Hike Montserrat Near Barcelona – A Local’s Guide

The climb up from Collbató through Mediterranean scrub, rock walls behind.

Skip the doctor. This mountain does the job.

I live in Collbató, a small village on the southern flank of Montserrat, about forty-five minutes from Barcelona. We say Collbató is one of the four gateways to the mountain, and that’s not just a turn of phrase: from my front door, the jagged silhouette greets me every single morning.

Collbató at first light, seen from the trail up to the caves.

No two mornings are the same. The weather repaints the mountain daily, and each version is a gift. Today’s was a sawtooth ridge wrapped in white cloud, edged pink by the coming sunrise, with what looked like cotton wool brushing the summits I love so much.

When life gets heavy, I don’t go to the doctor. I climb this mountain. It calms me, it rebalances me, and it gives me exactly what I need. I’ve been doing it for years, and it has never once failed me. Those of us who live at its feet know this without saying it out loud; it’s something you feel inside. There are taller mountains, wilder ones, more famous ones. But few have this particular energy, this way of taking you in and looking after you that makes every visit feel like something the mountain offers you.

What follows is my usual prescription: a full day on the mountain that turns an ordinary morning into a shot of pure energy. I’ll pass the exact spot where Montserrat’s mysticism was born, greet its famous Black Madonna, crown its highest peak, and come back down through empty hermitages, the last traces of the hermits who once lived up here. My route starts in Collbató, but if you’re coming from Barcelona you can do almost the same loop in a day. I’ll explain how at the end.

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Montserrat at dawn seen from Collbató, with the village in the foreground.

Start early, walk in silence

Montserrat is a new adventure every day, so it’s best to start early; that much I’ve learned over the years. Today I go up by the Camí de les Coves. What I love about this trail is the face of the mountain it climbs: those long, wide walls of conglomerate rock rise up beside you and seem to keep you company as you go. The morning is quiet. I pass the ancient Coves del Salnitre, the prehistoric caves that riddle the base of the mountain, and head toward one of Montserrat’s most storied places, the Santa Cova.

Walking this mountain in silence, early, is magic. I listen, and it speaks. I leave one corner behind after another, and I hear stones shifting somewhere above. Is there someone up there? Of course there is; that’s part of the charm.

Iberian ibex moving across the crags.

So I do what the mountain asks: I stop, and I watch. Early in the morning and late in the afternoon, it’s easy to spot wild goats up here, the famous Iberian ibex, the Capra pyrenaica. It’s the only thing our small friends ask of us: a little silence and a little courtesy. We’re visiting their home. A soft breeze brushes past me as I climb, and with every step the light shifts, the sun’s first rays touching the rock and me along with it.

The ibex silhouetted against the sunset sky (the photo from that encounter).

Face to face

Encounters with Montserrat’s wildlife are part of its medicine, and they happen often. Let me tell you about the best one I’ve had.

It was on this same route, or very near it. One of those late afternoons when you head out to watch the sky and get a little exercise. I was running through the Codolosa area when, on a narrow trail hemmed in by shrubs over a meter high, with barely room for my body to pass, I rounded a blind bend and came face to face with the biggest ibex I have ever seen.

It gave us both a terrible fright. My heart went from calm to hammering in a single instant. I edged forward slowly, and believe me when I say I still didn’t quite know what it was. Only that it was enormous.

As I inched out of that tunnel of vegetation, the mountain suddenly opened up, and just as the sunset seemed ready to leave, there he was: a male with an extraordinary set of horns. We stood facing each other, keeping our distance, and we looked. He walked slowly to a ledge, never losing track of me, and against a spectacular backdrop he showed me the full splendor of his silhouette. I photographed him at length, frame after frame, trying to hold on to the moment.

Then the sun slipped away, and the great old male looked at me and left as if he had never been there at all. He must have been thinking that ledge had been his for a thousand years, and that I was just one more stranger passing through. Which is exactly the truth.

The Santa Cova wedged into the rock wall, above the valley.

The Santa Cova, the chapel that hangs from the mountain

Back to our route. Leaving other memories behind, I keep climbing, and the trail crests a shoulder of the mountain and curls around toward the Llobregat valley. This side is steeper, all huge crags and great walls. I follow the path gently downhill and, in the distance, I see the Santa Cova, hanging at the foot of a row of tall rock needles in the middle of the mountain.

This is an old place of worship and pilgrimage, and it sits at the very heart of the story of the Virgin of Montserrat. Legend says that shepherd children saw strange lights and heard singing coming from this cave, and that inside they found the image of the Virgin that now presides over the monastery. Whether or not that can be proven today, one thing is beyond doubt: for centuries this mountain has fed something in everyone who climbs it, believers and non-believers, pilgrims, feudal lords and villagers alike. This chapel, heavy with history and a deep spiritual weight, asks for silence when you visit; and silence, here, always gives back more than you bring.

Where the path meets the old “silver road” (the Camí de la Santa Cova, carved into the mountain between 1691 and 1704 and funded by the Marchioness of Tamarit, who remarked on how dearly it cost to build, which is how the name stuck), I turn to look back at the gate leading to the holy chapel. A volunteer was opening it in the early morning. I went over to him.

• me: Bon dia. Puc entrar? (Good morning. May I go in?)
• volunteer: Bon dia, sí, ja pots entrar. (Good morning, yes, you can go in now.)
• me: Gràcies, fa un dia fantàstic. La muntanya avui té uns colors increïbles. (Thanks, it’s a beautiful day. The mountain has incredible colors this morning.)

It was barely eight in the morning. After a short visit inside the chapel, feeling the peace that fills places like this, I met that guardian of the holy site again.

• volunteer: Ja segueixes? (Carrying on, then?)
• me: Sí, faré una mica més. Fa un dia esplèndid, està per gaudir. (Yes, I’ll go a bit further. It’s a glorious day, one to enjoy.)
• volunteer: Sí, ja t’he vist des de dalt per la finestra quan venies. (Yes, I saw you coming from up there, through the window.)

We got talking. I asked if he lived there and he said no, he was a volunteer, and he told me how you can volunteer at Montserrat and help the foundation that cares for it. The day was rising. We chatted like old friends, shook hands, and I carried on.

The image of the Moreneta (or, if photography is restricted inside, the basilica façade and atrium).

A visit to the Black Madonna, patron of every Catalan

From the Santa Cova I head for the monastery along the old silver road. I climb past the Monumental Rosary, a series of Modernista sculptures worked on between 1896 and 1910 by, among others, Antoni Gaudí. Yes, that Gaudí. A steep pull awaits, non-negotiable, and it puts my legs to work. This morning the monastery bells are ringing, and a spectacular sea of cloud mixes with the mountain’s strange rock forms. My breathing quickens, my heart pounds, my tired legs answer bravely. I love this place.

I leave the top station of the cable car behind and walk on alone toward the monastery; at this hour I meet almost no one. Below me I can see the winding road that leads up to the sanctuary, but I keep going, and soon I’m standing before the great monastic complex of the Abbey of Our Lady of Montserrat.

The shrewdest early risers are scattered around the square, and we trade friendly glances. A few tourists of different nationalities are starting to arrive by rack railway, by cable car, and, like me, on their own two feet. Before I know it, I’m in the central square, the Plaça de Santa Maria. I take a moment to look around; I never tire of this place. It’s early, eight o’clock. I can go into the basilica, but because it’s so early, I ask whether I can visit the Black Madonna herself.

• me: Bon dia, podria entrar a veure la Moreneta? Soc local, visc aquí a Collbató. (Good morning, could I go in to see the Moreneta? I’m local, I live here in Collbató.)
• volunteer: Bon dia. Sí, avui és d’hora i encara no han arribat els grups, pots passar, però treu-te la gorra, si us plau. (Good morning. Yes, it’s early and the tour groups haven’t arrived yet, you can go in, but take off your cap, please.)
• me: Sí, per descomptat. Moltes gràcies. (Yes, of course. Thank you very much.)

Locals can go in without paying; we had to have some small advantage. It’s early, and I’ve been lucky for summer, when there are always crowds and even locals should book ahead. I step into the narrow passage and walk slowly, in silence, up the stairs to the alcove of the Mare de Déu de Montserrat, the one they call the Moreneta, the Black Madonna.

My faith and devotion to this image run deep; I always wear her around my neck. I look at her once more and feel her kindness and the depth of the carving, a Romanesque piece from the 12th century. I contemplate her, I honor her, and I leave the alcove thinking, as always, about her symbolism and the beautiful message she carries.

Seeing the Moreneta up close always leaves a mark. Look her in the eyes when you’re there; feel the energy, the silence, the sheer weight of that moment. It won’t leave you indifferent. When you visit a new place, some images fade almost at once. This one doesn’t. If you’d like the fuller story — why she’s black, where she comes from, what she means to Catalans — I tell it properly in my guide to the Black Madonna of Montserrat.

The Pas dels Francesos, the path cut between rock needles.

Toward Sant Jeroni

I leave the monastery bound for Sant Jeroni and brace my legs with steel, because now the serious part of the day begins: the climb to the roof of Montserrat, 1,236 meters. But I’m happy. I love roaming this mountain.

The trail passes through the Pas dels Francesos, a narrow gap carved between conglomerate walls whose name is a scar. It recalls the Peninsular War, which here we call the Guerra del Francès, when Napoleon’s troops came up this mountain with fire and sword. In 1811 and 1812 the monastery was sacked and burned, and with it much of the hermit life that had filled these crags for centuries. Many of the ruined hermitages you find today were emptied then, and never lived in again.

I climb the stairs; this stretch is hard. Passing through that gap, knowing what happened here, changes the way I look at the place every time. Today’s serene mountain was once refuge, fortress, and battlefield.

The monastery seen from above, from the Mirador dels Ermitans.

Don’t forget to look back: the monastery from above

I climb the stairs of the Francesos, and then come more stairs, and more. I keep going, meeting a few brave souls who greet me in different languages; I greet them warmly back. A little higher, I turn right. I know that’s not the way. But it’s worth the short detour. This mountain is full of spectacular viewpoints, and when you come, don’t miss the chance to visit as many as you can. This one is the Mirador dels Ermitans, and the view is magnificent: mountains all around you and the abbey far below.

I’m at 900 meters; the summit waits at 1,236. From here the monastery looks tiny, as if carved into the rock, and it brings a real sense of peace to stand here and watch those little dots of people moving around, living their own Montserrat. What nerve it took to build it there, more than a thousand years ago. No wonder this mountain has always drawn people to it.

The 360 view from the summit of Sant Jeroni.

Sant Jeroni: the 360 of Catalonia

I climb on, and the tiredness shows now. I cross paths with the occasional hiker and with early-rising tourists who’ve chosen to enjoy the mountain at its best hour. I love catching their eye; it’s as if we’re telling each other, we’re somewhere incredible.

With every step, the mountain hands me stranger and stranger shapes, needles sculpted by geology and time, like the magnificent Cavall Bernat. It would take far too long to explain the geology of a massif carved by water and wind, so I’ll say only this: its rock towers are like characters in a novel. They have their own names, their own forms, and their own personalities. Montserrat is a legacy of centuries, stacked layer upon layer.

The summit of Sant Jeroni with the compass rose and hikers.

Almost without noticing, I reach the summit of Sant Jeroni, the highest point and the finest viewpoint on Catalonia’s most famous mountain. A few people are up top, spent but happy, and we share a glance. I touch the compass rose set at the summit and take one long, lungful breath.

The Mirador de Sant Jeroni gives what is, for me, one of the finest views in Catalonia: a full 360. On clear days you can see the snowcapped Pyrenees to the north and the Mediterranean to the south, and all around you the needles of Montserrat, with those curious shapes that hold you hypnotized. I stay a while, and slowly more and more people arrive, so I decide to begin the descent, this time down another side of the mountain. The truth is I could stay here for hours; the wind whistles softly, and the view is a living canvas. But the climb is only half the journey, and there are still things I want to show you.

The hermitage of Sant Onofre wedged into the crack, rock wall all around. On a cloudy day.

The way down is part of the road

I leave the peace and stillness of the heights and begin the descent toward the pass that leads to the Escales de Jacob and the old hermitages of Sant Onofre and Sant Joan. Going down is always a pleasure, so I enjoy it, almost flying through woods that smell of holm oak. I keep meeting explorers on their way up to Sant Jeroni, and we greet each other kindly.

Soon I take the turn for the Escales de Jacob, a hundred or so steps that lead to the hermitage of Santa Magdalena. I climb them one by one, and at the top I branch off toward the lovely Sant Joan area. I’ve crossed to the other face of the mountain now, the southern side. Shortly after, I pass the old hermitage of Sant Onofre, carved into the rock. Behind me, I’ve left mythic towers like the Santa Magdalena and the Gorra Frígia. I slow down and take in this astonishing little hermitage which, like so many others on the massif, once sheltered a hermit’s life.

Sant Onofre and Sant Joan were neighboring hermitages, tucked beneath rock towers near the Gorra Marinera. Sant Onofre is one of those places you struggle to believe even with it right in front of you: a hermitage literally wedged into a crack in the wall. Don’t miss it. For centuries, a constellation of thirteen hermitages was lived in by monks who came up here for contemplation, silence, and retreat. Walking all of them is, for me, one of the most beautiful ways to know Montserrat. I’ve described the full route step by step in my guide to the Montserrat hermitages hike.

Sant Onofre and Sant Joan, with the Gorra Marinera on the right and the Magdalena above, behind.

From here it’s all downhill, on tired, happy legs. I descend carefully on the stonier stretches, taking in the landscape as the woods open up and I lose height. The path feels long, but the scenery keeps me company, and soon I can see my village down in the distance. The final reward is close: the simple satisfaction of having enjoyed a one-of-a-kind place once again. The wind blows, the mountain walks with me down, and my mind is at peace. This is how it always ends, with a feeling of calm.

Before I know it, I’m back in Collbató. I stop and look back. We’ll keep watching over Montserrat from here, as one of its four gateways. It’s worth it; that’s my advice to you.

Coming from Barcelona? How to do this route

My version starts and ends in Collbató because I live here, but from Barcelona you can do the same loop in a day, starting and finishing at the monastery: monastery → Santa Cova → monastery → Sant Jeroni via the Pas dels Francesos → Sant Joan and Sant Onofre → monastery. Simple as that, and even a little easier.

Getting there: take the FGC R5 train from Plaça Espanya in Barcelona to Monistrol de Montserrat, about an hour. From there, two ways up to the monastery, and both are worth it: the rack railway (Cremallera), more comfortable and with views over the valley, or the Aeri de Montserrat, the yellow cable car from 1930, faster, with a near-vertical climb that’s an attraction in itself. Either one leaves you right in the heart of the mountain.

Allow four to five hours of walking for the full loop; make it five, because you’ll lose time (the good kind) going into the monastery and, above all, doing the most important thing you can do up here: stopping, looking, and feeling the mountain. Listening to it. Bring water (springs are scarce up top), proper hiking shoes, and, if you can, start early. The mountain at seven in the morning and the mountain at noon are not the same mountain.