Ons Island was a delight from first view. We sat on the open deck of the small ferry, the wind tugging my cap and blowing through my thin fleece, being serenaded by classic pop songs through the loudspeaker above the bridge.
“You come and go, you come and go o o o,” I sang, confident the wind would drown out my howling. “My era,” I laughed. “Isn’t it funny how you remember the lyrics to songs you learnt in your youth?”
“When I called you last night from Tesco,” sang S, deliberately ruining Abba’s Waterloo.
“I’ve always thought the real lyrics weird enough. I mean, how many songs begin with ‘I called you from Glasgow’?”
First view of Ons Island
The Mar de Ons ferry pulled into the pier after 45 minutes, a sore throat from me, and ear plugs being handed out to passengers for the return journey no doubt. We grabbed our daysacks, keen to get walking on this almost pristine island.
The archipelago of Ons, at the mouth of the Ria de Pontevedra, off Galicia’s west coast, is 470 hectares of international conservation importance and protected habitat; part of the Atlantic Islands National Park, an EU designated special protection area for birdlife, and a Ramsar site for important wetlands. It is also a walkers’ paradise.
“So, north or south loop first?”
“It doesn’t matter. Probably warmer to the south first thing.”
“Good point.”
There were some thirty people on board our ferry. We lost eighty percent of these at the first café, some twenty metres from the end of the pier. The rest peeled off at the first beach. From then on, with a few exceptions, we had the island trails to ourselves.
The main island of Ons is just 400 hectares with a small village, O Curro, near the docks (population less than 100 plus upwards of 80,000 tourists a year). Ons is 5.9km long and 1.3km wide with over twenty kilometres of tracks to explore. The archipelago has been inhabited since the Iron age and there were some interesting ruins to explore.
We walked along well-maintained grassy paths. Large, ocelated lizards darted in front of us or hid in the undergrowth, peeping out. At first, I only heard the scurrying noises they made as they dived into the undergrowth, the vibrations our feet made alerting them to our presence. Then S spotted one, its tail hanging out in the open as it hid head first in a bush. Once we’d seen one, there was one every few yards – more as the sun cleared the light mist, and heated the rocks and sandy ground. The males are around 30cm long with a blue head and leopard spots. The females less conspicuous. And of course my photos were dreadful!
Spot the lizard!
The flowers along our route were an eclectic mix of wild species.
Rock roses and yellow oxalis
There were rock roses, their petals like doll-sized fine china plates with bright yellow centres, vivid Heavenly Blue, and the large oxalis with their sunny yellow, daffodil-like trumpet flowers.
Smaller, fuchsia pink, oxalis seemed to choose the centre of the track; flattened against the grass, their tiny bright flowers were a pleasant surprise. The tall asphodels too preferred the centre line. Those were mown down by passing maintenance vehicles, whilst the ones at the edges were already two feet tall. Their tall stems ended in white flower spikes, each inflorescence having a brown stripe.
Asphodels along the track
At the first lookout we came across a family enjoying the view. They said hello then moved on so we could enjoy the sights.
To the south was the tiny, uninhabited island of Onza, to the east, back towards the mainland, the view was still hazy, and below us the deep blue Atlantic battered the shore.
The smaller Onza Island
All around us the same colours dominated: the navy-blue sea, paler where it crashed against the rocks with little curls of white spume; the paler cornflower blue of the sky, wisps of fair weather clouds high up.
At ground level yellow was the main colour. The almost white of the sandy beach coves around the shore, the golden gorse, and wild spring flowers, contrasting with the darker orange of the lichen, coating the grey granite rocks protruding from the undergrowth.
The backdrop to this colourful landscape was always green. Dark green pine trees at the south end of the island, grey-green eucalyptus at the north and the varying shades of green grass and shrubbery. It was beautiful.
We walked for three hours around the south side of the island and as far as the lighthouse in the centre, the highest point of the island. At a maximum elevation of 128m height at its base, this island was one of our easier walks!
The lighthouse on Ons Island
We ate our muesli bars at a stone topped table beneath tall pines, near to the only campsite on the island, and changed into shorts and (in my case) sandals for the rest of the day before continuing on the northern loop.
A little further on, a rabbit ran in front of us.
“First one I’ve seen. Plenty of droppings though.”
“He was a fat one too,” I said.
“It’s not far to the beach now. Shall we have our butties there?” I asked, glancing at the tiny map the ferry company had provided.
“Sounds a good plan,” agreed S.
The beach, when we arrived, looked like the archetypical tropical beach. The sand was fine and white. The sea curling lazily up the shore. A couple were sprawled out nearer to the entrance boardwalk, but beyond the beach was empty.
Tropical paradise
Wooden posts backed the sand, a no-entry zone to the dunes behind where plovers nested. We walked to the far end of the beach, sinking in the unusually soft sand.
“This is hard work.”
“Good for the leg muscles!”
At the end of the beach was a sheltered cove formed by a few flat stones and a low cliff. It faced south and someone had kindly created a rail at waist level. Just the right height to hang my bumbag and clothes on as I stripped.
“I’m getting hot. Think I’ll go see how warm the Atlantic is,” I said after we’d eaten our butties and read for a while.
“Are you paddling? I’ll come with you.”
We bravely walked down the beach as a bigger than usual wave hit. It curled back on the next incoming wave, increasing the latter’s power as it surged up the beach and around my knees.
“Aargh. It’s Freezing!” I gasped.
The water tried to suck me down the beach but I dug my toes in and waited for the next one. After four or five waves it didn’t feel as cold and I bent to scoop the seawater over my roasting body.
“It’s not so bad,” I said, turning to S.
“Frostbite.” He replied.
It wasn’t so bad. But no way was I swimming in there so I climbed back up to the towels. The Ons archipelago has a sub-humid Mediterranean climate with less rain than coast, but even the 26ºC we experienced that Easter Sunday didn’t heat up the icy Atlantic waves.
The photos I took that day do look tropical though, with that bright sky, white sand and clear sea.
Near the beach the flowers were bolder. A bright yellow and black African daisy romped over the headland; the not so elusive, tiny scarlet pimpernel hid in the hedge bottom. There were fruit trees – wild plums or sloes looking at the thorns. Each stunted bush seemed to have a bird flitting around within.
Stunted fruit trees
At the headland, we stopped to look at the ruined fortifications of the Castillo de Roda. During the War of Independence against the Napoleonic French, two defensive batteries started to be built on the island. These were never completed and the artillery never brought to the site but the U-shaped walls which remain made a good stopping point, and another great viewpoint.
El Castillo
We sat on a second beach, the Playa de Area dos Cans, or Dog Beach, as the sun began to dip behind the hillside – reading and waiting for our return ferry.
Perfect rocks for sitting reading on
“Better get changed I suppose. The return trip might be chilly.”
We walked along the pier to where our ferry awaited us.
Mar de Ons Ferry. Highly recommended!
We chickened out and sat indoors on the way back to Bueu as the wind was chill at 8pm but we both agreed it had been a fabulous trip.
Thank you Matthew for the suggestion!