Saddle-sore senorita in the Sierra Nevada

The best way to explore Spain's Moorish trails, says Susan Wolk, is on horseback

Dallas Love could have stepped out of a Marlboro ad. With her tailored shirt, tan cords, weathered face and brown stetson, beneath which swings a blond ponytail and from whose lips a cigarette constantly dangles, she is every inch the horsewoman. She certainly needs to be, having to juggle the demands of leading 10 riders with varying equestrian skills through the tricky terrain and rugged slopes of Spain's Sierra Nevada mountain range.

Riders, who must be confident on horseback to join in, come from all over the world to take part in the week-long treks in the Alpujarras, the southern foothills of the Sierra Nevada. The region is renowned for its pure mineral water, sweet cured hams and fresh river trout.

It felt odd to be riding in the baking sun, simultaneously spying snow-capped peaks towering above us. The highest, Mulhacen, is more than 3,800m (11,500ft). As the Sierra Nevada is a microclimate, there are apparently more indigenous species of plants and animals up here than in the whole of Russia.

British-born Dallas spent her childhood on the family farm in the Alpujarran village of Bubion, where she has her ranch. Her brother, Mordecai, a horse dentist, helps out, but there is a full-time groom, as well, to look after the dozen or so horses not on trek, and to transport riders' luggage to the next village on their route.

The horses are either bay or grey pure-bred Andalusian or Andalusian crosses. Spain's Moorish conquerors appreciated their qualities, cross-breeding them with their own Arab and Berber breeds. With their balletic elegance, arched necks, compact bodies and good nature, this caballo de Pura Raza Española (horse of pure Spanish breed) sets the standard for European breeds.

We had the choice of two trails ­ through the high Sierra Nevada or the lesser Sierra Nevada, known as the Contraviesa mountain range, between the Sierra Nevada and the Mediterranean. We took the Contraviesa trail.

The end of the first day found us in Trevelez, at nearly 1,500 metres the highest village in Spain. Our charming Hotel La Fragola offered views over winding streets and whitewashed houses with potted blooms cascading from wrought-iron balconies. We supped at the owner's nearby Meson de Fragola, grateful for its proximity, as after six hours in the saddle, we could scarcely hobble down the street.

Our roaring appetites were abundantly satisfied by that first meal of the ride, which included a typical Alpujarran soup, sopa de picadillo (chicken broth seasoned with jamon serrano and chopped egg), trucha de Poquiera (baked trout from the local Poquiera river, wrapped in slivers of delicious cured mountain ham), and flan de la casa (homemade crème caramel). The restaurant offers a panoramic view across flat rooftops to the sierra beyond, which you can gaze on between courses. With the meal we drank costa, a local dry rosado (rosé wine) and then staggered downstairs to the bar to sample an aguardiente (liqueur) digestif.

Some of the villages are amazingly quiet. It appeared that the "big event" of their inhabitants' day was our troupe of horses passing through. On a couple of occasions, we saw terraces being ploughed, by hand and mules. I sensed the land being turned and irrigated in a way that was unchanged over the centuries since its occupation by the Moors, who made the Alpujarras their final stronghold after retreating from Granada in the mid-1500s.

A leisurely 10.30am start on the prettiest day of the trek took us along ancient Moorish bridle paths and drovers' routes, then cultivated terraces down to the Guadalfeo river. We followed the river up to mountains clothed with compact yellow-flowering gorse bushes called genista. It was hot; the temperature must have been at least 30C. A heat haze hung in the sky, seeming to suspend all visible life.

At around 12.30pm, we finally stopped for lunch, signalled by the tinkling of 140 goat bells and a goatherd with a face as craggy as the rocks above him. The kids were so tame, we could stroke them. Our picnic spot was a shaded grove alongside a rushing river, where goats, horses and riders alike slaked their thirst. The wine and beer was kept cool in a pocket in the river, while Dallas prepared a delicious salad, supplemented by baguettes of crusty bread, pâté, Trevelez cured ham, wedges of Manchego cheese plus home-made anchovies marinated in olive oil, sherry vinegar, garlic and parsley.

There was scarcely time to recuperate, as the horseflies were driving our steeds mad and so an hour later, we reluctantly remounted. We eventually reached a tarmac road and crossed it into the arid plains below. The terrain changed constantly ­ from the earlier terraced orchards of olive, almond and fig trees and lush mountainous vegetation ­ to a huge dry, sandy river bed. Acropoli of cacti dotted the terrain and century plants ­ a type of aloe ­ thrust a giant phallic asparagus spear from their centres. We whoopeed along at a canter and then a gallop, a sheer canyon of red rock towering above us. We were practically cowboys.

The Facts

Getting there

A week's riding with Dallas Love costs £1,075 per person, based on two sharing, with In the Saddle (01256 338669; www.inthesaddle.com), including return flights to Malaga and full board. Book with Dallas Love (00 34 958 763038) for the one-day ride, which costs €66 (£40).