Fire in the Hole – Mojacar and Turre kissed by flames

Sensationalism, before the big one

It seems like a lifetime since I put cyberpen to paper here in Cafe Crem, and it was my intention to write about our holidays in cadiz and Portugal. But events overtook us somewhat, in the form of news of a fire on the outskirts of Turre, which caused havoc in the mountainside village of Cabrera, when we were just days from home. If we’d seen the sensationalist headline in the local paper, we’d have been sure to head home a lot quicker. But as it was , we didn’t have to re-live it through the tabloids. On thursday afternoon, 4 pm, the whole of the Sierra Cabrera mountainside erupted into flames, spurred on by 46 degree temperatures, and rampant Saharan winds.

The Nightmare begins

We watched in horror as the fire traced a path around the edge of the village, like a Lion circling its prey, and prayed, selfishly, that the wind wouldn’t change direction. Meanwhile, below us, a command centre of sorts was established to prevent cars from returning to Mojacar, which was under threat situated at the end of the Mountain range. Mojacuerians had been evacuated mid-afternoon, being unable to breathe in the noxious black smoke that engulfed the Pueblo. they were not able to return for two days.

Meanwhile, we observed what seemed to be only 2 helicopters, operating in relay, ferrying what looked like puny bags of water to drop on the flames below. It seemed to be an impossible task, even when they were joined in the early evening by 3 planes dropping fire suppresants.  As night fell, the vista became hellish, and I felt like Dante surveying his inferno.

A drop in the ocean....

Even in the black of night, we could see clearly the delineation of the mountain ridge, silhouetted as it was by a ghastly orange glow, created by rampaging fires beyond our view. In the valley nearest to us, we held a vain hope that the fires were subsiding, but it was a cruel joke, the thick smoke veiling its deadly charms like a reluctant mistress. A gust of wind, though, and she revealed her garish display, our breath quite literally caught in our throat as we watched flames licking hungrily  sixty feet skywards, the whole mountain afire. there were a brief few minutes when I began to consider what we should pack.

Damage control on the outskirts of Turre

Worried residents, unable to return home, gather below us.

Somehow, against the odds, and perhaps  with Mother Nature’s assent, the thin red line of firefighters calmed this savage beast, and we felt we could go to bed, at around 3 am.  Two days later, we drove down to Mojacar playa, and realised at last the primary reason for the roadblock. The Turre-Mojacar road was blackened on either side, and had that night been a tunnel of fire, impassable. It had swept up to the lower slopes of the village, damaging a mercifully empty infants school and in a cruel irony, across the cemetery too. It’s a miracle the whole town didn’t become one vast one.

Kev Moore

More pictures:

Relentless....and closing

The flames march towards Mojacar