Although we didn't celebrate New Year's Eve last night, today the day decided to celebrate us with a slow and lazy morning. We woke up late, without guilt and without rushing, like when the body dictates and the mountain silently agrees. We did the usual routine, the one I like because everything is in its place and nothing surprises, and we went out a little after midday, when the sun had already decided where to stay.

The car took us to Navalperal de Tormes. I was attentive, with my ears perked up, because those weren't normal streets. They were really narrow, the kind that seem designed for patient donkeys and not for campers with broad shoulders. The camper just about squeezed through, and that's not an exaggeration. I held my breath, even though it didn't do any good, while Edu drove with care and concentration. In the end, we parked in a car park next to the Puente del Tormes, and there we both breathed at the same time.

It started to rain a little, or snow, as you never quite know in Gredos. We put on our raincoats, including me in my doggy version of "I'm prepared even if I'm not thrilled," and went for a walk along the Garganta de Gredos. At first, the path was a Roman road, the kind that weighs down your paws and makes you think that many others, centuries ago, passed through there with the same doubts and less Gore-Tex.

Then the road turned into a sandy path, more friendly, wider, and without us realising it, it began to narrow until it became a real trail. The rain stopped, the sky opened up a bit, and the walk started to get really interesting. More interesting than we expected, which is saying something.

The trail is called the Senda de las Cinco Lagunas (Five Lakes Trail). I can't count to five, but I can measure enthusiasm. We knew we wouldn't reach the end, because it's about four and a half hours one way, and with the days as short as they are now, we wouldn't have time even if I walked with a turbocharger. Even so, the plan wasn't to arrive, but to walk, which is a very human and very doggy thing at the same time.

Along the way, mountain goats began to appear. Not one or two. Dozens. Gredos mountain goats, which are not just any goats. They are big, strong, with horns that look like they were drawn by someone with a lot of imagination and little fear of excess. They are perfectly adapted to these mountains, with hooves that grip the rock as if they had invisible suction cups, and an ability to move across impossible slopes that makes me very envious.

The Gredos mountain goat is a very characteristic subspecies. The males can weigh more than 90 kilos and have those huge, arched horns, while the females are smaller and more agile. They live in groups, move calmly, and observe a lot before deciding if something interests them or not. And spoiler: I didn't interest them at all.

At first, I barked at them. It was a sincere bark, I'm not going to deny it. They looked at me with a face that said "this little one doesn't know where he is." Edu told me not to, with that voice that doesn't admit debate, and I, who know when it's convenient to be polite, behaved myself. From then on, the walk was much more civilised, and the goats continued with their lives, crossing the trail, climbing impossible rocks or looking at us from above, like someone watching a slow but entertaining series.

The landscape changed all the time. There were grassy plains that invited you to run, strange trees that seemed to be taken from an old book, large rocks rounded by time, and always, below, accompanying us, the river. That river that sounds, that sets the rhythm, that reminds you that you are walking in a living place.

We walked almost seven kilometres, which is not bad at all for a winter afternoon. Then we turned around and went back the same way. We saw the same goats, or others very similar, because you never know with these things. They were still there, calm, as if time was a suggestion and not a rule.

Around five in the afternoon we went back to the car. I went straight to my spot, with that feeling of tired legs but a happy head. Edu started the car, began to look at the map, and the silent debate of always opened up. There were two options to continue south, because we had to go around the massif no matter what. We had already passed the east twice, so it was time to try the west.

The car advanced between towns and quiet roads. We passed through Barco de Ávila, then through Béjar, and then a short stretch of the A-66, which seems very strange to me, because it goes very straight and very fast, as if it was in a hurry to get nowhere.

We went out towards Baños de Montemayor, where there is an abandoned train station. The train no longer passes there; the tracks disappeared, but the route is still alive as a Green Way. And in front of the station there is a large and quiet picnic area, perfect for stretching your legs and taking a deep breath.

We arrived just with the last light of the day. The sky was beginning to fade when we parked, and shortly afterwards two other camper vans arrived. The place was quiet, with wide views, and the A-66 was very far away, on the other side of the valley, like a distant murmur that doesn't bother.

We stayed here to sleep. We ate and had dinner in the camper, with just enough heating and that comfortable silence that comes when the day has been long and good. I curled up in my spot, Edu ended the day calmly, and the mountain, out there, continues with its thing.