Herrera de Soria

The only traffic jam in Herrera de Soria happens when the village shepherd guides his thirty-odd sheep across the single-lane road at 08:30 sharp. Eleven permanent residents, one bar and a church the size of a London bookmaker’s—this is the settlement that British hikers use as a launch pad for the Cañón del Río Lobos, a five-minute drive north.

Stone, pine and altitude

At 1 094 m the air is thinner than anything most UK visitors have breathed since their last ski trip. The houses are built for it: walls of honey-coloured stone, timber balconies wide enough to stack a winter’s worth of logs, and roofs pitched to shrug off snow that can arrive as early as Hallowe’en. Summer mornings are deliciously cool—by 11 a.m. you’ll still want a fleece—but July afternoons can touch 32 °C, and the surrounding pine woods give little shade on the exposed canyon rim. Come too late in the year and the forest tracks turn to ochre soup; arrive too early and night-time frost can catch the unwary camper.

There is no centre, merely a slight widening where the road allows two cars to pass. Park by the stone cross; everything lies within a three-minute radius. The Iglesia de San Juan Bautista keeps its doors unlocked—step inside for a blast of cool incense and 18th-century frescoes that would be headline news in a bigger town. Outside, the only sound is the wind combing through the resinous pines.

Walking without way-markers

Herrera’s best asset is what it hasn’t got: entry gates, car parks, souvenir kiosks or colour-coded routes. Paths simply peel off the tarmac and disappear into the forest. Head south-east on the gravel track signed “Ermita de San Juan” and within twenty minutes you’re alone on a ridge that drops 400 m to the Lobos gorge. Griffon vultures cruise at eye level; when one banks, the white flash under its wing catches the sun like a mirror.

If you prefer a circuit, continue along the rim for 6 km until a sheepfold, then drop left on a stony bridleway that re-enters the village from the west. The whole loop takes two and a half hours, requires no technical skill and delivers only two short sections of loose scree—boots with a vibram sole are plenty. Mobile coverage is patchy; download the free IGN Spain map before leaving the UK and pin your route offline.

Mushroom hunters descend in October after the first storms; boletus and níscalos appear within metres of the track edges. Spanish regulations allow 3 kg per person per day—carry a small kitchen scale and a paper bag, not plastic, or the forestry police will fine you on the spot.

Where to sleep, eat and fill the tank

There is no hotel in Herrera itself. The nearest beds are at Hotel Rural Enclave Soria, five kilometres south in Herreros. British couples reviewing on TripAdvisor praise the thick stone walls (“better than air-con”), the honesty bar and the night sky—“Orion so bright you can see the nebula with cheap binoculars”. Doubles from €85 including breakfast; they’ll pack a bocadillo if you ask the night before.

Back in Herrera, Bar de la Escuela (the old primary school) opens at 09:00 for coffee and tostada, re-opens at 19:30 for cold beer. The menu is deliberately short: tortilla del día, toasted ham-and-cheese, or a plate of local cheese with quince paste—nothing costs more than €7. If you need diesel, bread or cash, San Leonardo de Yagüe lies 11 km south on the SO-920; fill up there because the pumps close at 20:00 sharp.

A fiesta that doubles the population

For fifty-one weekends a year silence reigns. Then, around the nearest Saturday to 24 August, cars with Madrid plates appear and the head-count swells to ninety. The fiesta begins with a mesa campestre: long tables under the pines, paper plates of roast suckling pig and rivers of tinto de verano that costs €1.50 a plastic cup. At 23:00 the village battery-powered speakers are wheeled out for a playlist that jumps from Spanish 80s pop to Dua Lipa; dancing lasts until the generator fuel runs out. If you crave uninterrupted star-gazing, book elsewhere for that night—if you enjoy seeing how a micro-community celebrates survival, you’ll be welcomed like an extra cousin.

When to come, and when to stay away

Late May and early June deliver 22 °C afternoons, wild roses along the paths and orchids in the meadow below the church. September repeats the trick with added red squirrel activity as they raid the pine cones. Winter has its own austere appeal—snow photographs beautifully on the stone roofs—but the SO-920 is not a priority road and can stay white for days. Unless you carry chains and have experience driving on compacted snow, wait for the thaw.

August is the paradox: skies are cobalt, yet the gorge traps heat and the nearest shade may be a 40-minute walk. British hikers used to Cornwall’s breezy cliffs sometimes underestimate the sun; carry two litres of water per person on any route longer than an hour.

The honesty of empty Spain

Herrera de Soria will never tick the “tick-box” traveller’s list. There is no gift shop, no interpretive centre, no sunset viewpoint with a steel railing. What you get instead is the sound of your own footsteps echoing off granite, the smell of pine resin heating up at dawn, and a bar where the owner remembers how you take your coffee after one visit. If that feels too quiet, stay in Soria city. But if you’ve ever complained that the Lake District is becoming a theme park, book the hire car, stock up on petrol and come while the shepherd still has right of way.