To Keep Going: FastPacking the Madeira Island Ultra Trail

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The Madeira Island Ultra Trail (MIUT) wasn’t designed to be kind. With over 7,200 meters (23,600 feet) of elevation gain and nearly the same in descent, this 71-mile route slices across the rugged volcanic spine of Madeira, an autonomous region of Portugal set deep in the North Atlantic. Typically this island trail is hiked in ten days, giving hikers the opportunity to pace themselves on steep ascents, soak in the magic of the island, and still have adequate time for rest.

But for me and Marcelo? We planned to hike it in five. 

We set off from Porto Moniz with our packs loaded and our minds filled with optimism—just a couple with a camera, high hopes, and a plan that sounded perfectly reasonable before we stepped onto the trail. 

At first, the island greeted us with a taste of spring: sun-warmed air, distant ocean views, a sense of quiet confidence. But within hours, Madeira reminded us of who was in charge. As we climbed, the warmth vanished, swallowed by thick fog and wind that cut to the bone. Our ascent was steep, shrouded in white, and when we paused for a quick lunch midway down, I realized how quickly things were changing. I had lost circulation in my hands from the quick change in temperature––an issue I’d battle for the next five, cold days. 

That was the moment the tone shifted. This was not just a hike—it was a test of mental and physical endurance. 

Over the next five days, we lived in a space between extremes. We were constantly wet—our gear damp from the first night onward—and our caloric intake never quite kept pace with the effort. The cold was a constant, forcing us to keep moving in order to stay warm. Our legs ached, our clothes clung to us, and our energy dipped lower with every unrelenting climb. And yet, somehow, within that exhaustion, there was space for something else.

Each morning started with small rituals that kept us going: the sound of roosters echoing through quiet valleys as we took our first steps, the comfort of hot instant coffee held carefully in cold hands, the slow burn of sunrise breaking across the Atlantic. These moments grounded us when our mental stamina wavered. 

Even as we pushed through long days with near-empty stomachs and soaked socks, the beauty of the island kept finding us in slivers. When the clouds lifted—if only for a moment—we caught glimpses of emerald valleys carved into impossible cliffs, of tiny villages clinging to the mountainsides. We didn’t talk much on those stretches; we just soaked in the magic of Madeira, burning images in our brains that would last a lifetime. 

We filmed when we could, though the camera captured only fragments of what we were living. The real story didn’t happen in the frame. It happened in the blur between checkpoints—in the shared silence, the spontaneous laughter, the quiet resolve to keep going, even when it felt like the trail was swallowing us.

And on the final descent into Machico, with the sea finally back in sight and our bodies somehow still upright, we understood something we hadn’t at the start: this trail doesn’t just take you across an island. It takes you somewhere deeper. It burns off the noise. It asks who you are when the conditions are wrong, the outcome uncertain, and the only reward is the doing.

We didn’t “crush” the MIUT. We earned something more lasting: pride, humility, and a strange kind of love for a place that gave us nothing easily.

Photo Credit: Kendra Slagter