An 18th-century cannonball foundry was discovered after climate change-induced drought emptied a Catalonia reservoir.
Photographer: Angel Garcia/Bloomberg
I walked into an old, post-apocalyptic valley in Catalonia. The remnants of multiple stone buildings, including two large rectangular constructions roughly 30m long, rose from a dried mass of dirt split like crockery. Roofless and decaying, debris lined their walls like rocky dunes. Instead of windows, voids framed views of the light blue sky with wispy clouds and fierce spring sun. A remarkable and improbable sight.
Built in 1771 in the Sant Sebastià neighborhood of Sant Llorenç de la Muga, this group of buildings, some of which are now ruins, was the Royal Foundry of the Muga.
This year was the first time anyone could visit this crumbling foundry in over 50 years, giving it Brigadoon feelings. The Darnius Boadella dam flooded the region in 1969, hiding it. The reservoir irrigates local agriculture and creates hydroelectricity for Figueres, Cadaqués, Llançà, and Empuriabrava. However, a severe drought in 2021 forced Catalonia to declare an emergency. The reservoir’s water level plummeted to its lowest ever, making these ruins accessible to hikers (they were partly submerged during a 2008 drought but inaccessible on foot).
Marià Baig, a local historian who has written numerous articles on the foundry and is writing a book about it, says the Royal Foundry of Sant Sebastià of the Muga was Catalonia’s first charcoal blast furnace for cannonballs. The location was selected because it was close to wood for charcoal, water for hydraulic bellows, and iron ore from Montdavà and Rocacorba mines.
During the War of the Pyrenees (also known as the War of Roussillon or War of the Convention), France fought Spain and Portugal, destroying the foundry’s weapons manufacturing capacity about 1794. It was never reconstructed.
Locals knew the structures were concealed in the reservoir’s bottom, but their revelation was exciting. “Many people have been walking out to the foundry,” he added. They knew it was there but didn’t know what it was, so they want to see it. Even though I had all this information and maps, it was hard to understand the place without visiting it. Going there astonished me since it’s larger than imagined.”
I was almost more astonished to discover that my valley was once a reservoir bottom. The basin was a barren wasteland with browning grasses. A thin, tiny brook flowed through the center. In addition, a faded yellow paddleboat beached and damaged on the seashore had nowhere to go.
It was hard to imagine this vast reservoir, which plunges 52m at its lowest point and has 21km of coastline, previously held 60 cubic hectometres, enough to fill 24,000 Olympic-size swimming pools. Locals fished here in boats for decades. Those activities are memories now. My visit in March 2024 found the reservoir at 11% capacity, according to Catalan Water Agency dam manager Carlos Barbero Lartigau. “Due to climate change, we haven’t had any other important rain events,” stated. “It has been a very difficult time for the region.”
Even a passing traveler may see drought and water constraints. People weren’t watering their yards, and several automobiles hadn’t been washed sometime. We sat at restaurants without water. It cost extra to order and bottle water.
I let the drought’s out-of-time tableau captivate me despite the damage and anguish. It’s rare to tour an 18th-century cannonball foundry that was underwater. The hike was equally captivating to my wife, our 11-year-old son, a friend from Albanyà, and her little daughter.
Kids played tag and hide-and-seek in the foundry while parents shot photographs. They dashed across vacant rooms via wall openings. One dead tree with a barren trunk twisted out of the ground and against a wall like a huge driftwood trying to escape. Baig claims the blast furnace is still buried in mud. He wants to dig it up for research.
We climbed a slight incline to Sant Sebastiá, a little stone church built in 1609 whose name inspired the foundry, after having lunch on three big stone blocks closest to the river, maybe the ruins of a pier. It was exposed as the floods receded.
The chapel’s nave was small, 4m broad and 6m long, with green grass and filthy brown, tinder-dry brush. Roof loss occurred long ago. I entered the small, domed-ceilinged apse by a surviving stone arch. Stone rubble littered the room. The altar in the wall rock was empty, yet the place still had a relaxing vibe.
Dry weather is revealing holy ghosts in more than just the Darnius Boadella reservoir. Barbero Lartigau said that the Romanesque church of Sant Romà de Sau, on Catalonia’s eastern border, was fully uncovered earlier this year. Only the belltower is normal. At the Baells reservoir in central Catalonia, receding floods uncovered the Romanesque monastery Sant Salvador de la Vedella.
Since my visit, Darnius Boadella reservoir conditions have improved. The Catalan Water Agency reports that Figueres and the surrounding territory still use water restriction, although recent rains filled it to 23% capacity. With the water level low, the foundry, church, and other structures are visible but only accessible by boat. Luckily, the adjacent Darnius Nautical Club offers reservoir canoeing and kayaking.
We started our journey out of the reservoir when the kids were weary of exploring and the grownups were exhausted by the severe heat of the bright morning. As I left the foundry and church, I wondered how long they would stay exposed, tests of time and suffering. I glanced back and closed my eyes. I envisaged a great wave rushing over their pale stone walls, burying them deep and perhaps forever inaccessible to inquiring minds. I opened my eyes and walked.
