As a proud Asturian local, Zorilla’s passions extend beyond the local flora and fauna. He is obsessed with hórreos; the age-old wooden granaries we see in every sleepy village. They often have corn or beans hanging outside and are raised from the ground on pegollos (pillars or stilts) to keep out rodents and water. He keeps a flock of Xalda sheep, an endangered breed indigenous to the region, and he adores Asturian cuisine, introducing me to local scallops, fabada (rich bean stew) and cachopo (veal cutlets with ham and cheese inside).

Zorilla also has three masters degrees in conservation and a doctorate in protected natural areas. He knows every plant here, native or nasty. But above all, he is an expert on Cantabrian bears.

If you go down to the woods today

The history of Asturias is inseparable from that of the Iberian brown bear. The region was conquered by Romans in 25BC. They built aqueducts and exploited gold mines opened by the cattle-raising Celts. They also exported Cantabrian brown bears from here to the furthest reaches of the Empire for sport. A mitochondrial DNA study of Atlas bears—a now-extinct subspecies in North Africa—found much of the population in Morocco and Libya to be indistinguishable from their Spanish cousins.

“The history of Asturias is inseparable from that of the Iberian brown bear”

As Iberia was conquered by the armies of the Umayyad Caliphate, from 711 onwards, the Visigothic nobleman Pelagius held out in the Kingdom of Asturias. In 718, he defeated a Muslim army—a date which some Spaniards consider the beginning of La Reconquista (even though the final Arab Emirate wouldn’t fall to Christian forces until 1492, more than 700 years later). Pelagius was succeeded by his son Fávila, who in 739 was killed while on a routine hunting trip—by a brown bear.

The animals were widespread around the Iberian Peninsula at this time, and in the centuries that followed. They were prized as a hunting trophy—their meat was stewed, their fat used to treat wounds, and their heads were stuck on palace walls.

While bear numbers dwindled as the human population of Iberia grew, and agriculture spread, Asturias always proved hard to domesticate. Isolated from the rest of the country, rural professions which faded out elsewhere—farming, shepherding, mining—remained dominant here well into the 20th century. Even as coal from the region fuelled the rest of the country, Asturias remained reachable only by narrow, winding roads which deterred most Spaniards from visiting.

This only changed recently, with the completion of the Autopista del Cantábrico highway in 2010. Under the Franco dictatorship, environmental protection wasn’t considered a priority. The hunting of bears was legal right up to 1973, by which time there were fewer than 80 Cantabrian brown bears left.

In 1992, the Fundación Oso de Asturias (FOA) was set up to stave off the danger of extinction. After three decades of work, which included the creation of a “wildlife corridor,” to connect the populations in east and west Asturias, there are more than 300 individual brown bears in the region today. That figure will need to rise to 500 for the threat of extinction to disappear, but all signs suggest it will continue to do so.

“People shoot with cameras now, not rifles”

It also helps that poaching, common in the 1980s, is now extremely rare. “People shoot with cameras now, not rifles,” Chema Díaz, another local nature guide, tells me. He explains that it’s not uncommon to guide tours for photographers who used to be hunters. There is a local pride in bears here. Unlike wolves, they rarely bother livestock, and on the odd occasion they break into a cider orchard, the owner is financially reimbursed. The same is true for beekeepers, although bears would have to be clever to get hold of honey. Local hives are usually protected in tall, open-top stone circles called cortíns, many of which are centuries old—the architecture of a people who learned to live with nature.

A question of balance

As a visitor, there’s an obvious charm to the fact that Asturias has stuck with traditional ways of life. But it can come at a cost. In certain places, the price has been depopulation, with many young people leaving to find work in cities. “Not everyone wants to be a shepherd,” one villager tells me. It’s not a new issue.

While kayaking the Ría de Navia between high quartzite and slate walls, dotted with lilac heather and pines, we hear how locals here were forced to sell their land to Franco’s government when the river was dammed in the 1960s. This raised the water level substantially, submerging mills, and destroying people’s homes and livelihoods. One local remembers watching bears fish for salmon on shallow stretches of the Navia before the dam—behaviour which hasn’t been seen since.

These days, however, nature tourism is bringing people back to these areas. We see posters and paintings of bears in every rural coffee spot we stop at. There are fluorescent road signs alerting drivers to look out for bears crossing, there are anti-bear bins and purpose-built bear-watching viewpoints at the side of scenic valleys.

“People have realised that having a brown bear population is a great attraction for tourists,” says Zorilla. “With less work now in mining or farming or ship building, that’s important.” Traditional artisans have also worked out that ecotourism can provide a useful additional income stream.

In the quiet town of Posada de Rengos, Magdalena Alvarez Coque, the last weaver working with Xalda sheep, also runs a guesthouse. At the Mazonovo forge, home to the only active trip hammer in Spain, Friedrich Bramsteidl makes household tools and fittings for hórreos—as well as artwork for visitors. “You can feel the past here,” he says. “We still breathe that air.” The forge uses charcoal from local oaks, the river powers the trip hammer and the iron is sourced locally.
The core of Asturias, running through almost everything here, is a strong connection between people and place.

On a tree near the forge, I trace the marks of a bear claw and pluck a hair from the bark. “People from elsewhere in Spain wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t for the brown bear,” Zorilla says. “Even when they don’t see it, being in a landscape and an ecosystem which supports these animals makes people happy.”

My visit falls into that latter bracket. In the time I spend with Zorilla, we aren’t lucky enough to glimpse a brown bear. But walking through this captivating landscape, I realise it almost doesn’t matter. As we reach a high viewpoint, two buzzards circle below us, and some locals walk by with a basket of foraged mushrooms. “Humans have been living in balance with nature here for thousands of years,” says Zorilla as we stand on a large rock, above a steep drop, with layering mountains ahead. “Just think how many other people have looked out at this view.”

I do not know what moves in the trees below, but I find the thought that so much does enchanting. Even without seeing the creature we came to track, the wildness of this place, unshackled from modern trends and inseparable from its people, is wonderful. As we descend, we can see the ocean visible in the distance; the water and the sky blurring on the horizon.

Know how

Our trip

Stuart and Dave’s trip was supported by the Asturias Tourist Board. Their website offers tips on what to see, where to go, and how to book.

Getting there

Various airlines fly direct from London Gatwick and Stansted to Asturias, including British Airways, Easyjet, Ryanair and Vueling.

Horse Ride in Los Oscos

Visit Los Oscos and you can take a horse riding journey through pine beauty or native deciduous forest, taking in the superb, layering views of Asturias from the saddle. Short day trips are the norm, but multi-day rides are also possible with expert local guides, whether that be on the Camino de Santiago or from Los Oscos to Finisterre, out on the far west coast.

The Waterfalls of Villayón

Asturias is home to a plethora of remarkable waterfalls, many of which are accessible on scenic, silent trails through native forest, passing abandoned (and occasionally active) mills en route. The pick of the lot are perhaps the Oneta waterfalls and mills. Following a track down to the Oneta river, you’ll arrive at La Firbia, a 20m waterfall so powerful it generates a wild, wet and windy microclimate all by itself when in full flow. Another huge fall, Ulloa is just down the path.

This article was originally posted on Active Traveller Magazine. Go to active-traveller.com to see the original and find loads of other travel adventures.