As we gained height, the world behind us expanded: white villages scattered across the lava fields, the rugged land stretching toward the horizon, and the Atlantic shimmering in a deep winter blue. Even from afar, the sea looked alive, shifting and glittering as if it were breathing.
Near the summit, we spotted an unexpected guardian. A hawk perched calmly on the telecommunication tower, surveying the landscape with quiet authority. It barely moved, as if it had seen countless hikers pass below and decided we were harmless enough to ignore. For a moment, it felt like St. Nicholas had sent us a feathered blessing.
Soon the trail carried us into the dramatic realm of the grietas — long volcanic cracks carved by ancient eruptions. Walking between those towering walls of ash and rock felt like stepping into the island’s geological memory. Every layer revealed a different chapter of Lanzarote’s fiery past.