I usually write about trail running. That’s my thing. But today? No. Today, I’m sitting here, locked onto Montgó like it owes me answers. And maybe it does.
I’ve lived in Dénia for years. Long enough that Montgó became part of the background—just another thing I don’t really see anymore. But recently, we got glass curtains installed by this local company, Amasvista Glass. And now? Now I can’t stop watching.
The way the winter sun hits the cliffs, how the clouds get caught up there, swirling, shifting, breaking apart. It’s ridiculous. And the more I stare, the more it pulls at something. Like I need to know it, really know it.
So I started digging. And what I found? This mountain isn’t just rock. It’s a vault. A time capsule stuffed with stories.
1. The Burial Site at Cova de Migdia
Humans have been climbing Montgó for thousands of years. Not for fun. For survival, for ritual, for reasons we’ll never fully get.
High up, hidden in the cliffs, there’s a cave—Cova de Migdia. Archaeologists cracked it open and found something wild: a prehistoric burial site. We’re talking nearly 5,000 years old.
Inside? Human remains. Painted walls—black, red, symbols scratched into stone. Stars, zigzags, animals.
Imagine that. People hauling their dead up these brutal slopes, placing them in the mountain’s heart. Why? We’ll never know. But they left their marks. And we’re still finding them.
2. Europe’s Oldest Winepress at Benimaquia
Wine and Montgó? They go way back. Before the Romans, before the Moors—way back.
In the 7th century BC, the Iberians set up shop on its slopes, at a place called Benimaquia. And guess what they left behind? The oldest known winepress in Europe.
Thousands of charred grape seeds, fragments of wine-making tools, proof that this wasn’t just a drink. This was power. Status.
They built massive stone walls around their settlement—because, apparently, wine was worth fighting for.
3. A Roman Soldier’s Mark in Cova de l’Aigua
On the Dénia side of Montgó, there’s a cave called Cova de l’Aigua. Natural rainwater collects there. A lifeline.
And carved into the entrance? A message. Latin, chiseled into rock. Year 238 AD.
Left by a Roman soldier, stationed here, watching over the region. What was he thinking? Was he bored? Homesick? Did he stand where I stood, staring at the same view, waiting for orders that never came?
That inscription is still there. His mark, etched into time.
4. A Caliph’s Quest for Montgó’s Healing Herbs
Montgó isn’t just dirt and stone. It’s alive.
Its slopes are covered in rare plants, some found nowhere else. And in the 10th century, Caliph Abd ar-Rahman III made the trip—from Córdoba, across miles of land—to gather them.
Why? Medicine. The Moors were light-years ahead when it came to healing, and Montgó’s herbs were legendary.
Imagine that journey. A caliph, his men, carefully plucking leaves, grinding roots, searching for something that might cure, might save. They believed in this mountain’s power.
5. The Monastery, the Pirate Attack, and the Mysterious Canvas
On Montgó’s flat plateau, there was once a monastery. Built in the 14th century. A place of silence, of prayer, of solitude—until 1388, when Barbary pirates crashed the party.
They stormed in, plundered everything, dragged eight monks off as captives. The survivors fled. Left everything behind.
And centuries later? Hunters stumbled onto something strange. A canvas painting of the Virgin Mary, stuffed inside a tree.
Who put it there? One of the monks? A desperate act to save something sacred? No one knows.
But today, the site is home to the Sanctuary of Our Lady of the Angels. People still go there. The painting is still venerated. The mystery lingers.
And now? Now I’m back to staring at Montgó.
It’s not just a mountain. It’s a witness. It’s seen prehistoric burials, ancient wine-making, Roman soldiers, Moorish healers, monks, pirates—it’s been there through it all. Standing guard, keeping secrets.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll run its trails again. But today? Today, I just sit here, caught in its gravity.