Inhale, exhale... and once again
A note on exercise. We drove up the winding road to the mountain pass, La Puerta de Malagon, at about 1650m above sea level and parked. Now we had to walk up through the woods and pass the fountain to a point close to the summit at about 1750m, and then drop down the other side one hundred metres to my favourite spot. If there were no mushrooms growing on these shady slopes, there would be none anywhere else. We climbed rather cautiously, as all the time I was concentrating on whether my recently healed scar would open up. Isabel could tell I was pushing myself, but I just had to get there. Dropping down the sunny side of the high slopes we came to my habitual patch. After a 45-minute search I found nothing and Isabel found one Niscalo. The season was most definitely over, but at least I had had my mushroom forage and survived. When we got back home I felt very sore. It hadn’t been such a great idea and was not the way to convalesce but my inquisitiveness was satisfied.