It is one of the towering mountains of Madeira. Adjacent to the red peak.
From the ground looks like a colossus that ignores out of pure disdain our pathetic smallness. The Cidran, as is known imposes respect, if not only by the fact, that it's a proud mountain of 1676 meters high, admonished by time. Its volcanic wrinkles hide the terraces conquered by man at the cost of much sweat and strength of arms, from where they draws sustenance each day, a hard daily and difficult life shrouded in legends and mysteries that occur along the path that runs it thru. Land of shepherds the Nuns Valley was always fed, as is the prerogative of any isolate locality, by stories that we do not know whether they are true's or lies but it fuel the conversations of the people in times of rain and fog. This story was told by one of these men, burned by the harshness of the sun and hands callused from hard rock...
A shepherd of the Corral had a very special dog named Cidran was the best partner a man could have, loyal friend, good drover and always ready for another workday. One day a sheep got lost and Cidran find it on the brink of the precipice. As he approached, the dog slipped and was swallowed by the void; its owner maddened by the loss, cursed the mountain and shouted that he would rather surrender his soul to the devil than to lose his dog. The Demon heard his request and granted him the will, so he turned the poor man into a beast who is still heard on nights of bad weather and the rock won so its name with this unfortunate episode. However, for the more skeptical and less interested with Legend, the Madeira elucidate, a kind of encyclopedia of everything that refers to the island, states that the name cidran comes from a lemon grass rarely tree, "cidreira" in Portuguese, of Asian origin, introduced and cultivated throughout this volcanic grooves, which was then picked up and sold to bakeries in Funchal. What is certain is that there are almost no sign of the lemon grass bushes. The howls of lamentation, these still are heard, but the Cidran was never to be seen.
Um pastor do Curral tinha um cão muito especial chamado cidrão, era o melhor companheiro que um homem podia ter, leal, amigo, bom guardador de gado e sempre pronto para mais uma jornada de trabalho. Um dia uma das ovelhas tresmalhou-se e cidrão foi busca-la mesmo á beira do precipício. Ao aproximar-se, o cão escorregou e foi engolido pelo vazio, o seu dono ensandecido pela perda, amaldiçoou a montanha e gritou que preferia entregar a sua alma ao diabo do que perder o seu cão. O Demónio ouviu o seu pedido e fez-lhe a vontade, transformou o pobre pastor num bicho que ainda se ouve em noites de mau tempo e o rochedo ganhou assim, com esse infeliz episódio o seu nome. Contudo, para os mais cépticos e menos dados a lendas sem pés, nem cabeça, o elucidário madeirense, uma espécie de enciclopédia sobre tudo o que se refere à ilha, indica que o nome Cidrão advém de um arbusto raras vezes árvore, a cidreira, de origem asiática, introduzida e cultivada ao longo das suas ranhuras vulcânicas, que depois era apanhada e vendida no Funchal as confeitarias. O certo, certo é que das cidreiras, nem sinal. Os uivos de lamento, esses ainda hoje se fazem ouvir, mas do cidrão, nem vê-lo.
