Caso

The sheep grid at 1,100 m gives the first clue. Cross it and the tarmac narrows to a single lane that corkscrews upwards until the dashboard thermometer drops six degrees in ten minutes. Below lies the council of Caso, a splatter of stone hamlets across the upper Nalón valley where the daily weather forecast is delivered by the direction of wood-smoke, not an app.

Most visitors race straight to the Picos de Europa further west. That omission leaves Caso refreshingly free of coach queues and souvenir snow-globes. What you get instead is working mountain country: 1,500 souls, more cows than cars, and a landscape that rewrites its own contours every time the sun breaks cloud.

High Pastures and Stone Clocks

Head for Brañagallones. The name is misleading – it isn’t a village, it’s a summer pasture scattered with stone huts whose roofs are still thatched with broom and rye straw. The track from the nearest tarmacked road adds eight kilometres of gravel but rewards walkers with a natural amphitheatre of beech and ash. Allow half a day: the ascent is steady rather than brutal, yet the path turns to slick clay after the slightest shower. Waterproof boots are non-negotiable even in July.

Back at valley level, the capital—El Campu to locals—offers little more than a single high street, a bakery that sells out of bread by 11 a.m., and a chemist doubling as the post office. That is precisely the point. Caso was never built for grand tours; it was built so farmers could walk to their plots and back before dusk. Admire the seventeenth-century granaries raised on staddle stones to keep rats out, then stock up on chorizo from the fridge at the Cooperative dairy. A one-kilo horseshoe of Casín cheese, the council’s DOP-protected pride, costs around €22 and keeps for a month in a cool car boot.

Weather that Writes the Itinerary

The Atlantic arrives every afternoon, flings itself against the Cordillera and produces cloud so fast you can watch it forming. Mornings therefore belong to the hiker. Two straightforward options start within fifteen minutes of El Campu. The Rio Piles gorge trail (5 km, 180 m ascent) follows an old miners’ path past otter pools and ends at a waterfall that freezes solid in January. For something stiffer, the Bosque de la Resinera circuit climbs 500 m through sweet-chestnut coppice once tapped for turpentine; the eight-kilometre loop delivers wide views over the Puerto de Tarna without demanding a full mountain kit list.

If the sky clams shut, switch to road mode and drive the AS-227 up to the Tarna pass. The surface is smooth but single-lane; every kilometre gains 60 m and loses a phone-bar. At the summit, 1,377 m, the Cantabrian ridge drops away into León and the only sound is the wind rattling the ski-lift pylons of an abandoned resort. Pull off at the lay-by signed “Mirador de Tarna”—a picnic table, no selfie-stick sellers—and you’ll understand why Redes was declared a Biosphere Reserve in 2001.

What to Eat When the Fire’s Lit

Asturians claim fabada bean stew tastes better at altitude; Caso gives you the chance to test the theory. The dish arrives as a clay cazuela the size of a cereal bowl: white beans, morcilla, chorizo, pancetta, nothing else. Vegetarian? Ask for fabes con verduras; most kitchens oblige if you phone before noon. Casín cheese is another matter—tangy, buttery, edging towards farmhouse Cheddar strength. Locals crumble it over roasted apples or simply eat slabs with chestnut honey. Either way, order a cider; the pour is theatrical, the resultant flat, tart liquid washes down grease perfectly.

Evenings are short. By nine the streets are dark and the loudest noise is the slop of cattle troughs being filled for the night. The single late-opening bar doubles as the village betting shop: two plasma screens, one devoted to La Liga, the other to greyhound racing in Manchester. Nobody minds if you ask for una cerveza sin alcohol; they’ll even fish out a chilled glass.

Beds, Boots and Fuel

Accommodation clusters in three price bands. Budget: the Redes youth hostel on the edge of El Campu (€22 dorm, €55 double with shared bath). Mid-range: Tierra del Agua, an eco-lodge built into the hillside south of town. British families like its infinity pool facing south-west into total darkness—no light pollution, so the Milky Way arrives in HD. Half-board is €85; they’ll grill plain fish for children who threaten mutiny at the sight of black pudding. Top end: Casa Vieja del Sastre, a restored 1850s manor in the hamlet of Baxuel. Think slate roofs, under-floor heating, and Labradors asleep in the hallway. Dinner must be booked 24 hours ahead; the set menu runs to five courses plus cheese and costs €38.

Fill the tank before you leave Oviedo—Caso’s only petrol station closes at 18:00 and doesn’t open Sundays. A compact car is vital; the final 20 km from the A-64 are solid switchbacks where meeting a hay lorry means reversing 200 m to the nearest passing bay. Sat-nav systems panic when the valley walls close in; download the free Redes map from the Spanish Tourist Board while you still have Wi-Fi.

When to Go, When to Stay Away

Spring delivers emerald pastures and calves on wobbly legs, but also the muddiest footpaths; allow until mid-May for tracks to firm up. Early autumn—mid-September to mid-October—offers settled weather, beech woods turning copper, and the Feria del Queso Casín where producers hand out thumbnail samples sharp enough to make your tongue tingle. Summer is reliable for long days, yet afternoon storms build fast over the ridge; start walking by 08:30 and be below the tree-line before 15:00. Winter is spectacular, empty and potentially lethal. Snow can fall any time from November; the Tarna road gets gritted but side valleys ice over. Chains or 4×4 are obligatory, and several guesthouses simply shut.

Bank holidays turn the place briefly frantic. The Fiesta del Pastor, last weekend in August, hauls livestock into El Campu for shearing demos and cheese-rolling races. Accommodation triples in price and the only bar runs out of beer by Saturday lunch. Book a year ahead, or time your visit for the following Tuesday when silence reclaims the valley.

The Catch

Caso demands effort. Distances that look finger-tip close on the map unravel into hair-pin time-warps. Mobile signal is patchy, contactless payment is still regarded with suspicion, and if you arrive after 21:30 without having eaten you will go hungry. Accept those terms and the payoff is an Asturian corner where the twenty-first century feels like an optional extra rather than a guarantee. Pack waterproofs, patience and a sense of scale; the mountains will supply the rest.