In our minds we were 3 young dynamic explorers, striding out over Montaña Guaza, 428 metres above Los Cristianos, but to others we probably looked like we were making the Tenerife version of Last Of The Summer Wine. Myself (The Lemming), Chris (The General) and Gordon (The Moron) set off from the eastern edge of Los Cristianos at 10am armed with knapsacks, water, sturdy trainers, and our wits – oh dear. Montaña Guaza rises up above Playa de Callao and climbs steadily as it winds it’s way inland, reaching it’s peak overhanging my complex.

 Although not that high, Guaza can be a tricky little devil, I have done it twice before, but not for 2 years. Taking the tight twisting pathway from ground level, we soon started to feel the pull on our muscles, and the power of the near 30 degree sun, but already Los Cristianos was falling away below us, revealing a new outlook on the port, beaches and the Atlantic beyond. Once up on a more level plateau, we could see the terracing and stone walls dating back to early farming on the mountain, old concrete channels showed where irrigation helped the crops to grow in the heat.

This route is normally very popular, but we only saw one other person all walk, that was an elderley man who worryingly easily skipped past us and soon became a blob in the distance. There are several rough tracks, used in the past for transport, but we knew we wanted to head upward to the peak, where the aerials and antenna mingle to ensure mobiles get good signals and the Brits get their regular doses of Corrie and Eastenders.

Looking out along the coast, we could make out Palm Mar and the candy striped lighthouse of Rasca, made from stone quarried on the mountain. Across the Atlantic we could also see the churning white wakes of the ferries as they headed over to the nearby islands of La Gomera and La Palma, they seemed like toy boats from up on high, though I doubt they would fit in my bath. A few birds wheeled overhead, too fast to tell if they were Chiff Chaffs, Collared Doves, or Trumpeter Finches, all native to this mountain.

In need of shade and a rest, we pushed ourselves up the steep climb to the small compound at the peak, where a workman was fine tuning the aerials and antenna. We briefly admired the views over Guaza and up the motorway to Las Chafiras and the airport, on the way to Santa Cruz. Montaña Roja, the sturdy red mountain that greets arrivals at the airport, stood proud in the near distance, and a faint haze hung in the air. A quick sandwich break soon attracted a small army of playful lizards that scurried over the stones to fight for the biggest crumbs from our sandwiches.

Suitably refreshed, we headed down and back the way we came, it seemed quicker but we did manage to take a wrong turn and have to amend our ways in mid flow. You can’t go too far wrong in Tenerife, and with the sea stretching out below, we knew which way to head and were soon back on track. The steep path near the bottom took on new challenges as we went down,shifting sand and stone kept our minds agile – well as agile as they will ever be. After just over 3 and a half hours, we were safely back at ground level, all hot and sweaty, but pleased with ourselves and ready for a cold drink. No doubt the leg muscles will let us know later how they enjoyed the work out, but for now, I have my eyes on the next route march.