite this, it was a several hundred years before people felt safe enough to live here, such was the brutal reputation of the pirates, a few hardy souls eventually forming a small farming and fishing settlement in the 18th century. The difficulty in access meant that the community was tiny and today, the cove is home a small community of hippies giving it a very unique atmosphere. 

Starting the walk from the beach at Las Negras we came across a group of women carving blocks of local stone into sensuously curved shapes, in an idyllic setting overlooking the sea. They chipped away quietly in the sun, absorbed in their dusty work. Leaving them behind, we followed the route along a hedge of bamboo and prickly pear cactus towards the distinctive black ‘face’ of the headland, said to be the origin for the name of Las Negras (this face shaped cliff became a feature of our later walks and we looked out for it as a route marker when further along the coast). 

The walk notes (impressively detailed, thanks to Inntravel) told us to take the course of a dry river bed before turning up hill, the incline steep and rocky but the path wide, circling away from the coast heading inland briefly then twisting sharply back to a route along the cliff top. Behind the headlands of the coast, the weather seemed to change by the minute, windy on some corners then dramatically threatening dark skies before back into perfect sunshine. The path, now a narrow strip across the boulders and rocks, disappeared and then re-emerged, as it wound it way up and down, hugging the cliffs. With nervous glances below to glistening azure waters before quickly checking where best to place our next steps we scrambled over the rocks, one section seemed impossible to cross, loose stones above and below but with a ‘don’t look down’ reassurance we held our breath and continued onwards.

The cove of San Pedro tantalized with its nearness, a half moon of pebbles and sand, the water calm and turquoise with two anchored sailing boats, could they be pirates? The final tumble of track disappeared steeply down into an oasis of palms and trees casting welcome shade, a refuge from the bright light of the sun. Here, we found the spring of fresh water, decorated with mysterious sculptures indicating life and a hand painted sign in many languages asking visitors to respect nature. The path split into several tracks leading this way and that, some ending in makeshift homes amongst the rocks. We explored several ways down, careful not to intrude on people’s lives.

Towering above the beach are the remains of the watchtower built in 1583, its stone blocks riddled with erosion from coastal winds. It must have been a lonely existence for the 3 men stationed here, keeping a watchful eye out for Barbary pirates. Now the ruins look a lot more peaceful, its only inhabitants a group of cats basking in the sun, listening to Bob Marley humming from one of the shacks below, a skull and crossbones flag catching the wind hinting of the past.

Here and there amongst the trees bordering the beach we stumbled across rudimentary kitchens set amongst the plants and rocks, coffee pots perched amongst the cacti. It was hard not to conjure up images from Alex Garland’s The Beach as a clanging bell rang a warning to indicate the arrival of boat, I almost expected to find Tilda Swinton holding a discussion about us as the new arrivals. This is a community who had tuned in and dropped out and it was all to easy to feel temptation to join in.

You fish, swim, eat, laze around, and everyone's so friendly. It's such simple stuff, but... If I could stop the world and restart life, put the clock back, I think I'd restart it like this. For everyone.

Alex Garland, The Beach

An older Spanish walker who had followed us down the cliff face disrobed without a care and stepped into the sea for a swim. We found a spot to sit under some rocks and stopped to take a rest, snack on figs and drink in the peaceful surrounds before climbing back up the cliffs. A tanned young man appeared out of nowhere with a small dog, ‘welcome to San Pedro’ he said warmly in fluent English before disappearing again. His dog lingered a little longer in hope of a fig.

Returning up the cliffs was easier as we knew the route but harder in the heat of the day. We opted to take a slightly different way back, as suggested in Inntravel’s notes, walking through a field of olive trees, past a ruined farm and then edging across several small valleys before dropping back into the dry river bed from where we had started, turning before the beach to take the road back into Las Negras. Here, we practically fell into Bar Arena*, suddenly hungry after our days walk. When the dish we had chosen was not available we let the waiter suggest an alternative, trying to decipher the rapidly spoken Spanish. A few minutes later, two plates of chorizo and morcilla a la plancha, accompanied by fried eggs, potatoes and large raw tomatoes arrived with more ice cold beer. A rather scraggy looking cat ambled over to watch us eat, eyeing the chorizo hungrily. It was a perfect late lunch.

Heading back to base in Hotel Bitácora, we stopped again at the supermarket and picked up some supplies to eat later, too lazy to consider walking back in the evening. Tortilla, olives, jamon and manchego plus a cheap bottle of cava to savour whilst watching the sunset from the terrace and plan the next day’s walk to Rodalquilar, further south and the next stop in our adventure in the Cabo de Gata.

*Bar Arena, Calle Bahía de las Negras, 29, 04116 Las Negras, Almería, Spain