Vilanova de Sau

The bell-tower rises from the reservoir like a broken exclamation mark. Some summers it stands two storeys clear of the water; after wet winters only the pyramidal roof shows, a stone shark fin that makes boaters circle for photographs. Either way, the 11th-century church of Sant Romà is Vilanova de Sau’s timepiece: the lower the reservoir, the louder the drought rumours in the village bar.

At 558 m above sea level, the hamlet itself sits six kilometres back from the shore, anchored to a ridge that separates the Guilleries massif from the plain of Vic. Stone farmhouses, still called masias by their owners, cluster round a slender church and a single grocery that doubles as the post office. Population 320, plus dogs and the occasional red squirrel that raids the walnut trees behind the football pitch. Weekday mornings smell of firewood and wet grass; evenings smell of grilled botifarra drifting from Can Morilla’s kitchen.

The reservoir that nicked a village

Engineers finished the Sau dam in 1962, flooding the original valley and with it the medieval settlement of Sant Romà. Compensation arrived in the form of electricity, irrigation water and, decades later, a trickle of kayakers who preferred silence to the Costa Brava’s jet-ski circuses. Today the water stretches 8 km between pine-dark slopes, its level fluctuating by more than 20 m. A small yellow graph on the Catalan water-authority website dictates tourist plans: under 30 % capacity and the whole church skeleton emerges, complete with font and fragmentary frescoes; above 70 % and only the bell-tower keeps watch.

Access is by car only. From the C-25 motorway you climb the C-153 for 19 km of switchbacks, then drop sharply to the Embarcador pontoon where Kayak Sau keeps its plastic fleet. British guides Marc and Isabel (both speak perfect English) meet pre-booked clients because, as they admit, “Sat-nav sends everyone to the wrong side of the lake.” A half-day paddle costs €35, including buoyancy aid and dry-bag for phones—signal disappears within 200 m of shore. The water is cool even in July; take their neoprene tops if you feel the chill.

There is no sand. You step off metal ladders straight into green water that deepens to 80 m over the old village square. Bring rubber shoes; the margins are stony and the odd submerged oak branch still surfaces after storms. Circumnavigating the tower takes ten minutes of steady paddling; longer if you stop to wonder how the priest felt watching the water rise past his nave.

Walking above the waterline

Back in the uplands, a lattice of farm tracks and charcoal-makers’ paths links scattered masias. The most straightforward circuit leaves the church gate, descends 300 m through holm-oak and scree, then contours along the Cingles del Tavertet—a 3 km limestone parapet that gives Grand-Canyon-style views without the coach parks. Vultures ride thermals below your boots; the reservoir glints like polished pewter 400 m beneath. Allow three hours, carry water, and start early: afternoon sun ricochets off white rock and can push temperatures above 35 °C before the breeze arrives.

Winter is quieter but feasible. Snow lies two days a year on average; when it comes, the Vic–Vilanova road is gritted by nine o’clock and locals swap cars for quad bikes. Walking boots suffice—crampons are overkill—yet you will share the trails only with hunters in olive-green anoraks and their equally serious dogs. The bell-tower photograph works best now: low water, crisp air, no kayaks photobombing the ruins.

Where to eat and when to panic about dinner

Evening choice is limited to two bars and a weekend-only restaurant. Can Morilla serves the weekday menú del día at €14: three courses, bread, wine and coffee. Expect roast chicken or river trout, chips fried in olive oil, and a pudding that tastes of custard and Catalan childhood. Service starts at 13.30 sharp; arrive at 15.00 and the kitchen is closing. El Pont, down by the dam, keeps longer hours but only six tables—book before noon. Vegetarians can usually be fitted in with escalivada (smoky aubergine and peppers) and pa amb tomàquet, though you will still pay the full meat price. Several places refuse cards; cash is king and the nearest ATM is 12 km away in Tavèrnoles.

Supplies: the village grocery opens 09.00–13.00, 17.00–20.00, stocks UHT milk, local sausages and ice-cream that doubles as breakfast if the bakery is shut. Bread arrives from Vic at 11.00; by 11.30 it is gone.

Seasons and crowds

Spanish school groups descend at weekends for paddle-class, filling the pontoons with fluorescent life-jackets and teenage decibels. Mid-week stays are calmer; Tuesday afternoon you may get a whole inlet to yourself and hear only the plock-plock of water against plastic. Spring brings wild irises along the shore and the smell of damp pine; autumn is mushroom territory—rovellons (saffron milk-caps) appear after the first October rains and locals guard their spots like state secrets. August is hot, often 38 °C by the roadside, but the water stays swimmable and night temperatures drop to 20 °C thanks to the altitude.

If photography is your excuse, aim for late August after a dry spring. Check the Sau reservoir level first—anything under 35 % and you can frame the full church portal reflected in ankle-deep pools. Sunrise is kinder than sunset: the cliffs block evening light early, whereas dawn paints the bell-tower gold for twenty perfect minutes.

Leaving without promising to return

Vilanova de Sau will not entertain you after 22.00. The last beer is served, the village square empties, and the only sound is the grumble of a Fiat Panda climbing towards the ridge. That is both the charm and the warning: come prepared, fill the tank, bring cash, download maps. Do this and you can paddle above a drowned village, walk limestone balconies, eat trout that was swimming yesterday and be back in Barcelona for lunch next day—if you really must.