Durante la semana, las lluvias y el frío habían ocupado los días. Por las mañanas amanecía el cielo cubierto con un tono gris oscuro. Los chubascos se repartían durante la jornada y las olas aparecían dispersas a lo largo de la costa. Los servicios meteorológicos predecían buen tiempo a partir del sábado. La próxima semana llegaría cargada de olas.

El viernes por la tarde el cielo se despejó totalmente. El viento acompañó la jornada y al final del día una línea anaranjada se posó sobre el lejano horizonte. Después de charlar con unos amigos, nos acercamos a la playa de Valdearenas; para contemplar el atardecer y ver el estado del mar. Por la carretera que cruza el Pinar de las Dunas de Liencres, el viento avanzaba entre los árboles. El movimiento de las ramas y sus hojas producía un sonido melódico y natural que daba calidez al viaje. La conversación dentro del vehículo se centraba en el mar, las olas y las auto-caravanas que otros días habían ocupado el aparcamiento, que da acceso a la playa. Una brisa ligera atravesaba el interior del coche, animando la conversación. La última cuesta antes de llegar ocultó parte del paisaje. En dirección contraria venía una furgoneta. Por el cristal, de una ventanilla trasera, asomaba parte de una tabla de surf y el resto del equipaje, saltando al compás que marcaban los baches de la carretera. La curiosidad nos acompañó hasta que Llegamos al aparcamiento.

Las olas golpeaban contra las rocas de la entrada. Llegaban en una serie larga y reposada. Con un metro de altura aproximadamente, describían trazados limpios y medianos a lo ancho del mar. La contemplación de aquella imagen fue acompañada por un lúdico silencio, donde cada uno observó sus preferencias. Entre exclamaciones y comentarios salimos del coche. Varios surfers disfrutaban en el agua de los últimos trazados. A la derecha, otro colega, recogía su equipo. Un par de decenas de furgonetas ocupaban lugares alejados en el parking. La música sonaba distante en una de ellas. Sobre su maletero, levantado, colgaban trajes de surf. Parecía que el buen momento de olas se había adelantado. Descalzo sobre la arena, fui caminando paralelo a la orilla. Los otros jugaban con una pelota de tenis, a medida que avanzaban. La arena gruesa de Liencres sostenía cada paso, almohadillando el camino. Es en esta playa donde los granos de arena tienen un tamaño que revela su origen. Restos de conchas y caparazones troceados, juntos con otras partículas, se pueden ver al coger un puñado con la mano. Sobre el arenal corría el viento que llegaba del oleaje.

A dos horas de la pleamar, las olas tomaron cuerpo. Salpicaban su recorrido sobre la superficie y a distintos niveles de profundidad. Tras la curva inicial, la playa se extendía hasta el final, para encontrarse con la Ría de Mogro. En aquel punto las ondas se desmoronaban zozobradas por el agua que entraba y salía de la ría. Era una zona no practicable, sólo útil para el paseo y la distracción. Comentábamos la fuerza de las corrientes en esta playa, y la violencia que llevaba la mar en la zona de la desembocadura. A trescientos metros del comienzo nos sentamos sobre la arena con las piernas cruzadas. El olor a mar cargaba cada respiración. Grupos de personas venían de vuelta de la punta. Haciendo ejercicio, con la mascota, o simplemente de paseo. A pesar de la hora, la pequeña algarabía, recordaba lejano el bullicio de la ciudad, que se perdía en el olvido con cada pisada.

Sentados debajo de las dunas, divisábamos toda la playa. Tres picos de olas había en el mar. Al fondo aparecían otras zonas donde nacían olas. Sobre la mitad de la playa, a ciento cincuenta metros de la orilla, llegaba con regularidad una serie de olas de un tamaño algo mayor. Abriendo a izquierdas, desplazaba un rizo similar a la caída de fichas de domino. El espectáculo relajante hacia pensar en los viajes y maniobras sobre aquellas masas de agua. Recostados sobre la base de las dunas, hablábamos de otros momentos de surf en la zona. La noche se acercaba ya. Antes de volver, subimos a la cima de la duna, para ampliar la panorámica. Las vistas, ya oscurecidas, mostraban las siluetas lejanas de los islotes que salpican esta parte de la costa cántabra.

Regresamos al coche, haciendo planes para madrugar al día siguiente. Alternativas, horas, materiales, y demás temas se discutían y entrelazaban en el camino de regreso a la ciudad. Al llegar, fijamos un horario y nos despedimos hasta el día siguiente.

Moments of Liencres. Friday

During the week, the rains and the cold had occupied the days. In the mornings, at dawn, the sky was covered with a dark gray tone. The storms were happening during the day and the waves were dispersed along the coast. The meteorological services were predicting good weather from Saturday. Next week would come loaded of waves.

On Friday evening the sky cleared totally. The wind accompanied the journey and at the end of the day an orange line settled on the distant horizon. After chatting with a few friends, we approach Valdearenas’s beach; to contemplate the late afternoon and to see the condition of the sea. For the road that crosses the Pinegrove of Liencres’s Dunes, the wind was advancing between the trees. The movement of the branches and its leaves was producing a melodic and natural sound that was giving warmth to the trip. The conversation, inside the vehicle, was about the sea, the waves and the auto-caravans that other days had occupied the parking which leads to the beach. A light breeze that crossed inside the car, was encouraging the conversation. The last slope before coming concealed part of the landscape. In the opposite direction a van was coming. Through the crystal, of a back window, a part of a surfboard and the rest of the baggage, were jumping to the peace that the pot-holes of the road were marking. The curiosity accompanied us until We Come to the parking.

The waves were throbbing against the rocks of the entry. They were coming in a long and quiet series. With a meter of height approximately, them were describing clean and medium tracings widthways of the sea. The contemplation of that image was accompanied by a playful silence, where each one observed his preferences. Between exclamations and comments we go out of the car. Several surfers were enjoying in the water of the last tracings. To the right, another colleague, was gathering his equipment. A couple of dozens of vans were occupying distant places in the parking. The music was sounding far away in one of them. On its back porter, raised, wetsuits were hanging. It seemed that the good moment of waves had already arrived. I took off my shoes on the sand, I was walking parallel to the shore. The others, were playing with a ball of tennis, as they were advancing. The thick sand of Liencres was supporting every step, fluffing the way. It is in this beach where the grains of sand have a size that reveals its origin. Rests of shells into pieces, with other particles, can be appreciated; taking a handful with the hand. Over the sand, the wind that was coming from the surge.

Two hours before the high tide, the waves took shape. Them were splashing its tour on the surface and to different levels of depth. After the initial curve, the beach was spreading until the end, to meet with the Rivermouth of Mogro. In that point the waves were crumbling overturned by the water that was entering and going out of the outlet. It is a not useful zone, only useful for the walk and the distraction. We were commenting on the force of the currents in this beach, and the violence that was taking the sea in the zone of the rivermouth. Three hundred meters from the entry, we sat down on the sand with the crossed legs. The smell of sea was loading every breathing. Groups of persons were coming back from the end of the beach. They were doing exercise, with their pets, or just taking a walk. In spite of the hour, the small gabble reminded distantly the hustle of the city, which was getting lost in the oblivion with every trodden of them.

We sat under the dunes, we contemplate the whole beach. There were three beaks of waves in the sea. In other zones were appearing areas with new waves. On the half of the beach; to hundred fifty meters of the shore, it was coming regularly a series of waves of a slightly bigger size. Opening to left side, it was displacing a curl similar to the fall of cards of dominoes. The relaxing spectacle made us thinking about the trips and maneuvers about those masses of water. We leaned on the base of the dunes and spoke about other moments of surf in the zone. The night was already approaching. Before returning, we rise to the top of the dune, to extend the panoramic one. The landscape, already got dark, was showing the distant silhouettes of the islands that splash this part of the Cantabrian coast.

We returned to the car, thinking plans to get up early the following day. Alternatives, hours, materials, and other topics were be discussed and interlaced in the way on returning to the city. On having come, we fixed a schedule and said goodbye until the next day.