The Rock

It's time for another retrospective post from my Kodak-era photo albums. Gibraltar was one of those slightly quirky bucket list destinations I set out to visit while backpacking in Europe in 1990. My friend Dean and I squeezed in a quick overnight stop on the way to Morocco. We caught an early morning train from Ronda, a spectacular town in southern Spain, to the Mediterranean coast, on Saturday, 6 October. We then transferred to a local bus for La Linea de la Concepcion, a bustling town on the border between Spain and Gibraltar.

The bus terminated at an interchange located less than 500 metres from the border. It took us barely six minutes to walk to border control.  The duty officer gave our passports a cursory flick through before stamping them. For the first time in my life, I’d stepped onto British soil. Decades later it’s all too easy to forget that the same crossing had only reopened five years earlier after being sealed by Spain for decades. Locals we encountered still talked about living without an open border.

From the border, we walked two rather sweaty kilometres into Gibraltar’s central business district via Winston Churchill Avenue. The main road into town is rather unique. A couple of hundred metres beyond the border, it crosses the main runway at Gibraltar Airport. The runway is unavoidable. It extends the full width of a narrow isthmus linking The Rock and the Spanish mainland.

Temporary boom gates block the road whenever a plane is scheduled to land or depart. I recall standing in the middle of the runway, weighed down by our backpacks, with a white painted centre line extending in either direction. Ahead of us, the Rock rose in a dramatic silhouette along the airport boundary. It was an extraordinary experience, made all the more surreal after waiting at the boom gate for a plane to depart.

As an aside, the runway crossing is now closed to road traffic. A tunnel linking the border and the rest of the territory was open in 2023. The 350 metre tunnel passes under the runway’s eastern threshold. It took 14 years to construct thanks to a protracted dispute between the territory government and the private contractor appointed to build it. Pedestrians, cyclists, and mobility scooters can still cross the runway when it is safe to do so.

Dean and I booked ourselves into a rather spartan youth hostel in the centre of town and then set about exploring The Rock. Our first destination was the summit, or thereabouts. We walked there by tracing a narrow road zig-zagging its way up the Rock’s rugged and rocky western slope towards the Douglas Lookout. As we neared the top, we followed a walking track up the final slope, weaving our way through building-sized granite boulders. What happened next was one of the most enduring, indelible and visceral travel moments in my life.

As we rounded a final boulder, a breathtaking panorama of the entire Mediterranean coast came into view. Immediately ahead the Rock’s eastern flank dropping steeply into the sea. As we stood stunned by the unexpected view, the wind hit us full force. In an instant, we’d gone from a calm, nondescript trek to one that stimulated every sense. Nothing could have prepared us for the sudden sensory overload. 

Perhaps one of the more intriguing aspects of this view was the rainwater catchment area. The Rock’s eastern flank features a massive sloping sand dune. For centuries, the prevailing winds have deposited layers of airborne sand along its base. Beginning in 1903, the locals progressively cleared the steep and sandy slope, covering it with a timber frame capped by corrugated iron sheets. This massive platform, covering nearly 250,000 sqm, collected rainwater and channelled it through a tunnel to reservoirs on the Rock’s west side.

Despite its dramatic appearance, the catchment was never very effective in supplying the territory with fresh water. In 1991, just months after I visited Gibraltar, the system was abandoned, and desalination plants began supplying all the territory’s fresh water. I count myself lucky to have seen it while still in operation. 

The image above was sourced from Wikipedia. It neatly captures this unique structure from ground level. If memory serves me well, Dean and I never made it this far around the base of the Rock. It would be another 18 years before Garry and I finally witnessed it first hand. I’m hoping that at some point I’ll find my own stash of old photos taken in Gibraltar. That is, a collection of forgotten images that never made it into the photo album I’ve kept for 35 years.

From Douglas Path, Dean and I traced the Rock’s spine along Signal Station Road. It was here that we were encountered the bold and brash Barbary macaques living on the Rock. These creatures, originally from North Africa, have lived here for centuries. Local legend has it that for as long as Gibraltar Barbary macaques exist on Gibraltar, the territory will remain under British rule. 

Later in the afternoon, we toured the Great Siege Tunnels that weave their way through the northern face of the Rock. These are a series of tunnels carved by the military through solid rock high above the surrounding area. The complex included numerous caverns equipped with cast iron cannons pointed towards the Spanish mainland. These days a spectacular view across the airport and along the Mediterranean coast is the main attraction.

The following morning, Dean and I crossed back over the border and made our way to the Spanish port of Algeciras. Our next destination was Morocco, where I took my first steps on the African continent.

I've illustrated this retrospective post using a combination of images taken in 1990 and during a return visit I made with Garry in October 2008.

Wind-swept Gibraltar

One of my most enduring travel memories is the moment I rounded a large stone boulder near the crest of the Rock of Gibraltar, almost 18 years ago. We suddenly felt the wind on our faces as a stunning, cliff-top vista came into view. The contrast between a calm, silent, verdant mountain slope on one side and a bleak, sheer cliff face battered by howling winds was utterly unexpected.

On Saturday, the wind conspired to create yet another stark memory of Gibraltar. Hours earlier, the southern coast of Spain had been battered by force 8 gale winds sweeping through the straits of Gibraltar. The weather caused considerable damage. Harbour breakwaters were destroyed, homes damaged, and several ships wrecked. Dramatic pictures were even published worldwide of a large Liberian-registered cargo ship resting on the rocks of Europa Point, Gibraltar's southernmost tip.

The storm drama as captured by Reuters

Garry and I were oblivious to all of this drama when we rose at 4.15am on Saturday morning for our early morning flight from Gatwick. We even checked online before we left the house to confirm that our flight was on time. It was. However, shortly after reaching our departure gate, we were told that the flight would be diverted to Malaga, 90 minutes north of Gibraltar.

An almost text-book budget airline experience then began to unfold. First, we endured a rough, turbulent flight before finally reaching Spain. Then, airside coach chaos, long immigration queues and transfer bus nightmares meant that we eventually reached our Gibraltar hotel four hours later than scheduled. Garry was absolutely livid. I'd simply resigned myself to letting events unfold as it was clear the weather had won the day.

The main road as it crosses the runway

As we drove down the coast in our transfer bus, I was fascinated by the dramatic surging storm waves sweeping in from the Mediterranean Sea. I'd never seen such massive waves in the Mediterranean. It was abundantly clear that the region had been seriously battered. However, in Gibraltar itself, while the surrounding seas were rough, the weather was warm with nothing more sinister than high-level haze.


About 4pm on Saturday, we found ourselves outside a bar, the spitting image of a classic English pub, ordering a late lunch of English fish and chips. Perhaps our weekend could be salvaged? Given the hazy conditions, we decided to fill the remaining daylight hours with a 90-minute "official rock tour" offered by local taxi drivers.


These are great value. Our driver took us through the back streets of the town and up into the Upper Rock Nature Reserve enclosing the top half of the Rock. Here we explored St Michael's Cave, an amazing natural grotto carved into the Rock's limestone interior by seeping rainwater. We wandered through a magic scene of dramatically lit stalactites and stalagmites. One of the cave's largest caverns has even been converted into a concert chamber complete with tiered seating and an expansive stage. We're told the acoustics are sublime.


Our next stop was the Ape's Den, a shelter on the crest of the rock where Gibraltar's famous Barbary Monkeys live. While not native to the Rock, these animals have lived here now for more than two centuries. Currently, more than 60 apes living in five family groups inhabit the area. Tradition has it that the British will leave this territory for good when the last monkey does.


Our last stop on the tour was the Great Siege Tunnels. These were excavated during the siege of 1779-83. More than 300 metres of tunnels were carved by hand along the rock's sheer north face to provide a deadly line of heavy artillery. Today, the same gun emplacements offer stunning views across the airport and white-sand beaches of the Costa del Sol.


Sunday dawned with spectacular blue sky and clear views of the horizon. Our hotel room included a complimentary buffet breakfast, hosted in a rooftop restaurant. As we dined, we enjoyed wonderful views across the Bay of Gibraltar and the Strait itself. You can see the view of the Strait above.


After checking out, we rode the local cable car to the top of the Rock. The views were magnificent. I was reminded once again of the breathtaking experience etched on my mind 18 years earlier. The majestic Rif Mountains of Morocco could be seen less than 20 kilometres away, while dozens and dozens of ships were anchored throughout the area.


Our next stop was Europa Point. We were keen to see the weekend's shipwreck for ourselves. However, police patrols prevented us from getting close and we were left with little more than a fleeting glimpse from our bus as it circled a nearby roundabout. You can just see its mast jutting above the cliff face in the photo above.


To console ourselves, we made our way to Catalan Bay, a picturesque village on the eastern coast of Gibraltar. The village offers impressive views of the Rock's sheer cliffs from sea level. The view skyward is almost as dramatic as the opposing view from the summit. It was here we also heard the locals talking about the drama of Friday's storm and the subsequent damage they'd encountered. They described it as the most intense storm in more than a decade. Our diverted flight was clearly a minor inconvenience.


A prehistoric dune also dominates the area. It once housed an enormous corrugated iron collection system for harvesting rainwater, the territory's only water supply. Today, only a small portion remains as large desalination plants provide all of the area's potable water needs. While walking along the lonely coastal road, we stumbled across a gated tunnel that could be seen passing right through the rock itself. We later learned that the rock is riddled with more than 70 kms of man-made tunnels.


However, the most enigmatic structure we visited was the Moorish Castle. This is a rugged stone fortress built in 1333 by Muslim invaders. It sits above the main town, bearing silent witness to centuries of war and invasion. Its walls are pockmarked by craters, the scars of cannonball bombardment hundreds of years ago.

Despite the nerve-shattering start to the weekend, Gibraltar was a refreshing break. It brought back wonderful memories and left us with a few more. Where else in the world can you enjoy a hearty meal of English Fish & Chips, paid for in euros, with the mountains of Africa as your backdrop?