Trail Running Mulhacén: Up Spain’s Highest via the Poqueira Gorge

We weren’t meant to be here.

Mulhacén had been on the maybe list. The someday list. The “one day when we’ve trained enough, when the weather’s right, when we’ve recovered from whatever mountain chewed us up last week” list.

But then a cancellation popped up at Refugio Poqueira. Just one night. Just enough. The forecast cleared. And suddenly we were stuffing gaiters into our packs and booking a last-minute bus to Capileira, both grinning like we’d won something.

This isn’t one of those manicured climbs. There’s no tourist train, no cable car bailout halfway up. Just you, the gorge, and the constant hiss of water in the canyon below. And, of course, gravity. A lot of it.

The Climb to Refugio Poqueira

The first day was only meant to be a warm-up. From Capileira to Refugio Poqueira—8ish kilometres, maybe 900 metres of gain. It was runnable in parts, sure, but with packs and altitude we kept slipping into that fast-hike rhythm. Every time we picked up speed, the gorge demanded a photo stop.

You pass through this ghost village first—La Cebadilla—stone houses gutted by time. Then the path tightens. You’re in it: the Barranco de Poqueira, walls rising either side, snow melt gurgling beneath rickety bridges. It smells like rock and goat and alpine thyme.

The final switchbacks are lungy. The trail loses patience and just sort of tips upward. We arrived at the Refugio with legs buzzing, slightly sun-punched, and grinning like children. It’s perched at 2,500 metres, and the cold beer they served tasted like the best decision we’ve ever made.

Inside: bunk rooms, fleece blankets, quiet headlamps, trail runners whispering over maps. There was a German couple training for the Eiger Ultra, and a Catalan woman who swore by the east ridge up Veleta. We shared lentils and tried not to look at the summit. It was waiting.

Summit Day: Running to the Sky

We left in silence. No music. Just the sound of gaiters brushing scrub and ice chinking from our water bottles.

The climb starts gradual—rolling, even. You feel good. You think, “Maybe this isn’t so bad.” And then the final 500 vertical meters arrive and punch you in the lungs.

It’s not technical, just relentless. The trail disappears into scree. You’re high enough now to feel everything twice: heartbeat, breath, doubt.

And then the ridge flattens. And you’re up. 3,479 meters. The highest point on the Iberian Peninsula. Wind slapping your face. Sierra Nevada sprawling in all directions. The Mediterranean in the far-off haze. Morocco, maybe. Hard to say. We didn’t talk. Just stared. Just let the thin air fill us up.

We stayed longer than we’d planned. Because how often do you stand at the roof of a country?

The Descent: Bones and Bliss

Running down Mulhacén is like trying to descend a pile of angry marbles. You either lean in and go or you spend the next hour on your ass.

We opted for the go. Knees be damned.

Back to the Refugio in a blink. Refilled water. Said goodbye to our bunkmates. Then the long glide back through the gorge—down, down, back into oxygen and goat bells and Capileira’s cobbled streets.

We ate tortilla with our fingers at a bar that didn’t care we were caked in dust. Ordered Fanta lemon and beer, both. Sat in silence again.

Would We Do It Again?

Absolutely.

But maybe next time we’d start from Trevélez, just to mix it up. Or stay two nights at the Refugio and loop out to Laguna Hondera. Or push for Alcazaba too.

Mulhacén isn’t glamorous. It’s not engineered. There’s no marketing. Just altitude, solitude, and a lot of ground to cover. And that’s what makes it magic.

⛰️ Related Adventures You Might Like:

• If you’re into big verticals with sunburnt descents, check out our Top 10 Mountains for Trail Running in Alicante.
• Love scenery and some very sharp rocks?? take a peak at our Hoces de Cabriel post.

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