The Redes Natural Park, in the south of Asturias, weaves its landscape with greenery, water and silence. There is no one like the other because the light plays to mislead the pupils and the palette of colors becomes incomprehensible. Networks have no borders and overflow maps. A universe is contained in its 377 square kilometers of surface.
Fertile pasture land, meadows such as Brañagallones that have welcomed cattle and shepherds for dozens of centuries; waterfalls such as the Tabayón waterfall, hiking trails such as the Alba and Los Arrudos, which run between walls and beech forests. The park has been a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve since 2001. Of its total area, almost half is forest mass. But the landscape does not overwhelm, but accompanies.
Everything in Redes is water. Light and heat emerge from the water dammed in the Tanes and Rioseco reservoirs. It is full of fountains, wash houses and streams; of old mills that the current moved; of rivers, lakes and irrigations, streams and rivulets. And among the water, with it and through it, life bursting forth.
The park is crisscrossed by veins of water, which crisscross and nourish. Most of them will form the course of a sacred river, the Nalón, father of the forest, mining companion through which downstream, on the way to the sea, the barges loaded with coal circulated. But in Redes, the Nalón is almost a project among oak, chestnut and yew trees. Trees that drink from a river that rises in the sky.
In the bowels of the forest, reigning over the other species, rises the beech, a long-lived tree with soft skin and branches like embraces. The beech tree – the faya – covers the slopes of the park and in autumn turns it into a magical space, a golden and ephemeral treasure of changing tones and leaves in the wind.
When the fog falls, the forest awakens. Legends say that shy and ethereal beings emerge from the corners of the vegetation and become masters of the thicket, of a landscape that really belongs to them. They dance, play, run and laugh, but only until the cloud dissipates. They are barely visible, except to the cleanest of eyes.
In Redes the calendar sheets are dressed in color. Those who live in its valleys know the faint call of the rain and translate the imprecise tones of the sky. It is a complex art to sense the orbayu and the wind, the storm and, after it, the calm. Nature gives us clues, the flight of birds alerts us and trees speak. For the eyes worn out by so much beauty, those of the people who populate the worlds of the park, even the silences of the environment inform of the future.
Caso and Sobrescobio are the two Asturian councils that share the Redes area. Both maintain a close and friendly social ecosystem, like outstretched hands. Life in its villages is still marked by the sound of bells and cowbells, the early morning call of street vendors, the barking of dogs and the laughter of recess in the rural schools that still populate its geography. They are sounds of the soul, which bring us closer to what some call happiness.
Villages coexist with nature in good harmony. This land that smells of limestone mountains has been inhabited for millennia. A hunting and fishing paradise, a corner sheltered from dangers, generous mountains, nourishing rains… Redes is broken down into a thousand names that humanize the cartography. Tanes, Caleao, Bueres, Govezanes, Orlé or Felguerina… but the real home is in the murmurs of the water jumping, in the wind among the leaves. They say that when nature speaks to us, it is good to sharpen our ears and, for a moment, close our eyes.
There is no better route than the one that leads us to ourselves. There is a lot to choose from in Networks. The trails are marked only for the walker’s peace of mind; the rest is up to the traveler, following the course of the rivers or aiming for the top of the mountains.
And, finally, Ladines. Dazzling village: white in winter, alive in summer. Where the road ends, where man is a guest. Twenty houses, a church, a bar, a swing. A thousand good days, honey, stone, freshly baked bread. Next to everything, full of nothing. Silence, silence, silence.