High In The Mountains hiking tours

On the other side of Montseny, near Viladrau,
we followed a route built around forgotten bridges.

Some still stand quietly in the forest,
others almost disappear into the landscape.

No signs, no crowds —
just stone, water, and time.

You pass under them, over them,
sometimes without even noticing at first.

And then you realize how long they’ve been there.

We also walked past a fortified farmhouse —
the birthplace of Serrallonga,
a bandit who once knew these paths very well.

It makes you wonder how many stories
are still hidden in places like this.

After the village, the landscape opens.

Water, rock, and space.

Rupit feels quiet when you walk through it —
but just beyond, everything starts moving.

Water falling for centuries,
paths shaped slowly through the hills,
wind passing through the valley without stopping.

Nothing here tries to hold time.

It just flows through it.

Some places feel like they exist outside of time.

Rupit is one of them.

Stone houses pressed against the rock,
narrow paths shaped by centuries,
quiet corners where nothing seems to rush.

It doesn’t feel preserved —
it feels lived in.

And maybe that’s what makes it different.

Not frozen in the past,
but simply moving at its own pace.

Sunday somewhere between La Figuera and the ridges of Montseny.

Wide views over Pla de la Calma, the peak of Tagamanent in the distance, and the deep lines of Sot d’Infern.
And along the way — an old tree, shaped slowly by wind, time, and the open sky.

A different kind of silence up here. Lighter, but just as still.

Some trees in Montseny have their own presence.

They are not just part of the landscape, they feel like characters.

Some stand tall and balanced, shaped by wind and seasons.
Others twist and bend, growing slowly over decades, adapting to the mountain.

There are not many truly old trees here. But a few have lived for centuries.

Standing near them makes you think differently about time.

A tree does not rush.
It grows slowly, season after season, storm after storm.

And perhaps that is its quiet wisdom.

Nature reminds us that strength does not come from speed, but from patience.

Somewhere in the forest near La Garriga, on the way toward Montseny.

An abandoned art object: part shelter, part dream, part memory.
Once left to weather, silence, and time, now waiting to be brought back to life by the artist’s descendants.

It felt like stepping into a place between realities.
Not quite ruin, not quite architecture, something closer to a forgotten story.

Aiguafreda.

A small path through the forest leads to Aiguafreda de Dalt — the oldest building in the village.
Stone, silence, and that quiet feeling of walking toward a place that has been here long before us.

Not just a landmark, but a trace of time.

The Avencó river, near Aiguafreda, flowing after the rain.

Soft water over stone, bare trees, muted colors — one of those places where nothing asks for attention, but everything feels right. A simple walk, a slower pace, and space to breathe.

Salt del Purgatori, near Centelles.
A quiet waterfall that comes alive after strong rains.

Water reshapes the rock, the air feels cleaner, and a small path runs right behind the falling water — inviting you to step closer and slow down, even if just for a moment.