I don’t always hike alone, but when I do, I usually end up questioning some life decisions around dusk.
This time I was somewhere up near the ridge in the Sierra de Cazorla, a few hours into a solo loop that had started optimistic and was now drifting into that scratchy orange light where everything feels both calm and slightly off. I hadn’t seen another person since lunch. No signal. No noise. Just me, the hills, and whatever was starting to grunt just out of sight.
It wasn’t fear at first. More like that flicker your brain does when it can’t decide if a sound is an animal or something else entirely. Then came the shuffle. Low to the left. Close enough that I could hear leaves sticking to whatever was moving.
Wild boars.
Two of them. Maybe three.
They came down from the slope like short, hairy tanks. Big shoulders, thick legs, tusks. One stared. The other didn’t bother. They weren’t charging. They weren’t running. Just moving like they owned the place. And they probably did.
I knew the rules. Don’t run. Don’t stare. Don’t panic. But that stuff’s for blogs and survival checklists. In real time, all you’ve got is knees that feel weird and breath you can’t quite control.
I froze. Not because I was being smart, but because my body had apparently voted to become a statue. One of them snorted. The kind of sound that feels a bit too wet for comfort. But they didn’t come closer.
After a few long seconds they veered off, casual as anything. Like I was a rock or a bush or something not worth bothering with. Still, I didn’t move for a while. The silence after they left was louder than the moment they arrived.
There are plenty of people who ask if it’s safe to hike alone in southern Spain, especially places like Cazorla where it’s easy to feel small very quickly. And mostly, yeah—it’s fine. But fine doesn’t mean dull. And wild boars aren’t hypothetical out here. They’re just real animals doing their thing. Same as you.
Eventually I started walking again. The trail opened out into a clearing and the moon was already up, pale and full like it had clocked in early. I sat on a rock, drank the last of my water, and let my shoulders drop.
Not everything with tusks wants a fight. And not every solo hike needs to be some brave inner journey. Sometimes you’re just out there, trying to get back to your car before it gets dark, with nothing but your thoughts and a few pigs who don’t give a damn you were there.