Moncayo
from Hangping Yang
2025.3.7
Tarazona is a small town in the autonomous community of Aragón, Spain. Finding it was mostly an accident. We were searching the map for places reachable from Barcelona within three or four hours by train and came across Moncayo. One convenient route was to travel from Barcelona to Zaragoza, the capital of Aragón, transfer to Tudela, and then take a bus to Tarazona.
Before arriving in Tarazona, we hadn’t made any plans for Moncayo. Our first stop was the tourist office, in an old-fashioned way, but it always works.
The staff there were incredibly patient. Despite the language barrier, they carefully introduced us to the town’s attractions one by one. By the end, we walked away with a small stack of pamphlets, and, more importantly, the contact of a guide named Andrés.
After arranging a time to go up the mountain with him, I finally began looking into Moncayo itself. But before I tell you the story of the excursionismo, if you ever find yourself in this town, don’t miss the restaurant Taberna La Zarzamora.
My favorite dish there was Sinfonía de Setas—“Symphony of Mushrooms.” It’s one of the restaurant’s signature plates. I loved the fragrance of the many fresh mushrooms cooked together; the rich homemade sauce enhanced rather than masked their natural flavor. Beyond this restaurant, several eateries recommended in the tourist guide were also excellent, exactly the kind of hearty, mountain-style cuisine I associate with Aragón.
One classic dish is Migas, a humble preparation of fried breadcrumbs sautéed with olive oil and garlic, often served with eggs or Chorizo. My favorite version included raisins. Day-old bread and shriveled grapes—both carry the sweetness of time.
The region’s famous lamb, however, was a bit too intense for me. I don’t usually eat lamb, and the richness of the fat was overwhelming. It felt a bit like the CEO of McDonald’s taking a bite of a new burger for a publicity photo, one big bite, and the lamb had barely broken its skin.
Before dawn the next morning, we climbed into Andrés’ car.
The weather wasn’t ideal, so after some hesitation we decided to give up the hiking plan and drive up instead. Later, we realized it had been the right choice. On the way down, we met hikers coming up the trail who looked at us with utter despair and asked how much farther it was to the peak.
The gray sky reminded me of the Spanish poet Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, who once stayed at Monasterio de Veruela and wrote Cartas desde mi celda (“Letters from My Cell”).
I haven’t read the whole book, but with the help of Google Translate, I came across a passage that reads roughly like this:
Before the oak branches crackle and echo with their elastic sounds and finally wither away, I quietly sip my coffee. It is the only pleasure I allow myself in this solitude, where everything is silent except for the wind wailing through ruined walls, and the water licking the monastery’s high stones or running through its dark underground corridors…
The unfamiliar language and distance in time only deepened the sense of mystery. Some of the letters mention local traditions, witch trials, and the legends of sorcery in Trasmoz. It’s said that these writings helped shape the romantic aura of the Moncayo range, mysterious and almost magical.
Looking at the vegetation along the road, you could believe witches might appear here at any moment: overcast skies, mist, drizzle, moss, and groves of birch trees. The damp air smelled refreshing.
At one point, Andrés stopped beside a fallen birch, took out a small knife, and cut off a leathery strip of bark for us to smell and touch. I remembered that convenience stores in Shanghai had once started selling birch sap drinks, light and faintly fragrant. I never quite understood why people drank them. Perhaps city dwellers, no longer satisfied with woody perfumes, want to taste the forest itself.
A little farther along, Andrés stopped the car again and pulled out a stack of laminated pages.
It was a presentation of PowerPoint.
He began explaining the region’s famous oak honeydew. Aphids and scale insects feed on oak sap and secrete a sugary substance called honeydew. Bees collect it and transform it into a distinctive honey. Andrés had brought a jar; I tasted a spoonful. The flavor was unique, with a grain-like note. If I had to compare it to tea, it reminded me of pu-erh.
I had heard that Iberian pigs roam oak forests eating acorns, and it seemed the flavor of the forest might spread through everything this way. Later, I asked Andrés about it by email, and he replied with a more detailed explanation.
Iberian pigs do eat acorns, though they aren’t free-ranged in this specific region. What is fascinating here, he wrote, is the relationship between holm oaks, bees, and beekeepers.
Every September, when red deer enter the rutting season, the berrea, some acorns are damaged and begin secreting a sticky, sweet liquid called honeydew (mielato). Bees gather this substance because it becomes abundant for a short time and provides an important food source. From it they produce a honey exceptionally rich in nutrients, roughly twice the concentration found in typical flower-nectar honey.
This makes it the only honey not derived from flowers. Instead of nectar, the raw material comes from the fruits of oaks and holm oaks. Its sweetness is softer than other honeys, but the flavor is deeper, with notes reminiscent of toasted malt.
As we climbed higher, the holm oaks and oak forests gradually disappeared. Beech and pine took their place. The cloudy sky turned into snowfall.
An unexpected snow appeared to us suddenly. In stark contrast to our mounting excitement, our guide was a picture of preternatural calm.
At the summit, there was even a small café, where I managed to take a photograph of what I called an “Ice-peak coffee.”
Perhaps it’s the magic of Moncayo, but the café didn’t feel like a tourist thing at all. Walking inside felt more like entering a small shop selling magical potions. Sadly, my imagination of European magic is admittedly limited, most of it comes from Harry Potter.
For some reason, despite having driven most of the way up, I felt hungry. I ordered a hot bacon sandwich as a souvenir.
We didn’t stay long, but heading to Los Fayos to see its caves right after.
Yet instead of examining the faint traces inside the cave walls, I found myself drawn to the view outward, toward the town below. Loose stones lay caught in the protective netting on the cliff face, and a group of vultures circled low in the sky.
Back in the narrow streets of the village we encountered wild watercress. Andrés pointed out several other edible plants, though I didn’t catch their names. I only saw my companion attempting to put unfamiliar leaves into their mouth before the guide quickly stopped them.
And just like that, the half-day excursion came to an end.
In one of the emails I later exchanged with Andrés, I asked him to tell me about himself and his relationship with Moncayo. He replied:
My work takes two main forms, both connected to environmental awareness and sharing the natural values of the region. I design and organize talks and audiovisual programs that encourage people to recognize the importance of protecting natural heritage. At the same time, I guide visitors through the landscapes of the area, introducing them to its wildlife, plants, and geology.
The Parque Natural del Moncayo is one of the most popular destinations. Covering more than 11,000 hectares, it contains an extraordinary diversity of landscapes and forests: Mediterranean ecosystems such as evergreen oak and Valencia oak, Atlantic-type forests like oak and beech, and even Euro-Siberian forests such as birch—ecosystems normally found much farther north across Eurasia and North America.
I have worked there since 2006 and have always been involved in environmental protection. What fascinates me the most is observing life in the wild, from insects to the universe itself, even when we barely notice it.
Although we understood only fragments of his Spanish during the trip, mostly through his body language and the PowerPoint slides, the language barrier didn’t diminish the experience at all.
He also sent me photographs of Moncayo under clear blue skies.
In addition to this, he sent me an old article about Moncayo, "The Airplanes of Moncayo" (Los Aviones del Moncayo). Below is a translation for anyone who might be interested.
The information about the presence of military aircraft wreckage on Moncayo Mountain came from a friend a long time ago. It originated from a news item mentioning that the Chunta Aragonesista had submitted a non-legislative proposal to clean up the aircraft remains in the Moncayo Natural Park.
Back in November 2006, a trip to the Pyrenees was thwarted by bad weather, so I decided, with my good friend Javier, to head to Moncayo instead and try to find that wreckage. We reached the summit and wandered around the slopes, but only found tiny fragments. Asking some hikers we met that day confirmed that several planes had crashed near the peak, and the wreckage should be scattered around. But the information was pretty confusing; everyone we asked described the locations differently and wasn't sure which wreckage belonged to which plane.
After another unsuccessful search, the weather turned so foul that we decided to head back, at least managing a hot meal at the restaurante del Santuario. Afterwards, we had a great chat with the owner, Ángel Camats. He told us he'd once brought down a piece of aircraft wreckage with US Air Force markings from the Agramonte ravine and gave us a lot of useful details. That evening, in a bar in the town of San Martín de la Virgen del Moncayo, we asked around if anyone knew about the wrecks on Moncayo. We expected to be written off as "weirdos," but it was quite the opposite.
As I've seen in other places where crashes happened, these events spark an unusual curiosity that quickly turns into a mix of rumors and folklore, sometimes becoming part of the local history of these small towns.
During the years covered in the book we're putting together (mainly the '70s and '80s), the task of searching for the planes and their crews largely fell to the local people. So, most of the details and directions about these incidents come directly from them, just like in our case.
That night in San Martín was incredibly productive. They told us about a "cylindrical helmet" and other green parts lying in the Agramonte ravine. These had to belong to one of the military planes we were interested in. The next day, our only goal was to find those parts. Following their directions, we went back up Moncayo and, to our surprise, first came across the wreckage of a small civilian plane. On the way back, we spotted a huge, shiny cylindrical piece, clearly an engine of some kind. As we got closer, we started finding a ton of debris—no doubt, it was the remains of an F-100 Super Sabre. We ran out of time that day and headed home with our "souvenirs." The seed had been planted...
A few days later, we contacted the forestry department of the Tarazona city council, asking for the GPS coordinates of some wreckage they had on file. They were kind enough to provide them (which turned out to be for the F-100 we'd found weeks earlier) and also put us in touch with Ismael González, a forest ranger there who knew where other planes had gone down, some of which we didn't even know about.
Months of research followed, digging through old reports, photos, personal memories, and making several more trips to Moncayo—all necessary to understand the real reason behind so many accidents in this area. In many places, people still blame "mysterious" causes, like Moncayo creating special turbulence or even having a magnetic pull that attracts planes. While understanding the background behind these coincidences in such a small area was mostly just out of curiosity, it became the main task.
In most cases, the real cause turned out to be navigation errors in bad weather, combined with Moncayo's proximity to the approach paths for the Bardenas Reales firing range, which was the destination for most of the military planes that crashed. In other cases, it was mechanical failure.
The upcoming book from the Centro de Estudios Turiasonenses covers accidents involving nine aircraft: seven military (all belonging to the USAF) and two civilian (a small plane and a glider). Three crashed on the slopes of Moncayo itself, and the rest nearby, so we decided to include them all.
The first incident covered is probably the least known. It was a North American F-100 Super Sabre that crashed near Tabuenca in 1969; the pilot ejected safely. Very few people know about it. Next is the crash of a similar plane on the peak of Moncayo a year later, whose wreckage is possibly the most complete of any crashed aircraft in Spain—definitely museum-worthy.
1972 saw the most famous accident, because of its nature: two McDonnell Douglas F-4D Phantom II crashed just meters from the town of El Buste, nearly wiping it off the map. Amazingly, despite lots of testimonies and records, you won't find any wreckage from those two planes there.
That same summer of 1972, there was a second crash on the Moncayo slopes. It was a Piper Cherokee from the Real Aeroclub de San Sebastián, which tragically resulted in the deaths of its four occupants after an ill-fated flight.
In the early '80s, two Phantom IIs crashed within months of each other in 1980. The first one ended up on Moncayo again, very close to where the small plane had gone down. This was a well-known crash because it was near the normal climbing route, and the wreckage was visible for a long time. The second Phantom crashed near the town of Malón; this time, the crew survived.
1984 brought the most tragic accident. All 18 crew members died when a C-130 Hercules crashed into the Muela Baja de Borja. Even today, the "scars" from that event are visible miles away. Finally, the last incident in the book is a private motor glider that crashed near Borja in 1999.
Sadly, except for two cases, the occupants of these aircraft died, a grim reality common to most aviation accidents. Readers won't find any sensationalism related to that here. Out of respect for the victims and their families, any morbid details have been left out.
Also, as this is being written, an investigation is underway to clarify the circumstances of a plane shot down near Valverde de Ágreda during the Civil War. Whether that aircraft and its story are included will depend on the findings.
The approach is mainly from an aviation perspective: aircraft type, unit, flight history before the crash, cause of the accident, precise crash site, and the wreckage found. At the same time, where possible, we explore the human side: who the pilots and crews were, their careers and dreams. In some cases, we've made contact with families and friends of the lost crew members, and even with pilots who are still alive today. We've also highlighted the media coverage of these accidents. Aside from one case, we've found a wealth of information on that front.
Finally, each chapter in the book will include a set of color profile views by Miguel Ángel de Andrés Llanos, showing what the planes looked like at the time of their loss.
The idea of making all these events and their details public came together gradually; it wasn't a goal from the start. What began as a simple hike with a friend to Moncayo turned into a real collection of personal information and testimonies that we felt were worth sharing. So, we're grateful to the Centro de Estudios Turiasonenses for making the publication of "The Airplanes of Moncayo" possible, allowing us to spread this work.