Leaving Chora Sfakion by car, going past Anopoli, you come to the old abandoned village of Aradena where the road crosses the Marmara gorge on a rickety bridge. It is incredibly scenic, especially if you have a soft spot for ruins. The gorge is deep, deeper than any other I have hiked, and it’s also the one that I have felt most dubious about taking on. The guidebook describes it as difficult, poorly maintained and absolutely off limits in times of rain because of the risk of rock falls. It hasn’t rained lately, but given that nearby Samaria is still closed for that very reason, I’m hesitating, but as I’ve run out of options I figure I’ll give it a go.
It starts well enough, with a well-kept path leading through the ruins and into the gorge, and once on the bottom of the gorge it’s easy going at first. It’s early, and I’m being serenaded by a morning chorus of birds that make their nests in the walls. This gorge has walls much steeper than the others, too, which reflects in the fauna: it’s quite sparse, the red rock mostly bare save for stunted shrubs, and – surprisingly – big spruces on the bottom in the wider areas. It looks like what I imagine Grand Canyon does.
It’s also different in that this gorge drops in steps rather than a continuous descent, so at first the path is almost flat, and very pleasant walking, but when I reach the first fall I quickly realize this won’t be easy: the blazons are hard to find, the path overgrown and difficult to distinguish from goat tracks, and I repeatedly find myself losing my way.
The second drop is described as the most difficult. I take a wrong turn and find myself facing a long slope of gravel and loose rock that ends in a sheer drop down to a boulder. I know I have to reach that boulder, as there is an iron ladder bolted to it, so I gather I have to slide on my bum, gripping whatever outcrops I can to slow my descent. Far above me a kid bleats forlornly. If I were the least bit superstitious I’d be inclined to think it was trying to warn me off. Once I’ve committed there will be no turning back, but I can’t see any alternative, so down I go, surfing on this wave of pebbles. I manage to steer to the side in time to avoid the cliffhanger ending, but I would be lying if I didn’t say so was shaking afterwards. The ladders, although ten meters long, bent and unstable, are a piece of cake in comparison.
Not pictured: shaky author.
The next drop is little better. I find myself unable to trace the trail, and end up navigating as best I can over the enormous boulders – the only way is down, right? – something which goes reasonably well until I end up having to climb down as far as I can between two of them, and then drop a good meter onto unknown ground. As my backpack has a tendency to get stuck in places I consider throwing it down first, so as to avoid an unorthodox hanging, but in the end I decide against it, figuring it will cushion any hit I might take to my back. I do my best Spider-Man impression, and come away clean, adrenaline gushing, only to see the actual trail come into view again.
After this it gets easier, and since there is a distinctly Western feel to this place I begin to amuse myself by naming the different areas in the best tradition of dime novels. So I managed Calamity Falls and Drop Dead Drop only to come onto Droopy Pine Flats (where the trees on the slopes, having seemingly realised their mistake, grow first down the slope, and then straight up as they join their more fortunate brethren), and so on.
One memorable encounter is the reason why Crocodile Canyon got its name, for there, right in the middle of the dry river bed lies a prehistoric monster. Goodness knows who has assembled it, but it’s an impressing piece of artwork, a full six meters long, all made out of interestingly shaped pieces of wood and rocks. My eyes fall on a likely-looking stone, and I add my own final touch to the masterpiece: the skull at the beast’s snout. Pleased with myself, I stroll on.
The expanding and contracting nature of the gorge makes it feel like a birth canal, every contraction painful, followed by an intermission of relative ease. Finally I am reborn, as both the gorge and I spill out into the ocean.
I’ve been carrying food supplies and water as there was no indication that either would be on offer, but here, perched on a hillock next to the small pebble beach is a cafeteria, and so I sit there and have second breakfast on the terrace, their only guest. It is beautiful.
The way back is infinitely easier, if not easy. The sun has risen and is beating down on me for most of the return journey, but at least now I can find the way. Time and again I see where I should have walked on the way down, and I don’t stray from the path even once, even though I am tempted to do so when I see a cave on high that I missed coming down.
The ancient Minoans buried their dead in caves such as these – there’s even a “gorge of the dead” at the easternmost tip of the island – and I am dying to climb up there to explore, but given what the terrain looks like, and the fact that I’ve just heard the gun crack report of rocks tumbling down the steep incline, I reluctantly decide against it. Regardless of what might be inside the cave I don’t want to give anyone a reason to rename this gorge, and so with heavy heart I let my tomb raiding dreams remain just that: dreams.
Funnily, I don’t see the croc on the way back. I assume it has slithered back into its lair, and waste no time chasing after it. Instead I head back up the ravine, dusty and thirsty, but ever so pleased with my adventures. There are some other hikers coming down the gorge now; I marvel at how ill equipped they are, and wonder how they will fare. And then suddenly I hear thunder up ahead, and realize I’m passing underneath the bridge at the same time as a car is crossing it. I climb back out, and that was it. The only thing that remains is to have my lunch of yogurt and honey and a slab of sheep cheese in the shade of one of the ruined old houses overlooking the canyon, before starting back on the road to Chania, and finally fly home. I didn’t get to do Samaria gorge, but all the other hikes were spectacular, too. The friendliness of the people, the beauty of Crete in spring and the grandeur of the gorges all leave me feeling very happy. This truly is the good life.