Madeira's 3 Peak Mountain Walk from Pico do Arieiro to Pico Ruivo

A half hour drive north from the city of Funchal the beginning of the famous three peak walk awaits me. This wonderful walk across the mountain tops from Pico do Arieiro to Pico Ruivo stretches like a golden path before me. It's 9.30 am, the mountain is silent but for a few eager whispers from anticipating walkers. The blue sky melts into cotton clouds and the first rays of the sun decide to warm me. I am above the clouds. I am in Heaven.

Beyond Pico Ruivo, the final destination will reveal Achada do Teixeira. The third and last peak of my journey. The three peaks are a well known walk on the Island of Madeira. Beginning above the clouds at more than 1800m high. My boots are ready to walk. Surely it is the altitude, that is responsible for my giddiness as I begin my descent.

I climb hundreds of narrow steps; up and down. Eagerly I cling to rocks and thin railings, watching my feet with an eagles eye; as if they were separated from my body, and might just run off without me.

The hot sun blasts through my thin hat and my light back pack is becoming a burden. I feel the air grow thinner and draw it through my nose down into my throat, where it burns a little.

The heat of the sun is desperate to catch every single glimpse of my skin as I walk through the rocky overhangs, small caves and among the mountain greenery. In the distance peak after peak delight my eyes withering to a stony blue hue.

Purple summits tease my camera lenses. I find beautiful prisms of light reflecting off the rocks. The sun hangs like a burning ball of yellow fire, shimmering white gold rays creep slowly over the mountain tops.

The walk is 12 km of ascending and descending, curling and meandering on tiny paths. Paths that hundreds of years ago were walked daily by local villagers. They would visit each other's villages to trade their wears.

I am amazed at the caves they made to sleep in, and tunnels they carved through rock. I wonder at all the bare feet that have walked before me, and what they might of carried to trade.

I look through my camera lenses. The clouds like white frothy waves are drawn to the mountains. I wonder if the villagers are still here among the mountains and the sky. Their souls, protectors of their travelled paths.

I look around and can't help feeling a sadness settle on my shoulders. Then with a jolt. I realize I'm not sure who the sadness is for; those people from long ago and their determination to explore and develop themselves for the better or for me and my longing for the vastness of the world to be a little smaller and life to be a little simpler.

The hot sun follows me. The now cloudless sky over me offers no shelter. The only clouds are in the far off distance; great big balls of cotton candy, clinging to the mountainside.

Old rock tunnels loom ahead. Droplets of water trickle through the rock, landing on my face. I'm hot. The droplets are welcomely cool; I smile at the pleasing feeling.

Stepping out from one tunnel; a breeze like a warm breath kisses my skin. I stand. I look. I feel my heart beat a little faster and my legs grow a little weaker. Such beauty as this, is almost too much. I feel a tear threaten to fall. In the silence my heart beat thumps in my chest, beating against my ribcage. And I know this feeling has nothing to do with the altitude...

The summit of Pico Ruivo is a daunting climb. 5 km of steep steps spinning to the top. I look above me. I see the wooden rails of the balcony perched above and my weary legs climb and climb, yet still the balcony seems to loom above me.

I stop and take a deep breath. My lungs burn; I carry onward and upward, eager to drink in the view that lies above me. At last I reach the summit. The expanse of the mountains stretch before me in numerous emerald and rich chocolate shades. The blue expanse of the ocean moulds into the sky. White waves merge with rolling clouds. The scenery is absolutely breathtaking.

My heart tightens; I gasp for breath. I will dream of this moment; this view till the day I die. Here I am. On top of the world; my mind is floating like a cloud. Is it the altitude? Is it the steep steps? Perhaps for the first time in my life; I feel my soul buzzing. If only for a minute; I know myself inside out.

The views of the Island stretch all the way from Paul do Serra to the Valley of the Nuns. Scattered villages nestle among the rolling hills. The Island seems asleep, almost serene.

Standing on the summit with all the world below, a passing breeze lifts a strand of my hair and plays a merry dance. A perfect moment: Solitude and magnificence I will cherish for the rest of my life.

A single moment of perfection; a perfection I've never known. If I never experience it again, I will not feel cheated as the memory of a single perfect moment is a wonderful thing.