Author: MMMM

Though my original idea was to start on 1^st, 3^rd and later 4^th of June, I am actually setting out Monday 10^th June 2019 but with clear mind I finished almost all my commitments. I also needed to manufacture some parts of my gear, which took couple of days and support of my wife and mom.

The backpack was 13,24 kilos together with food for 6 days packed but without water at the start. Within the first week I got rid of items weighting about 400 grams and some more later.

Anyway, despite what outdoor shops claim, hiking is not about gear. It is about mindset. Let’s go!

Not the start I imagined

At first I wanted to start from Romania but my friend, a mountaineer from Cluj, warned me there was too much snow in winter and there were some unfortunate deaths in Făgăraş. I need not think for long about the starting point on the other end of the Carpathian arc. Svatý kopeček (363 m alt.) near Mikulov was my obvious choice. The hill oversees the picturesque town and provides beautiful views over the border to Austria to see the westernmost soft hills of the Carpathians. I have been there many times but one moment stays particularly in my mind. 35 years ago I visited the place with my father and brother. We were watching Austrian farmers doing peacefully their fieldwork while on the Czechoslovak side there were multiple fences, watchtowers and border patrols were driving their vehicles there and back. I clearly felt in my child soul, that there is something wrong with our country, not with theirs.

So on 10^th June 2019 I climbed up the Way of the Cross that leads up on the hill again. My mood was not uplifting as I had been expecting. Quite the contrary: I felt physical fear. The fear that gives you sick feeling. I could not imagine I am able to make the journey. I was thinking about my family and all the other good things I could do. Shall I ever see them again? I felt Christ’s suffering is symbolizing mine in the nearest future. The hill was empty when I came but before I ate my breakfast it became busy place of parents on their walk, runners and a schooltrip came too. I felt quite shy to make the introductory video especially when I could not mount the camera properly on my trekking pole.

Pálava north from Mikulov is a few kilometres long limestone cliff with huge significance both from natural and cultural viewpoints. Different groups of refugees settled the villages below (Bulgarians, Croatians, Jews, Swiss Hugenots), Romans chose the site for their military camp and paleolithic hunters made it world famous. They were watching for game migrating north-south through the corridor between the Carpathians and the highlands to the west. 25 thousand years ago they were able to make fine art, turn clay into pottery and some archeologists believe even make nets and textiles. The highest point of the cliff is about 550 m above the sea level.

I soon realized that the way I had exported maps to smartphone was not particularly useful but while downloading new ones in a restaurant in Pavlov I was again attacked by fear. Big non-structured fear from what is ahead. I could not look at the maps, I felt overwhelmed by the distance.

The rest of the day it was just walking on paved roads which made my legs aching. I found a place among vineyards of the Blue mountains for overnight.

Though I thought I fell asleep immediately this did not happen due to mosquitoes trying to get some advantage of me. I might not be right but it seemed to me that they avoided my sailor shirt.

Blue mountains

I started to walk at 5 in the morning on Tuesday 11^th June to avoid the hottest part of the day. Blue mountains are soft hills covered by vineyards and fields of other crops at altitudes about 250 metres. This is agricultural land with large and rich villages. Where possible, I used the fact it was already cherry time in this warm region.

I knew there is a lunch waiting for me in Dubňany where my father lives with his girlfriend. 5 km from there at about noon I laid down under an oak tree near a railway and could not move further. The backpack felt heavy, it was hot, my shoulders and legs were aching. It took lot of strength to start walking again. How can I make 2000 km when I am not able to get to the nearest village?

I clearly knew I had made a mistake. My food sack was 4 kilos while there were villages and restaurants all around me. When I finally made it to Dubňany I packed half of the food and sent it to Slovakia so it could wait for me there. I also got rid of other stuff reducing the baseweight of about 400 grams.

After a lunch and a short nap I regained strength and started walking in the evening. My father was helping me with the backpack for a mile, then we hugged and wished good luck. Till the dark I made it near Rohatec, which is on the bank of Morava river (170 m) – the second lowest point of my journey. The night turned into mosquito inferno. I ended up sweating in my sleeping bag, my small mosquito net over the bag’s entry hole and my woodstove fan pumping some air into it. My sleep deficit rose to 15 hours over 3 days.

Not allowed to see my work

Wednesday 12^th June morning I realized I locked my phone the way I could not unlock it. I was not able to find solution as I was not online, I could not call, but I could receive calls and if you believe in telepathy or not, my wife called me. To avoid factory reset I needed connect wired keyboard to the smartphone, which meant loosing 1,5 hours returning back to Sudoměřice village and asking for a USB keyboard. Fortunately I got adapters with me. The officers in the village house were quite surprised but I was happy that it worked.

Another shock came few hours later. The Radějov game reserve I wanted to go through was closed for June and I needed to make a significant detour. To understand why I was really angry, we need to go back 30 years. At that time I was spending weekends and weeks of holidays coming to this place trying to safe orchids and flower rich meadows. We were mowing them with scythes as locals were not interested and removed thorny bushes that started to grow there taking the habitat over. And then in later 1990s came this man – Leoš Novotný, who made money by selling a company my grandfather helped to establish in 1937, and made it a private game reserve. I was looking forward to see familiar places again and instead of that I lost half a day detouring. Someone privatized tens of thousands hours of volunteers’ work not even mentioning this on the info panel where he claims how great it is for the nature he is keeping his game there.

Lučina is a nice natural swimming pool located half an hour walk from an iconic Čertoryje national nature reserve. For me it had been a place of surprise meetings several times before and this time I met David. David was member of a youth club I led, that was focused on environment and natural history. He is now over 30 and was proud to introduce me his girlfriend.

After having a cooling swim I walked through the gems among the flower-rich White Carpathian meadows. It was soft evening light, the warm wind was blowing from the Morava lowland and I was the only person I could see around in the sea of flowers and grass in Čartoryje. Sheer beauty of White Carpathians returned peace to my mind.

Unfortunately, bivouacking near centuries old border stone of Hungarian empire was again accompanied with squealing of mosquitoes.

On the long-distance hiking trail

I tried to catch up what I missed the day before on Thursday 13^th June. I hiked fast through the White Carpathians brushing memories of many previous hikes. Before noon I came to E8 route, popular Slovakian long-distance hike – Trail of the Slovakian Uprising Heroes. Along with Polish Główny Szlak Beskidzki these two are the only long-distance hiking trails in real use throughout the whole Carpathians.
On the highest hill of the White Carpathians – Velká Javořina (975 m) I paid tribute to Czech ecologist Josef Vavroušek, who died along with his daughter under avalanche in the High Tatras.

There I met first two Slovakian long-distance hikers. They had been walking the E8 route from Dukla and started 20 days ago from the pass. This frightened me again. If it took me 20 days to Dukla, then I could hardly walk anything in Romania. I felt embarrassed when asked about my hike. These guys had been on the trail for 3 weeks, me just for 4 days, yet I dare to aim for the whole Carpathian arc. So I played my dream down by saying “But I can finish tomorrow, one never knows.” the phrase I would be later using many times throughout my journey.

I tried to get a windy spot on a meadow near Lopeník but mosquitos found me again increasing my sleep deficit.

Good-bye CZ

Friday 14^th June started with beautiful walk through Moravské Kopanice – bucolic landscape of scattered settlements surrounded by small fields and meadows.

A dog willing to join me appeared at the Lopeník pass (753) but I refused its company wondering how my friend Lina Hallebratt is feeding her dogs during her journeys. Near Vyškovec I left the Czech Republic. Though the video does not show that, I felt a bit emotional.

I washed my garment and bathed in Drietoma (325) river on the Slovakian side. In Trenčín I crossed the Váh river (204) that cuts Carpathians in the western and central Slovakia to two parts. I decided to walk south from the river. In this town, where my grandfather served during his military service in 1920s, I refueled and started hike to Strážovské vrchy.

The spot for the night first seemed to be mosquito free but it again turned into another attack of the small torturers. I finally found out the way how to resist them: hanging my small mosquito net on a twig so it covers head entry hole of the bag and pouring cold air into the sleeping bag near my legs. This kept sleeping bag ventilated and mosquitoes could not get in. However, this consumed electricity. Another shock came when I realized that an app drained my battery overnight. I need to rethink my energy management. So from this day onward I only tracked with smartwatch and turned on the phone just for photos and orientation in the map.

Climate change in a remote village

Strážovské vrchy is beautiful mountain range. It is lot of up and down walk but the flower rich meadows with white rocks on horizon are sheer beauty. It was Saturday 15^th June so the experience got spoiled by off-road motorcyclists. Though it is probably not allowed (as in the Czech Republic), it can be considered a national sport for young Slovakians. I could constantly hear different bands racing through forests and meadows.

After passing below Vápeč (956) and recording the video above I stopped at about 5 pm at a water source to cook a dinner. A hiker appeared next to me, this one even on a longer hike from the Ukrainian border to Záhorie = further than most E8 hikers walk. It took him 20 days from the border. He gave me a tip on an electrical socket on the trail near Čičmany.

In Zliechov I dropped in to the local pub and chatted with couple of drunk locals while my smartphone and batteries were getting some juice. “There are no mosquitoes up here in the mountains, but things are changing. For example the ticks are starting to be a problem.” they told me. I ended the day on a familiar camping place under Strážov hill. As the weather forecast showed rain for tomorrow, I warmed up some water and tested my idea for hot shower using a pierced dry-bag. It worked perfectly so I also used the hot water for laundry and turned my mess kit into a washing machine.

The locals were right, as it is warming up the mosquitos are coming even here. Fortunatelly only handful of them so I could finally sleep for the full night. I can say I felt refreshed in the morning and confident that if something would not turn wrong, I could make it.

Above 1000 metres

After the good dose of sleep I climbed Strážov (1213) – the first peak above 1000 m altitude on my journey. As it was Sunday 16^th June I was meeting lot of one-day hikers. On the way down to Čičmany I met orchids and another guy who was walking from Dukla. This one was so happy meeting me and chatting for few minutes. You feel kind of brotherhood among long-distance hikers and I find it interesting that we can discern each other from other tourists at first sight.

I entered a restaurant in Čičmany to have a lunch but the waitress made me feeling my appearance is not the one she expects from her guests. So I paid soon and went beyond the village to find the electricity plug. It was there, so I plugged-in, went through e-mails, blogged and tried to figure out sharing my position online with my family and friends. And out of sudden it was 5 pm. Oh dear, 5 pm and I walked only 11 km that day. I hiked fast over the mountains to Fačkovské sedlo (808) that is dividing Strážovské vrchy and Malá Fatra ranges. I experienced first shower of the journey there and continued till night but felt really exhausted. I also used jingles while walking alone at dusk since I entered the bear area of the Carpathians.

Meeting the king of Carpathian forests

On Monday 17^th June I found the sole on my boot started unsealing. Looking into map I realized I could not make it to Turčianské Teplice if I followed the E8 route. There should be a package waiting for me I had sent from Dubňany. So I decided to go straight through the Turčiany valley. I followed the GPS through the fields, roads and I even crossed the Turiec river as I tried to avoid the asphalt roads. All this effort only to get to the post office before 6 pm closing time. A bit exhausted I picked up the parcel at 5:25, repacked and send back home about 300g of stuff I realized I do not need.

After an exhausting day I was looking forward to a reward in the form of pizza. As usually, my order started by sitting close to a socket, plugging in the charger and surrounding it by: a smartphone, a smartwatch, batteries, a headlamp and a keyboard.

In order to charge as fast as possible I used a charger with 3 USB sockets: one with QC 3.0 for quick charging my phone, another 12W one for charging four 18650 batteries (optionally with a splitter to 3 microUSB cables) and another 12W socket for other batteries or devices. The batteries plus a lightweight adapter are lighter than a powerbank and enable me to charge/discharge them individually, thus having better control over the juice reserves. I made several capacity tests before picking up 2 noname batteries along with 2 Nitecore ones. My feeling was that the noname batteries charged faster (due to lack of protection) so I used them more often keeping Nitecore as power reserve.
Thus I could drain almost 40 W from the grid and get maximum within 1-2 hours my stops lasted. Goal Zero Nomad 7 photovoltaic panels were comfortably keeping everything charged while in the high mountains in sunny weather. In this case it is much better to charge phone directly as the transfer through a battery spoils about 40% of power. However, while walking through forests or during rain, the solar panels performed poorly. Fast-charging 45 Wh power bank might be equally good solution.

After charging my electronics and checking e-mails I set up for the last few kilometers to find a place to camp. I was so full with pizza and reckless, I forgot to put jingles on my poles.

It was getting dark in the forest when I could see a movement behind a curve. 70 metres from me was the king of the Carpathian forests – a bear. He/she was digging something from the slope near the path and did not pay attention to me. I silently left the scene, then turned back and searched for some camping place closer to the town. A meadow near a small pond seemed like a good spot considering constant noise from a nearby road and being able to see houses of Turčianské Teplice only 1 km away.

These “qualities” guarantee no bear comes here, I thought. Once I laid into the sleeping bag, I could here “barrraummm, barrraumm” from a forest near the meadow. The distance was not more than 200 metres. Oh dear, the bear is here, went through my head. And at that very moment another loud “barrraumm, barrraum” could be heard from a road 50 meters from my shelter. Seemed like two bears were negotiating a territory, because the voice of the second bear sounded really aggressive. I took pepper spray into my hand and wrapped up into the sleeping bag. Fortunately the argument was over soon and the closer bear left towards the town. I fell asleep.

30 minutes after the midnight the closer bear was back. It’s “barraumm, barraumm” was left without answer and I was even more afraid as I was so close to the bear. Again I took pepper spray and wrapped up into sleeping bag thinking about the best moment to use the spray – when the bear starts sniffing my tarp or when it starts touching me?

I could hear its steps in the grass and the sound of cracking twigs as the bear was approaching closer through bushes. Fortunately, he/she continued towards the forest where the first bear sound came from ignoring a frightened human occupying 2,5 square meters of the territory.

To the heights

I started the Tuesday 18^th June with a swim in a nearby pond and examining the place where I met the bear. He/she was digging for ant eggs.

Veľká Fatra is a horshoe shaped mountain range opened to the north. The alpine meadows form only small part of the range while most of the area is covered by deep forests on the slopes and hundreds of streams form fast running rivers. I left E8 for couple of hours to enjoy walking one of those valleys meeting it again near Kráľova studňa – King’s well (1340) – a strong spring in the mountain pass that gave name to a hotel.

The alpine meadows of Veľká Fatra in June seemed like a paradise. Covered by carpets of flowers including orchids. The perception was intensified by rainbow following a rainshower. I quickly realized I made a mistake regarding my shoe management: while I put poncho on me and rainproof overpants, I left the leather shoes on. This lead into soaked boots and socks.

Good bye blue sky

The connecting range between Veľká Fatra and Nízké Tatry is forested and a bit up and down walk. I met another two long-distance hikers coming from Dukla on Wednesday 19^th June. Though each meeting takes few minutes, it is always very warm and respectful.

Apart from dozens of hotels, there is a small shop in Donovaly (about 1000m altitude), where a hiker like me can refill. It is a mountain resort village in a pass on the western tip of Nízké Tatry (Low Tatras). Looks of the hotel guests towards me gave me evidence that with each mile passed my appearance is moving away from theirs.

I reached shelter under Kečka (1225) mountain (útulňa pod Kečkou) together with the first drops of a thunderstorm. I felt really lucky watching the heavy rain and even hails from behind a window of the cozy shelter. I used the time to insulate my shoes with some cream I found there, because I forgot to add shoe wax to my backpack and the one in the parcel for Romania was far away.

After an hour or so I could see a group of tourists climbing down the opposite hill. It appeared these were 16 years olds making their Duke of Edinburgh award. They rushed into the shelter, wet all over. The first thing they asked for was GSM signal to inform their parents they survived the thunderstorm and tell their leaders they are giving up this expedition. Along with the shelter guardians we made fire in the woodstove, offered them hot tea but they were not able to make effective use of this care. They left the wet garment on the floor, put on the last dry stuff (unless even this was wet), put on sleeping bags and started eating some cold food talking only about the end of their expedition. 40 minutes later their teachers came persuading them to continue but the teenagers could not imagine any other scenario than going to the nearest bus or train stop and back home. If only they wrung their garments and used the hot stove to dry their clothing and cook warm meal, they could be ready for next adventures within few hours.

Once the thunderstorm moved further, I left the youngsters alonw with their troubles and crossed a hill to Hiadeľské sedlo (1100) with a nice open shelter to join about 8 other hikers there for the night. To the west I could watch beautiful sunset over the Veľká Fatra.

Running away from a thunderstorm

I started early on Thursday 20^thJune in order to avoid thunderstorms that were expected to come in the afternoon. Most of the day I walked in the clouds so I cannot say much about appearance of this part of the Low Tatras.

I tested my homemade fleece overcoat for the first time. It is a lightweight rectangular piece of fleece that I can put over my shoulders where there is high temperature loss while hiking. Another use of this is kidney belt when zipping it on the shorter side. I also often used it as a pad.

A thunderstorm came at about 1:30 pm. Along with two Ukrainian geologists we rushed towards Chopok (2025) – restaurant and a cable car station. After an hour of running in altitudes about 2000 metres, I reached the restaurant and watched the further weather development through large glass windows eating my favourite meal – fried cauliflower.

The rain cleaned the air and the evening walk below the highest peak of Ďumbier (2046) towards Štefánik chalet (chata M. R. Štefánika) was full of beautiful vistas towards Vysoké Tatry (High Tatras) – the highest range of the whole Carpathian arc. Due to the strict conservation rules and necessity of being accompanied by a paid mountain guide on some trails I am missing this range on my journey.

The chalet was full of tourist chatting over a glass of beer, some combined this with spirits. For me this was like a miracle as I could have a shower, wash my garments and dry the boots. Good deal for 21€ including breakfast.

Chasing Ještěr through wet bush

Refreshed I started walking before 8 am on Friday 21^st June. The weather was excellent with beautiful views over the western part of Low Tatras.

This changed at about 10 am with the first thunderstorm of the day. The trail from Čertovica (Devil’s pass, 1232) leads through clearcuts, that means narrow footpath through high grass, bushes and young trees. I was soon soaked all over and my poncho (precious SMD Gatewood Cape) a bit torn. Despite the fact I tried to catch my friend Ještěr, I stopped at Ramža shelter to have a lunch, dry garments and wait till another thunderstorm passes.

Thus I set up at 2:45 pm from the point where my friend stayed overnight just after another thunderstorm passed.

Rainy weather is great to watch endemic Carpathian blue slug (Bielzia coerulans).

After another half-day of speed hiking in not less challenging conditions I could finally see smoke and meet him for a night at Priehyba mountain pass (1185). As he had started large fire, I could use my lightweight grate made of four pegs connected by two titanium tubes. This was the first and the last time I used this gadget of mine during the hike. Two other hikers joined us later at night.

A ranger changed my plans

After a steep ascent from the pass, the character of the mountains changed on Saturday 22^nd June. There were more alpine meadows with isolated trees and probably nice views we could have enjoyed if there was no fog as we walked in clouds. At about noon a huge thunderstorm started approaching the range so we took shelter in Andrejcová (1420). When we came only 5 Poles were mixing different types of alcohol and an older Czech couple making their lunch, but as the thunderstorm approached the shelter started to fill with wet and grateful hikers.

I must admit I have got a trouble with shelters. Trying to use the opportunity I put my socks to dry somewhere, charge my electronics etc. Then a shelter fills up with people and it is difficult to collect all my belongings again. It was the same here. Once the rain faded, I set up for the hike leaving Ještěr at the shelter as he did not want to get soaked again. All the way up the first hill I felt there was something wrong with my shoes – have I put on both pairs of socks? No, I left insoles in the shelter. So I left my backpack under a tree and needed to return for them.

This Eastern part of the Low Tatras is definitely a beautiful one with less rocks but high alpine meadows offering beautiful views namely over High Tatras. Unfortunately I could not enjoy this as most of the time I was walking in the clouds. When approaching Kráľova hoľa (King’s peak) – the highest point of this part of the range, the fog was so dense I could barely see 10 meters in front of me and the wind was so strong I could barely keep walking.

A ranger approached me at the peak and ordered me to descent to the south. After a short argument where he stereotyped “you Czechs are crazy, you do not understand mountains, have no equipment and we always need to rescue you,” which I did not considered fair towards me, I was forced to descend to directly the opposite side of the range. The ranger was afraid I could get lost in the fog and call for rescue or die.

I was not happy at all because I was forced to lose 500 altitude meters I would need to climb back the next day and the bivouac site he sent me to (and later checked if I am there) lacked a water source.

Wet man in a dry village

The weather was the same on Sunday 23^rd June in the morning so I quickly packed and rushed into the fog to avoid next meeting with a ranger who could send me back again. There were no dangers described to me by the ranger on the trail but the weather was not fine. All the vegetation was soaked by water and so was I. Rainshowers started later in the day. While on hike it is always difficult to assess the right time to replace the windproof jacket with a waterproof poncho. At one point I underestimated the rain and got totally wet.

As I approached another national park – Slovenský raj (Slovakian Paradise), the marked trail led through a stream so I put on my crocs and walked through the water. Another heavy shower approached and I was walking in my poncho, wet all over with a vision of drying up soon as my aim was Vydrník – village approximately 10 km away where my friend lives and a support package is waiting for me.

A car stopped next to me. “Get in!” the driver ordered. “No, it is OK, I shall walk.” I replied bearing in mind I am walking across Carpathians. “Where are you going?” “Vydrník.” “OK, that is village right next to ours, get on board.” I was hesitating only for a few seconds. I had been invited for a lunch there and it was 3 pm at the moment as I got delayed by the ranger yesterday. When I was getting off the car in Vydrník, two puddles of water were left in a car – one where I was sitting and another one in the boot, where my backpack enjoyed the ride.

It was dry in Vydrník, just 11 km away, so I looked like a phantom when ringing the bell of my friend’s house soaked all over and leaving wet tracks. The family immediately took over my troubles, fed me and washed my dirty clothes. Staying overnight in the local scout clubroom enabled me to go through the support package and dry out the rest of my equipment.

The day-off

On Monday 24^th June I took the first day-off. It was much busier than I expected. First I needed to get all the stuff I looked for in Poprad – a town with magnificient views over High Tatra mountains. Alcohol for my stove and shoe-wax in particular. I got both, though not in the quality I would like to have.

Then I returned back to the clubroom of scouts in Vydrník and repaired my shoes and a poncho, blogged, repacked and soon came the evening without actually having an hour to relax. Many people think hiking is just about walking, but it is not. You need to think about multiple things – keeping your gear in a good shape, washing clothes, planning the route, healing your wounds, cooking etc. It all takes time and skills.

Military excercise area

On Tuesday 25^th June I started much later than I expected, the sun was already high up at 10:30. It took time to leave the scout clubroom in Vydrník in better shape than it was when I came on Sunday evening.

Walking towards Levočské vrchy took about 3 hours through hilly lowland in the continental divide between Hornád and Poprad rivers. Levočské vrchy used to be military exercise area from 1952 till 2011, network of roads and ruins of tourist huts remains as legacy of this period. The highland is a paradise for bikers. At some areas the range looks like plateau so though being at altitudes about 900 metres, you need not to pedal too much to reach the peaks. I soon learned the water is not so abundant in this range as in the previous ones.

Deforested highlands

I continued through the range the whole Wednesday 26^th June leaving marked trails at about noon and turning to the east on forest roads. It was obvious from the tracks and scat the wildlife is abundant here, although the range has been heavily deforested in previous years. I mean I have never seen such large deforested area before. The advantage is the small trees planted few years ago give a hiker beautiful views over High Tatras on the western edge of the range.

I left the range following the continental divide through a picturesque valley. I stayed overnight near village Vislanka. Taking advantage of camping near the river I enjoyed a bath.

Barbecue with local farmers

Thursday 27^th June started early by walking on asphalt roads towards Šarišské Jastrabie, where I stopped for breakfast admiring the local dialect that sounded to me like mix of Slovakian and Polish. I continued to Minčol (1157), the highest point of the Čergov mountain range. I reached it around noon in crocs for I did not want my boots to become wet as a thunderstorm passed and another one was approaching. From this peak I turned to the north following E3 trail that leads towards the Polish border. At about 3 pm I met a Hungarian ultralight hiker (Balázs), who was walking from the Ukrainian border. He was nervous about water and explained me why – water is scarce on this trail. So I asked for water in Obručné village near the border with Poland and a local gave me also an extra lemon to savor my drink. Small favor counts, when you are a pilgrim.

I ended up at Kráľova studňa shelter on a beautiful meadow with nice vistas over the Polish village of Wojkowa. I just cooked my dinner when two men arrived, unlocked the rest of the shelter and hastily prepared a barbecue. Soon came other cars and two tractors. Children appeared from somewhere. These were people from a local NGO who built the shelter and a nearby watchtower, rejuvenated a water spring that gave the place its name etc. We got nice chat and for me it was great seeing those farmers meeting and planning some sport event for Saturday. Another example, how a small group of people can do great things and make a village (Lenartov in this case) buzzing with social life.

Borderline roller-coaster

Friday 28^th June was the first full day I followed the Polish – Slovakian border – a routine for the next week. The path was better than further to the east as it seems being regularly used by vehicles. Some hills are painfully high in this part. I did not meet a person for the whole day.

In the afternoon I started noticing trenches – hallmark of heavy fighting during the WW1 and maybe reused later during the WW2 .

When I was taking a picture with a book of a soviet general Andrej Antonovič Grečko “Cez Karpaty” (Across the Carpathians) that morning, I could not know that wars would stay with me for the next week. I spent the night in the shelter at the mountain pass Blechnarka = Wysowska (645).

Walk along trenches

On Saturday 29^th June I followed the tourist trail that copies the SK-PL border and is lined with WW1 trenches. Soon I came to a military cemetery. It was moving to read the names of the Czech, Austrian, Croatian and Hungarian soldiers giving me the idea how multinational Austrian monarchy was. The trench-war took years in this area as fortune changed and Austrians needed to defend their very territory from Russians after their initial advancements in the beginning of the war.

With high hopes I came to the Dujawa mountain pass (560) as my map showed two shops in the structures of former customs houses. I was dreaming for half day about buying some food and recharging my electronics but nothing of it materialized. Two shops were in the stage of destruction and huge Polish border police compound was abandoned. The lunch stop took 3 hours as I first needed to filter some water from a poor stream and later started to go through my e-mails while on solar power. It might have been wiser to walk or hitch-hike to get to a shop or a restaurant in Poland.

I wish I could have learned more about the fighting in this area. Unfortunately the interpretive panels were either not in a good shape or of poor interpretive quality. I also met one of many stickers left by Dominik Ksieski on his 2017 Carpathian thru-hike. I ended the day near a stream in marvellous Kuchtov pass near Polish village Oženna.

Land soaked with blood

Staying near a stream is great. With my wood powered stove I have got unlimited source of hot water so I “showered” and washed my garments on Sunday 30^th June early morning. I knew I must hurry to meet my son Radovan the other day so it was great disappointment when I realized my smartphone is locked again and I need to find a USB external keyboard to unlock it. The decision was made to continue without a phone and attempt to unlock it in the Dukla pass.

Along the way I could watch grass snake (Natrix natrix) hunting a yellow-bellied toad (Bombina variegata). I scared the snake while taking photos of the scene but my attempt to save the toad was probably useless. Though it made its belly-up posture of defense, it seemed unable to move probably due to paralysis after the snake bite. The yellow-bellied toad is a typical Carpathian specie living in muddy forest puddles thus becoming frequent companion of the hikers. They indicate puddles with stagnant water that is not fit for drinking unless after treatment in emergency situations.

The trail was much less hilly in this part. That was reason for the heavy fighting in this area. The WW1 trenches were overlayed by the WW2 trenches and positions for tanks and artillery. Traces of shelling were visible along the trail. I reached the Dukla pass at about 3:30 pm and was eager to unlock the phone in the museum that I expected was part of the WW2 memorial (this was the place where liberation of Czechoslovakia started in 1944 after heavy fighting of the Red Army along with Czechoslovakian exile corps). To my surprise there was no museum at the memorial so I ended feeding me up in a shop on the Slovakian side of the border. Two hikers (starting slowly E8 trail) provided me with a piece of bread and told me that the museum is not part of the memorial but is located in a watchtower on the hill. I rushed there to come 10 minutes after the closing time (4:30 pm). If there was only a sign or anything in the pass or near the main road but every signage pointed only to the watchtower not mentioning the museum.

I returned to the pass and unlocked the phone in a shop selling vignettas for highways. To feed my tummy even more and charge everything, I went for a dinner to a restaurant on the Polish side of the border. To sum up: unlike in other passes, Dukla pass is a good place to refill. It was almost 8 pm when I hiked (singing loudly to scare off bears) into a valley near the meeting point with my son, Radovan. I decided to get off from the main range in order to have source of water.

The valley was magic, beautiful night-sky with zero light pollution, strong warm winds through the valley and me feeling puzzled about the fact that there is human-carved landscape in this remote valley without any settlement.

Abandoned village

I was looking forward to Monday 1^st July very much. My son Radovan (16) was about to join me on the trip. As I was staying overnight just next to the Čertižské pass (575) – our meeting point, I could enjoy nice views from the sleeping bag and explore the magic valley further. It appeared to be a former village Czeremcha resettled during WWI fighting and never settled back with descendants of its inhabitants now spread around the world.

Tourist signs at place showed some sense of humor pointing to Nordkapp or the highest mountain of Ukraine. The whole place was magic as human touches were still clearly visible in the landscape but the settlers missing.

Radovan took with him fresh supplies and despite of the fact we started at about noon, we walked over 30 kilometers through the endless beech forests and similarly endless trenches from the past wars. There were many military cemeteries and war memorials on the way. The panels only claimed numbers of soldiers buried at a place. Sometimes passers-by put remnants of shrapnels and other reminders of fighting on border stones.

The water sources are scarce in this part of the Carpathians so we needed to drink a lot at water sources and took with us some extra supplies. Even the spring of Laborec river was dry.

As we were two, we stayed overnight under a tarp made of two US army ponchos snapped together – my typical tarp before buying SMD Gatewood Cape. Setting a tarp was wise decision as a rainshower came overnight.

Supply package looted

Being warned about lack of water, we were cautious while hiking on Tuesday 2^nd July, though it appeared that at the end of June with rainy May, the sources are still in the flysch bedrock. The trail switched to footpaths overgrown by vegetation at some parts near Laborec pass (604) and Luków pass (640). We also met some multi-day hikers. Mostly Czechs for whom this part of Eastern Carpathians symbolize wilderness.

The trail led through unmowed meadows and mostly beech forests. Again we could see trenches and other reminders of the hell soldiers experienced here in the WW I.

Radovan made his best to reach Osadné village, where my 2^nd support package was sent. Thus after walking 42 km we could enjoy overnight in an open garden house of the only local “hotel.”

There seemed to be some misunderstanding regarding the supply package so we found it opened and some supplies missing. According to one local the package arrived to a local pub and people started to take things as if it was a humanitarian aid parcel. Anyway, we were OK as our backpacks were heavy enough thanks to Radovan’s arrival with food supplies.

Unexpected rest day and losts

I used the opportunity to wash my cloths and it also took me while to go through the package, write the blog etc. To make it short, we started hiking as late as 3 pm on Wednesday 3^rd July. On the way back to the main ridge I also dropped in to see Juraj Lukáč – a legendary Slovakian conservationist. If you are lucky, you can see European bison in the woods in this corner of Eastern Carpathians but we were not lucky on that day.

Though I got my garments charged in Osadné, I tried to keep my phone close to 100% so I used every opportunity to grab some solar power and unfortunately lost my charging cable somewhere on the way. Later a man claimed he found it based on my plea in a shelter guestbook, but it appeared to be some other cable along with a charger.

As we entered Poloniny National Park, the overnights were allowed only on designated places. We stayed in Ruské sedlo shelter with a nice Czech couple and their dog Tekumseh (my favourite native-American hero). I also lost my handmade titanium pole somewhere near the shelter.

Unsuccessful attempt

Though my original route was not going through the point, where borders of Poland, Slovakia and Ukraine meet, we decided to go there on Thursday 4^th July so that Radovan could reach it (I was there in 1991). The range opens up a bit in this part so it leads through some former pastures that are now high-grass meadows providing finally some views around.

The place in the picture to the left brought back to me memories from 1991 hike when we were unsuccessfully searching for water here and went to sleeping bags thirsty. I then woke up in the middle of the night screaming because in my dream a bear was approaching our tarp. Night rain solved the water problem then. 🙂

About 5km from the point where 3 borders meet we stopped near a shelter, where a Slovakian group invited us to their barbecue. It was necessary to plan next days carefully because Radovan needed to leave back home by Sunday. So we decided to miss the point since there was no opportunity for staying overnight in its vicinity and descended to the valley near Nová Sedlica.

There were some horsemen and horsewomen at a shelter for tourists, which seemed like a nice company for the night but then group of locals came with spirits so we rather found a place on a meadow away from the company.

Rainy welcome to Ukraine

Friday 5^th July promised us lot of walking on tarmac – a hiker needs to leave the main ridge in order to reach the nearest crossing point to Ukraine (Ubľa – Velikij Bereznyj). To my surprise, villages of Nová Sedlica and Zboj were full of tourist amenities financed from EU funds like a visitor centre. A meteorite that fell from the above in June 1866 is considered one of the main local tourist attractions as it for some time was the largest known stone meteorite in the world.

To manage Radovan’s departure from Uzhgorod, we took bus to skip one village and 10 km of walk on tarmac. It appeared to be right decision, because during our lunch break near a forest pond 2,5 km from the border crossing the sky turned dark and sounds of thunder could be heard from NW.

We could see at least a hundred of cars left alone near the road to the customs, some of them already looted. I think these are the cars Slovakian customs did not allowed to leave the EU. Few hundred meters before we reached the customs it started raining. It took time to go through the customs but the thunderstorm was not over. We walked a kilometer to Ukraine and along with other pedestrians took shelter in a small commercial zone set up to provide Slovakians with goods for cheap Ukrainian prices. The rain turned into torrential so we were lucky to watch it from under a roof.

When the thunderstorm left, we decided to walk longer on paved road rather then following the trail through forest. Radovan could barely walk feeling pain from the soles of his feet so we searched for accommodation. We could soon feel the difference between the Czech and Ukrainian economies, when we paid just 23€ for a hotel room and large dinner for two.

A day-off in Uzhgorod

I felt we have got plenty of time since Radovan’s bus tickets back home were for 2:40 pm and Uzhgorod was just 45 kilometres from Velikij Bereznyj. I made some washing and wrote a blog in the morning when Radovan reminded me it is already 10 am Ukrainian time Saturday 6^th July. I forgot about the time zones! So we packed fast and waited for a bus to Uzhgorod.

There are no timetables at bus stops but locals know at what time the bus comes. The transport takes longer than one might expect from the distance due to patchy roads, vintage buses, frequent stops and the payment agenda driver needs to do while both driving and calling from his phone. It is good to know, there are two bus stations in Uzhgorod, the distance between them is about 2 km.

In the city I soon learned some stuff is difficult to get in Ukraine like USB-C cable longer than 1m, inter-teeth toothbrush or PET bottle smaller than 500ml. I was suprised by many heavily drunk people I could meet on the streets and inner courtyards of concrete blocks of flats Saturday early afternoon. Another reminder I am in a former USSR country was advertisement on Žatecký gus – Russian made beer that pretends to be Czech. I can remember that Russian students, with whom we were building trails along the Baikal lake in 2011, could not believe we do not recognise this “famous Czech brand.”

Anyway, Radovan left home and I could finally have some cheap dinner in a restaurant while waiting for a train back to Velikij Bereznyj.

Crossing of the Uzh river (205) was one of of the lowest altitudes on my journey. I tried to make as much distance as possible because the weather forecast for the next day was rainy. I stayed overnight at a former pasture slowly overgrowing by forest.

Through the deep Carpathian forests

The forecast proved true on Sunday 7^th July. Set of thunderstorms came at 4 am, fortunately they were always at least 2 km away from my tarp.

I followed the red trail to polonina Javirnik (1017) and then walked a side ridge as I planned before, which after few kilometers turned to an almost virgin forest interesting from a naturalist’s perspective but difficult to walk through.

The roads I planned to walk were full of fallen trees and overgrown by wet vegetation I could not see through as it was taller than me. So I resumed to descent to Ljuta river and follow the road along the river.

The footpath led to some popular swimming spot (called lagoon by the locals) but beyond it the once forest road turned into a bush and I again ended up climbing along a white water stream with a thunderstorm approaching – something I promised myself I would avoid on this journey.

Fallen bridges testified there once was a fine road along the river, probably at a time this was Czechoslovakia. However, today the left bank of the Ljuta is not suitable for hiking.

I needed to wade through the river again. The rain soon turned very strong and I could not believe my eyes when seeing a small shelter that enabled me to cook some dinner. I continued till the dark through the Ljuta village trying to find my way out of the valley among scattered settlements. This is always tricky because a hiker often ends up in someones backyard.

Fortunately every village in Zakarpatie is surrounded by mowed meadows that are ideal for camping so I put up my tarp on one of them close to a stream.

Dying Poloniny

I woke up quite late on Monday, July 8^th, as I had been on the phone with my wife late into the night. The sky was blue and I camped next to a stream, so I took the opportunity to wash my clothes and dry out my gear, which is why I didn’t start walking until about noon. There is always this trade-off on long-distance hikes: keeping clothes clean means spending sunny days doing laundry.

After crossing two small hills and valleys with typical Zakarpatie villages,I finally approached the polonynas—short-grass subalpine meadows created by sheep grazing. To my surprise, there were no shepherds or herds left, and I could clearly see the habitat slowly being reclaimed by forest, just as happened years ago in Slovakia and the Czech Republic.

A long march over the puddles

I set off at dawn on Tuesday, July 9^th, as rain was forecast for later in the day. Beyond the landmark peak of Pikuj (1,405 m), the ridge dropped steeply. Although the shepherds were gone, the polonynas were bustling with people picking blueberries.

On descent, I passed buyers who were paying the blue-berry pickers cash on the spot for their harvest (I wondered how much). It was a long march along a marked trail toward Polonyna Borzhava near Volovets.

More rain approached, and I had to walk slowly around numerous puddles, as the soil was already completely waterlogged. What really surprised me in this part of Ukraine was the giant hogweed (Heracleum mantegazzianum) taking over local ecosystems—and it doesn’t seem like the locals are doing anything to stop it.

The trail wentpast a memorial built by the Hungarian government to commemorate the invasion of the Hungarians into the Carpathian Basin. A few weeks later in Romania, I realized this was just one of many attempts by the Hungarian government to stake claims over what they view as the territory of “Greater Hungary.”

I continued through Veretsky Pass (841 m), home to a WWII memorial commemorating 600 Ukrainian Sich fighters executed here by Polish border guards after being handed over by the Hungarians. Hungarian troops invaded Zakarpattia (then Subcarpathian Ruthenia, a part of Czechoslovakia) in March 1939, turning my wife’s grandmother’s family into war refugees. The Sich fighters and the Czechoslovak army resisted for only a few days while Slovakia declared independence and Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia were occupied by the German army. The ruins of nearby hotels show that someone once saw tourist potential here many years ago.

Polonina Borzhava

I tried to pack my tarp quickly on Wednesday, July 10^th, to avoid the rain coming but it was quicker than me. It turned out I had camped right near a gas pipeline station supplying Europe with Russian gas. The descent to Volovets turned into a bit of an adventure, as I wanted to avoid the main road in the fog and drizzle, but I struggled to find the right path through private gardens.
In Ukraine, many grocery shops double as bars, which is great when you want to eat what you’ve just bought while recharging your phone. That’s exactly what I did in Volovets before ascending Polonyna Borzhava in the late afternoon. As elsewhere in Ukraine, groups of blueberry pickers were harvesting the slopes, taking the fruit and leaving behind garbage.

The good thing up in the mountains is one can see rain approaching and then it is only matter of experience to find a place with no wind and put on your raingear. In my case, that means a poncho and waterproof pants that I can pull on without taking off my boots. I walked until 9 p.m. to reach a designated campsite below Mount Kychera (1,257 m). The evening offered stunning views as the sky cleared after the rain and the sun set late.

The spot turned out to be occupied by blueberry pickers, a group of students from Prague (who stayed in their tents both that evening and the next morning when I left), and a group of students from Dnipropetrovsk with their teachers. I was lucky enough to use two of their many campfires to cook a warm meal. We talked late into the night about life in Ukraine and the Czech Republic. Apart from this camp, I had only met two other hikers near Pikuj, and that had been all the interaction with hikers I’d had in Ukraine so far.

Being first, twice

I again set off early again on Thursday, July 11^th, as more rain was forecasted. Unfortunately, I got distracted by wild strawberries along the way and got caught in a thunderstorm right before the summit of Mount Kuk (1,361 m). You might know the feeling of walking in driving rain and high winds, hearing thunder while standing on the highest peak around. I tried to get off the ridge quickly, but lost my way in the fog and started descending down the wrong side. Fortunately, I realized it fairly quickly thanks to the off-trail alarm on my smartwatch. Still, the temperature was near freezing, my fingers were numb from the cold, and my boots were completely waterlogged.

When the rain finally stopped, I was lucky to find a cluster of makeshift shelters built by blueberry pickers, where the campfire ashes were still hot. I used the warm embers to heat up some food and change into dry clothes. Just as I started walking again, I ran into a group of people.

They turned out to be Czech volunteers marking hiking trails in western Ukraine. From that point on, my route followed a freshly marked trail (blue route). During our short chat—where I was definitely more surprised to see them than they were to see me—they suggested a different route down the ridge than the one I had planned.

Following their advice, I took the newly painted green trail. As another shower started, I ran into a second group of Czech volunteers who were in the middle of painting that very line. That meant that on this historic day, I was twice the very first tourist on a newly marked trail!
With evening approaching, I gratefully accepted their invitation to stay overnight at their base camp in the village of Vuchkove. Getting there took a while as the dirt road was full of deep puddles.

There were many people we got common friends with at the Brontosaurus movement volunteer camp. I still had to pitch my tent, but I enjoyed a shower, warm water to wash my clothes, and internet access to check emails and wrap up last week’s blog post. Unsurprisingly, I went to bed very late that night.

Zakarpattia is changing slowly

Although I was the earliest riser in the camp, I didn’t set off on the hike until around noon on Friday, July 12th. It took time for my clothes to dry, to wax my boots, and to do all those other necessary chores that people on shorter hikes don’t need to worry about.

I followed the trail Veronika and I had taken back in 1993, crossing the Rika River using the very same suspension bridge. I could have crossed the river further upstream in Mizhhiria, but that would have meant either hiking up to Mount Nehrovets (1,709 m) or walking along the gravel road in the valley. So I preferred to stay on Polonyna Borzhava as long as possible and not descend before Mount Kuk. On the way to Nehrovets, I lost the marked trail, but I didn’t regret it for a moment—it led me to the abandoned village of Kosiv Verkh (750 m), which was truly magical.

In the village of Nehrovets, I was surprised by how little had changed since 1993. The churches and crosses had been restored, but the roads looked exactly the same. What immediately strikes you upon coming to Ukraine is that life happens outdoors, on the street. People gather and talk, and children play outside. That is a stark contrast to my home country and Western countries in general (incidentally, the word for “outdoors” in both Russian and Ukrainian literally translates to “on the street”).

I stopped for dinner at “Četnická stanice” (Gendarme Station), a restaurant in Kolochava aimed mainly at Czech tourists. The village is famous because the Czech author Ivan Olbracht set his novel here during the era when this corner of Ukraine was part of Czechoslovakia. I then hiked into the night, hoping to reach an old kolyba (shepherd’s hut) where we had stayed overnight in 1993 and survived a terrifying thunderstorm, but I didn’t make it that far.

Loss

In the morning, I realized that both of the shepherd’s huts I remembered from 1993—the ones that had sheltered us during and after that awful thunderstorm—were completely gone.

When I wanted to cook breakfast on Saturday, July 13^th, I discovered I was missing my spoon. I must have left it at the Czech volunteers’ camp. I carved a pair of wooden chopsticks and started calling friends back in the Czech Republic to get contact details for the camp organizers. I tried calling, texting, and reaching out on Facebook, but with no luck. A spoon might not seem like much in everyday life, but when all your possessions fit in a backpack, losing one is a major blow—especially when it’s a titanium spoon designed to double as a pot handle.

Polonyna Krasna is slowly healing from the gas pipeline construction we witnessed back in 1993. A muddy road runs right along the ridge, and at one point, I even saw leftover pipes abandoned in the mountains.
In some spots, the ground disturbance actually created new habitats for rare species, such as the short-spurred fragrant orchid (Gymnadenia odoratissima).

I met only one other hiker on Polonina Krasna: Tomasz Wilkonski, a retired Polish IT specialist who has been systematically visiting every mountain range and hill in Ukraine’s Zakarpattia region. We immediately clicked, so we both regretted that we were traveling in opposite directions.

We met just as a group of tourists drove past in 4×4 vehicles.

Unfortunately, this is how many Ukrainians like to enjoy the mountains—and not just them. The Carpathians in Romania and Ukraine are infamous among foreign off-road enthusiasts who come here to indulge in a hobby that is illegal in their home countries. It is illegal here as well, but law enforcement is lax. Just the night before, a group of off-road motorcyclists had roared past my tarp around midnight, barely twelve meters away.

The descent from Polonina Krasna toward Ust–Chorna was steep and treacherous because the soil was completely waterlogged from the rain (naturally, I got caught in several rain showers that day too). The road near the village — a former German settlement— hadn’t changed at all in 25 years.

Right next to the trail, there was a new restaurant. As the only guest, I ordered a pizza, and the young owner, who had just opened the place alongside a small grocery store, was thrilled to serve me. She even gave me a stainless steel spoon! It was already dark when I set off again, but knowing the weather forecast, I wanted to cross Polonyna Svydovets before more rain arrived on Sunday. Shortly before midnight, I reached a shelter. Two tents were pitched nearby, but the simple hut itself was empty. I went to sleep knowing I would only get a few hours of rest.

2025 Update: The shelter has completely deteriorated over the last six years. This serves as a reminder to readers that shelter locations on my map should be taken with a grain of salt, as a lack of maintenance can quickly take its toll. In this particular case, the deterioration was tied to the abandonment of sheep grazing further up the ridge, as the shelter was likely maintained by shepherds.

Illness

I set off around 5 a.m. on Sunday, July 14^th, so I didn’t get to meet the hikers sleeping in the nearby tents. However, I left one of Jan Skácel’s poems—which Pája had given me for the trip—in the shelter for them to read (their gear suggested they were Czechs or Slovaks).).

When I reached Mount Tempa (1634 m), I realized it was the highest point of my journey in Ukraine. The clouds were still far off, but after a few kilometers, the storm caught up with me.

I found the site of a former loggers’ camp and braced for the thunderstorm. I even managed to finish cooking lunch just as the first drops started drumming on my tarp. The plan was to eat and get a little sleep, but things quickly went downhill. I couldn’t finish my meal and started feeling dizzy. A few minutes later, I was inside my sleeping bag, unable to move, with my stomach churning violently.
I soon realized this was eerily similar to an illness that had cut short a hiking trip with our Eco-club Kvíčala 20 years ago. Back then, it was a Campylobacter infection from a cream sauce we’d ordered at a restaurant. Wait—they had offered me a cream sauce with my pizza yesterday! And they gave me a huge portion, even though I had asked for a small one.
I spent the rest of the day sweating with a fever, vomiting, and suffering from diarrhea. Every tiny movement took an immense amount of energy. Fortunately, there was cell coverage, and my wife Veronika acted as my GP over the phone, advising me on medication. I had no idea how I would be able to continue the hike, as I could barely even turn around in my sleeping bag.

Blueberry harvesters

I was not sure how quickly the Campylobacter sickness pass. I felt extremely weak on Monday, July 15^th morning. With no rush I packed my stuff and started walking slowly. I hiked up Apecka mountain (1512) and started descending towards the border with Romania.

This mountain range was under attack from blueberry pickers. The ridge was full of cars. I could understand how the 4WDs got here, but struggled to comprehend how the Soviet-era Zhigulis and Ladas had managed it. Hundreds of people were picking up blueberries while others were buying the berries from them right on the ridge and loading them into their lorries.

Many people were camping there leaving considerable mess behind. For hikers this provides opportunity to add some valuable items to their food supply. In this case, I reused some onion and bread left by campers near the embers.

On my descent, I realized the forest road I wanted to take didn’t exist, so I had to make a steep descent through the forest. Fortunately, the rain started half an hour later, by which time I was on a wide forest road. This forest district was different from the ones I went through before. There was no mess left behind by loggers; quite the opposite, there were bags for waste. Roads were signed and even when I approached a roofed picnic shelter in the evening there was no garbage around, which is extraordinary in Ukraine.

Approaching a different world

On Tuesday, July 16th, I continued my descent to Solotvino, now feeling much better and almost at full strength. Walking through the villages was a new experience for me.

In Verkhnie Vodiane I ate some yogurt in a bar/supermarket on the main commercial street, which was bustling with merchandisers. This was a predominantly Ukrainian village, while the next two were Romanian.

What they all had in common was the sight of many houses under construction, some seemingly for years.

It was easy to guess what their owners wanted to achieve: huge, shiny, decorated houses – palaces, perhaps, would be a better word for these structures that gleamed along the streets of the Romanian-speaking villages. This was a collection of what we might label as kitsch; however I prefer to avoid judging different cultures. In any case, their glamour was in striking contrast to the other deteriorating infrastructure.

In the early afternoon, I approached the border town of Solotvino, with its neighborhoods of run-down, Soviet-era concrete blocks of flats. I tried to find a hotel, where I could have a shower and (ideally) make laundry. I found one quite expensive hotel but they only offered overnight. I spent my last Ukrainian hrivnas on kriwka candies and crossed an old border bridge over the Tisa River to enter Romania. Distance-wise, I was at the midpoint of my journey. This meant I could make it to the Danube if I keep the pace and avoid accidents.

Romanian border guards gave me some tips for a hotel in Sighetul Marmației but then said, ‘You should rather use the river.’ They were right; I was unsuccessful despite walking the town from north to center and west to east.

However much the palaces and unfinished Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches resembled Ukraine, the difference was striking. The streets were alive. People were sitting in restaurants, chatting. Services were readily available (I even managed to find interdental brushes in the sixth pharmacy I visited, an item no one in Ukraine seemed to know). The shops were full of different sorts of goods, though price tags were much higher than in Ukraine. One gets a clear feeling of entrepreneurial spirit and the fact that THIS IS the European Union.

On the way out of town I somehow entered a gipsy ghetto in the middle of an old car dump, which was shaking experience. I continued along a river to find a place for camping and making laundry. I passed by an open-air museum of Maramureșian architecture; unfortunately, it was too late to visit, and I was too shy to ask for accommodation, even though they offered it.

Contrary to what the map showed, there was a settlement along the river. I waited for a sheep to go out of a pasture and put up my tarp there. The river was full of garbage, and when I searched for a place to bathe, a rat was looking at me from a pile of plastic bottles and rotting textiles. The water seemed clean but the river was ugly. Apparently there was a house across the river with wild dogs. They sniffed me and were barking towards me until late night. Some even tried to cross the river. Mosquitoes added to the experience. So I went to my sleeping bag feeling smelly, bitten, and afraid of a pack of wild dogs. Welcome to Romania.

Picturesque Maramureşian landscape

I woke up at dawn on Wednesday, July 17^th, packed silently, and got out of that place. I needed to pass through a couple more settlements with dogs ready to attack a lonely pilgrim. Indeed, welcome back to Romania. I made breakfast in a meadow far away from settlements and started walking. Unlike in Ukraine, where some roads on OpenTopo maps were hardly visible in reality, here there were many more roads than on my map. So I tried walking the main ridge, and it worked, though sometimes I needed to cross fenced private grounds.

It was hay-time, and here in the highlands, people from villages in the valleys were cutting the grass and drying their hay. The landscape was very picturesque. When I stopped for lunch, a lady passed by with her children carrying some wood. I asked her for a water source, and before I finished eating, two of her children arrived with 2 litres of water. This was really nice, so I shared my last Ukrainian candies.

In the evening, I came to the village of Petrova, where some old architecture was giving way to modern houses. A local helped me find a cheap hotel, and the staff allowed me to use their laundry machine.

With my body and clothes washed, I went to bed and used my room for drying.

Closer to the mountains

Going for breakfast to a local shop and packing my stuff took longer than I expected. So I did not start until about 11 am on Thursday, July 18^th. I went up and down over a ridge to reach Ruscova. As I was in a hurry due to a planned meeting with Paja in the Rodnei Mountains on Saturday, I declined an invitation for lunch at an Orthodox monastery.

The village of Ruscova, with its new EU-funded paved roads and newly constructed houses, illustrated high hopes and rapid change of a once poor country. From the ridge above Ruscova, nice views opened onto both the Maramureş and Rodnei Mountains. The meadows higher up were abandoned but those closer to the village were still mowed for hay.

In the evening, I entered a magical valley leading towards Vişeu de Mijloc. At first, I lost my way slightly and needed to take a shortcut down a steep hill through a dense forest. The evening was calm, no one around. Some meadows were abandoned, but in one place, people were still living in remoteness.

I found a nice place on a pasture, but the silence of the night was interrupted by a shepherd’s dog that sniffed me and started barking at around 1:30 am. I ignored it, but after 30 minutes, I needed to use twigs to fight it off.

Ascending Rodnei

It was quite some distance to the village where I got breakfast on Friday, July 19^th. From there, I continued through a similar landscape as in previous days to Săcel, from where I started ascending the Rodnei Mountains.

The hills were alive with families working on their hay. I was wondering if anyone will be doing this once the older generation is gone.

It rained a bit again in the afternoon, but I tried to go as far as possible because the next day I was to meet my colleague from Kaprálův mlýn, Paja, quite far into the mountains. This western part of Rodnei mountains was pointlessly equipped with picnic tables, courtesy of an EU grant.

I could see Pietroşul Rodnei (2303) on the horizon, bathed in the evening sun. Signs of bear presence were quite visible, so I was happy to end up in a simple shelter in the Pietrii mountain pass.

Rush through the Rodnei mountains

I woke up early on Saturday, July 20^th. My colleague from Kaprálův mlýn, Pája, was expected to be in the Prislop Pass around 2 pm and therefore around 3 pm on the main ridge of the mountains. She called me 8:30 am to say she had started ascending, half a day ahead of the plan. I walked as fast as I could through the mountains, following the well marked trails.

In the pass, where a side ridge leading to the highest peak, Pietrosul Mare (2303), extends north, I met a group of Slovakians – the first hikers I’d encountered this week. We even realized we had a common scout friend. While ascending Repede (2074), it started to rain. Though I managed to put on my poncho and waterproof trousers, my shoes and socks were soon soaked. I passed by my landmark stone where a local guy attempted to rob us during the night back in 1996.

Munții Rodnei is the highest range in this part of the Carpathians, the only one with a true alpine appearance, which is why they are popular with tourists.

The mountains were quite busy that Saturday – apart from Ukrainian and Romanian hikers, there was also a Hungarian running competition taking place. We met with Pája at about 4 pm, and the first task was to repack all the food from its original packaging into lighter plastic bags. Meanwhile, the sun came out, and I could dry my wet things.

We set off for the hike at about 6 pm, enjoying beautiful views to the north towards Prislop pass (1405), which divides the Rodnei and Maramureş mountains to the east. We finished around 9 pm near a water source, about an hour’s walk before Ineu (2279). The place appeared to be very windy so I tried to combine a tarp made of two ponchos with the Gatewood Cape.

Unexpected meeting

Apparently, the mountain shelter (‘refugiu’ in Romanian) below Ineu (2279) was empty on Saturday, so our worries about not fitting in were not right. I copied an entry from the shelter’s logbook – a Polish hiker traversing the entire Carpathians had stayed here more than a month prior. I would later learn his name was Michał Kulanek; we got into contact but missed each other by just one hour near Orşova.

From early morning of Sunday, July 21^st, we started meeting tourists – we counted about 15 hikers below Ineu. Anyway, this is a relative measure. The day before, I had the impression of ‘crowded mountains’ after meeting only about 25 people throughout the day – an amount you might encounter in 30 minutes in some parts of the Făgăraș or Low Tatras.

Instead of going over the next peak, Ineut (2222 m), we decided to see the lakes in the cirque below the peaks. This was a nice change, but the tourist trail went through boulders and mountain pine, so I tore my poncho when I slipped on a rock (did I mention it was raining again?). We were meeting more and more tourists on day hikes, and when we got back to the pass on the main ridge, we found out why – the pass was accessible by car.

Believe it or not, in the pass we met our Czech scout friend Lobo with his girlfriend. He actually works as the project manager of the project I was putting together and both me and Pája are partly paid by it.

We went together to the Rotunda pass (1275), which divides the Rodnei Mountains from the Suhard Mountains. Contrary to our expectations, there was no restaurant but a local offered us cola cans, tomatoes and bread for a decent price. Moreover, we could charge our phones there. After a few kilometres we stopped for sharing sweet goodies (including honey from our bees that Pája had brought with her). Then we exchanged some food and said goodbye to our friends as our pace was considerably higher.

The weather turned beautiful as we continued below Omul peak (1932) in the Suhard Mountains and towards the pass south of the highest peak. We found a nice camping spot above the pass.

Through pastures

On Monday 22^nd July we woke up to the rain that ceased at about the time we packed our stuff. We continued through Suhard and Munții Bârgău towards the Călimani volcano caldera.

Many meadows were grazed and we were impressed by many nice newly built kolibas (shepherds’ houses), though we passed by simple ones too. Parts of our route went through forest, which was at some places difficult to cross due to uprooted trees.

In the afternoon we met a shepherd with his 14 years old son who made small 3D model of a koliba out of sticks and stones on the remains of WW II trenches.

This kind of moved me. I gave him my slingshot as I found it was not effective against dogs – they were not scared by it as they had never seen any before. From that point we could see both Călimani and my favourite mountains – Ceahlău with its crown-shaped peak Toaca (1901).

At about 6 pm the sky turned black behind us and we were wondering if the thunderstorm reaches us or not. Fortunately, we were touched by its edge only and rewarded by a beautiful rainbow just when we reached some “Via Transilvanica” trail. It was difficult to find a place to sleep and we ended up in a wet and not particularly nice forest near Tătaru village.

Stranded twice in the rain

We had our breakfast at a shop in Poiana Stampei on Tuesday 23^rd July. I really like the fact small village shops have bars nearby so that people can consume what they bought. In this case we could comfortably recharge our electronics. Unfortunately the sardines in oil burst after opening leading to large stains on my trousers and merino shirt. Small accident in everyday life but big trouble when you cannot make laundry due to wet weather and you walk through a bear country.

While ordering cappuccino we learned that in Romania they make it simply way – take an instant package, pour hot water over it and give you piece of plastic to stir it. They even have special stands for them so you can choose one of the artificial flavors. It costs 40 cents but is far away from the real drink. However, locals do not mind unless they know the difference.

Few kilometers after leaving Poiana Stampei it started raining. Fortunately we were walking on a wide forest road, unfortunately we took a wrong one at a crossroad and then got wet, boots fully soaked while trying to shortcut to the right one.

We came to Călimani mountains and could see newly painted red and blue squares with arrows resembling tourist marking. I could remember my Romanian friend Horatiu Popa wrote me that new trails had been marked in Călimani recently and it seemed this could be nice shortcut to the main ridge. After a kilometer marking left the road and went up a steep hill. They are probably expecting to built a trail later, I thought. But the worst was about to come when we climbed up on a side ridge. The “marking” went through high grass with lots of fallen trees. It started raining again and we went forward only a hundred meters per hour fearing of tearing ponchos while crossing many slippery tree trunks.

We decided to return back to the original trail through a steep hill walking elk’s paths. Few hundred meters before reaching it the red and blue squares appeared again. It was 7:30 pm, we were soaked with water and had spent 2,5 hours on what would have been 1.5 kilometers of easy walk if we stuck to our original planned trail. As the road turned into footpath overgrown by wet vegetation, we decided to stay overnight on the spot where we reached our original trail with a stream running nearby. So we built our tarp from wet ponchos, used alcohol stove to make some warm meal and went to bed knowing wet clothing and wet shoes would only get colder till the next morning.

Wet walk through Călimani

The morning of Wednesday 24^th July was not bright. It was foggy, my shoes and socks soaked with water, ponchos wet. We packed and continued ascending through what once was a forest road, now overgrown by vegetation with kilos of water on it. At one point we decided to rather follow a path made by cows than the former road with fallen trees across it. We ended up ascending straight up through virgin forest with cow trail lost long time before. Right under the main ridge we met a nice sheep path so we followed it, soon reaching blue cross marking that led us on the main ridge.

The walk to the pass of Joseph II. was wet. The narrow path went through junipers and mountain pines happy to give us water bearing on their needles. At several points we lost the way in the labyrinth of bushes. This reminded me of 2008 crossing of the range when we needed to crawl through the mountain pine.

From the pass the trail changed. It was well-marked as “Trail of Maria Theresa” and wide enough. We missed the highest peak in order to reach Lacul Iezer before night as we expected a tourist shelter – refugiu there. We met a first hiker of this week – a Romanian woman going around this C-shaped mountain range.

While passing by the meteorological station on Rețițiș peak (2021) we were told there is no refugiu near the lake and were offered an overnight there. We reluctantly accepted it on the promise of shower. The meteo-station was in a run-down stage. Roof was apparently leaking at some points. Cold water was running only at the bathroom and neither hot, nor drinking water was available from the taps. Nevertheless, we were able to use the cooker in the kitchen so we made enough hot water for a “shower” and making laundry. Though we had not expected it, this offer for 7 EUR /person included a dinner and a breakfast, which turned it into a good choice. I also learnt on the wall map, that what we considered tourist marking the day before were actually national park border signs.

Walking the bear area

We knew we need to go fast on Thursday 25^th July to come as close to Borsec as possible because we got a parcel waiting for us at a post office there. The descent from Călimani was very mild and the landscape leading through abandoned poianas looked magic.

In the pass above Bilbor we decided not to follow the planned route through Bilbor village but rather follow the tourist marking that led to Răchițiş pass (950). Timewise it was not a good choice because the marking disappeared before the pass leaving us amid wet meadows of abandoned pastures. It was clear we are going through a bear country. Scat was frequent as well as destructed stumps and anthills along with moved stones made by bears trying to find insects for their menu. Several 2021 thru-hikers met with bears in this part of the trail.

The ascent from Răchițiş pass to refugiu under Nagy-Bükk peak (1308) was steep and painful. Notwithstanding we got almost no water and the water source below the refugiu was so low yielding it took long time to get enough of the most precious liquid. We reached the shelter at night but happy we are in a house right above Borsec.

Supplies from home

Refugiu was very comfortable so we got up quite late on Friday 26^th July. Both from the refugiu and the tourist signs we realized we are in one of the parts of Romania with Hungarian inhabitants, historically they are called Székelys.

We reached Borsec – a spa town popular with tourists and famous for its mineral water –at around 10 am and made a luxury breakfast: tomatoes with fermented cream and cheese. Sitting on a bench near the gate to the promenade we turned into kind of a tourist attraction.

The real Borsec, where the post office is, spreads about one mile downhill from the spa town with crowds of tourists visiting shops and springs of mineral water. This was the smallest post office I have ever entered with customers’ space about 4 square meters, probably less. We took the parcel to a nearby bar, ordered capuccino (again Romanian style) and I started repacking => taking some stuff with us and dividing the rest to two parcels, one to Buşteni and one to Petroşani. The latter parcel contained only food as I thought I might not make it there.

This took about 1,5 hours of sorting out but the waitress was not objecting. Sending the parcels was a bit problematic as the clerk could not find Petroşani (Hunedoara county) in Romanian post office system. To use the civilization to maximum we went for a lunch to a restaurant. In the first one we ordered drinks and started choosing from the menu. While making orders waitress told us they actually serve only three meals today, all with pork, and send us to a restaurant across the street. The situation repeated there with only one meal on offer. One wonders why then the waiters go through the procedure of offering the menu list (and leaving foreigners translating what all the entries mean). The meal we received was not quite what we were told (beans), anyway. With our stomachs filled, we continued to the south making it up on a hill above Borsec. It was a bit frustrating seeing the place we stayed yesterday just across the valley but this was outweighted by the fact we were close to 4 BTS with data running fast so I used the opportunity to upload pictures from previous days to the cloud.

Muntii Giugului and Tatarului

We got up and started hiking early in the morning on Saturday 27^th July. As Paja was about to leave on Monday and I wanted her to see Hăşmaş before that plus make an easy departure from Miercuriea Ciuc we needed to cover some distance. Our trail went mostly through forests and some meadows of Munții Giugului. At some parts of Carpathians the names of mountain ranges change with every ridge or a map. From my understanding both Giugului and Tătarului are part of Munții Bistriței.

After short shower in the morning there was no rain for the whole day. We walked fast, but there were couple of factors slowing us down: abundant strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, puddles of water and trees fallen across the road. Fortunately there had been some motorcycle race on the part of the trail recently so it was easier to walk high grass. I would have never thought I could enjoy motorbike tracks in a forest. There were clear signs of bear presence and at one moment we could see really fresh footprints of a bear cub with mum while the noise in the dense spruce forest to our left told us we just narrowly missed an unwanted meeting.

Beautiful views on Ceăhlau with the main cliff to the right and Toaca (1904) to the left were opening to the north-east. I love this conglomerate island of north-east Carpathians, though I am missing it this time.

At about 6:30 pm we reached Pângăraţi pass (1250) where I expected some traders and fast food as it is close to the Bicaz gorge – the top tourist attraction of this part of Romania. There were some stands but apart from one they were already closed.

The only one did not offer anything we needed but the lady was so nice that she gave us her old bread. Searching for a place to stay overnight I was wondering what would we do with a kilo of bread. Voilá, let us make fried bread for the dinner. We did and it was so successful we repeated this in the days to come. We also successfully tested shelter made from Gatewood Cape and one US Army poncho.

Picturesque Hăşmaş

The morning on Sunday 28^th July was a bit noisy as a truck full of blueberry pickers parked near out tarp at 6:30 am. After making the breakfast (fried bread), we set up to see the Hăşmaş mountains. After few kilometers we found a spring with a trough and used it to wash my trousers and a shirt.

Hăşmaş is formed by limestone and its scenery is way more picturesque then previous ranges. The main ridge south from Hăşmaşu mare (1792) is falling by rock cliffs to the west, which is beautiful. We met about 25 one-day hikers as it was Sunday but not a single person on a multi-day hike.

In the evening we came to beautiful Ciucului mountains. Small forests, pastures and hay meadows made wonderland scenery. The only trouble were dog attacks that repeated whenever we came closer to a shepherds’ house or a herd.

We went late to night in order to reach refugiu under Noşcolat peak (1553). When we came there it appeared it is in the middle of a ranch with wild dogs. Fortunately a 14 years old son of the shepherd took care about our safety with his whip accompanying us to water spring and even giving us some cheese.

It was a windy place so while turning off the fan of my woodstove, the flames reached it through the tube and the plastic fan burnt. I made it working again, though with less power getting a valuable lesson for future construction designs. The spare part was hopefully waiting for me in Buşteni.

Lonely again

It was a somber morning on Monday, 29^th July. We said goodbye to the refugiu and started descending toward Lunca de Jos, trying to avoid wild dogs. The path led through meadows with beautiful views, but once again, it ran along trenches—built by the Hungarians against the Red Army during WWII.

At one point, there was an interpretive panel about the 32nd Hungarian Infantry Battalion and their “heroic retreat” while being ambushed by the Russians (sic). This was not just the opinion of a local Hungarian; the panel had been financed by the Hungarian Ministry of Defence. No wonder its Romanian version had been destroyed a few metres away, leaving only the English one still mounted on the stand.

We ate our favourite breakfast in Lunca de Jos (sour cream, tomatoes, and bread) and continued to the neighbouring Lunca de Sus. What surprised me was that both villages have Hungarian-speaking partner towns exclusively in Hungary and Slovakia.

Paja walked with me for a few kilometres through the village to the point where I started ascending Munții Ciucului again. It was early afternoon, and Paja had plenty of time since her train wasn’t leaving until about 9 pm from Miercurea Ciuc, close to Lunca. For me, this was a heartbreaking farewell, as I knew that ahead of me lay the most difficult part of the entire journey: forested, sparsely populated mountain ranges where I was unlikely to meet another tourist and where the path might be difficult to find. It was 220 km to the Ciucaş Mountains, from where I would follow known trails. I had no idea how long it could take, especially given the less-than-optimistic weather forecast.

The southern part of Ciucului mountains was no less beautiful than the northern part. The shepherds’ houses in this area were located on the slopes amid flowering meadows. With their variety of livestock, they resembled summer farms rather than the typical shepherds’ shelters found in other areas.

I somehow managed to avoid conflicts with dogs, washed my socks and shirt, withstood two rain showers and made it to the refugiu under Viscolul peak (1494). Since the shelter entrance faced west, a beautiful sunset promised that I might make it to Ciucaş.

Surprising Uz valley

I got up early on Tuesday, 30^th July as I knew this was a crucial day to cover as much ground as possible, given the rainy weather forecast from the next day onwards. Viscolul Peak apparently holds some significance for local Hungarians, as it was decorated and featured the concrete foundations for a future building.

I managed to avoid the dogs and washed in a river while charging my phone before reaching the village of Ciobăniş. I considered abandoning my planned route along the river to Ciobăniş to follow well-signed trails to the south instead, but this would have meant crossing from one ridge to another in an area poorly covered by my maps and far from civilisation. So, I stuck to my original plan instead, even though it meant going up and down through two valleys.

Ciobăniş is a village without electricity, far away from other settlements that transfers you back into the 19^th century, no wonder Svetozár Krno and his fellows got similar impression of the place back in 1984. , which transports you straight back to the 19th century. No wonder Svetozár Krno and his companions got a similar impression of the place back in 1984. For the first time in Europe, I saw a woman preparing birch bark to make crafts, and I learnt more about a dog pack’s mentality during an unpleasant attack.

I lost the footpath in the pass between the valleys (during planning, I had simply assumed there would be a forest road through the pass, which, fortunately, there was). I was lucky that a thunderstorm passed nearby, and I only caught some moderate rain on its edge.

The Uz Valley was a major surprise to me. I entered it right next to a military cemetery built with Hungarian government funding. It was a clear display of Hungarian nationalism. The narrative implied that in both WWI and WWII, Hungarian soldiers were defending their “Hungarian” (sic) homeland, died heroically, and “Greater Hungary” was invaded as a consequence.

During WWII, 2,700 soldiers from Hungary, along with German and Austrian comrades (with not a single word about the Wehrmacht or the SS), died in the valley, while the Soviets lost 15,000 soldiers, according to Hungarian claims. The once-vibrant village was deserted after WWI and totally destroyed during WWII. Walking through the valley, you can feel this history and can’t help but think about the heavy fighting that left so much blood soaked into the soil in August 1944.

I asked some locals if there was a shop, but they told me it was far down the valley.

The previous day, I had purchased a map of the Nemira Mountains online via the Avenza app. It was produced by Hungarians, expensive, and turned out to be less accurate than the free OpenTopoMaps; even its alignment with WGS 84 was off. I spent some time searching for a non-existent forest road and finally ended up in Poiana Uzului at around 8 pm, after stopping to see one of the waterfalls on the Uz River.

The man I had previously asked about a shop passed by in a car and pointed toward a house at a crossroads. . I went inside and asked for a shop, but it turned out to be a restaurant owned by a man with big plans and a big heart. He seemed to be a kind of local opinion leader, judging by the reactions of the guys sitting outside, sipping beer and smoking. I was offered dinner and a place to stay overnight. The small room was next to a bathroom, but the shower was just a hose with cold water that also supplied his fish ponds. This was a true permaculture garden, though I am not sure he had ever heard the term. There was no power grid in the village, but Iulian’s solar panels and batteries were more than enough to charge my devices.

Rainy Nemira

I wanted to start at 6 am on Wednesday, 31^st July, to get as far as possible before the forecast afternoon rain. However, Iulian’s breakfast invitation delayed my start until 7:30 am. I was surprised that when it came to payment, he refused to take any money from me. It was a painful ascent of 1,100 metres, as I hiked up fast. I passed former trenches and other remnants of war.

The rain caught me right below Nemira Peak (1649 m), and a thunderstorm with heavy rain hit just as I was finishing my lunch in the pass below the mountain.

I hiked through the rain to the refugiu on Șandru Peak (1640 m). This turned out to be a metal box with disgusting grafitti inside, where I didn’t feel at all safe while the thunderstorms rolled past. I noticed on my free map app that there were two more shelters (refugii) below the peak, which hadn’t been shown on the map I bought. Only one of them actually existed, but it was very nice, so I made myself at home. Even though it was only 4pm, I decided to stay there, expecting to remain through Thursday too, as heavy rain was forecast for that day. I also discovered that I had picked up a flea while staying overnight in Poiana Uzului.

Soaked again

On Thursday, 1^st August, I woke up quite late, expecting rain from the early morning according to the weather forecast. To my surprise, there was sunshine. I checked the forecast again, and it had completely changed since the previous night to “occasional showers,” with the heaviest ones expected in the morning. Since it wasn’t raining yet, I packed my gear, ate lunch, and set out for the hike around noon, frustratingly regretting that I had lost half a day. It soon started drizzling, which quickly turned into heavy rain as thunderstorms began rolling through.

I hiked along muddy forest tracks full of puddles, passing through woods and poianas (mountain meadows), holding onto a vision of drying off a bit, charging my phone, and having a warm dinner at a motel near the Oituz Pass (860 m) that was shown on the map I had bought. I was passing near a shepherd’s hut in the pouring rain when I was caught off guard by dogs that had been waiting, hidden near the path despite the weather. The shepherd was far away inside the hut, and while trying to defend myself against the pack of ten or so dogs, I fell on my back. It was a desperate feeling—being surrounded by a wild pack snapping their teeth just a foot from my body. As I fell, I tore my SMD Gatewood Cape poncho-tarp. The shepherd rushed to the scene in his underwear just as I managed to stand up again, clearly expecting me to have been bitten. Fortunately, I hadn’t been, but the encounter left me genuinely traumatised.

Because I had been looking forward to the motel so much, finding it ruined left me deeply disappointed. I found some olives in a garbage bin at a nearby parking area and ate them. Defeated, I returned to the pass and continued south. It was getting dark when I realised the path led straight through another shepherds’ settlement. The dogs there were already on alert, far away from their humans, so I decided to detour around the hill and camp in a pass on the other side. For the first time on this hike, I could see Munții Baiului on the southwestern horizon. The view left me wondering why on earth I should walk the next 200 km through these forested mountains when I could just take a shortcut through the lowlands.

At that point in my journey, I didn’t believe I could make it to the Danube anymore, as I was already five days behind schedule. I realized I could reach the mountains on the horizon within one to three days if I headed in that direction, whereas following my planned route would take another eight days.

I was wet, disappointed after my dashed hopes of a motel dinner, running low on battery for my smartphone and smartwatch, and low on fuel for my stove. I had no prospect of any contact with civilisation for the next seven days, and I knew I couldn’t complete my dream journey as planned anyway. The weather forecast for the coming days promised nothing but more rain. After the traumatic event that afternoon, I was terrified of the dogs and completely unwilling to face dozens more encounters with them. I must admit, my prospects looked incredibly gloomy.

It was getting dark, so I cooked some dinner on my alcohol stove, trying to be as quiet as possible since I was still quite close to the shepherds, and their dogs have excellent hearing and sense of smell. Fortunately, the east wind was blowing hard. As I stood up from squatting near my tarp, I caught a movement with my peripheral vision. It was a bear, and it bolted about 60 metres away from me. The bear had probably been approaching from the south, and when I stood up, it spotted me and decided to run for it. I hadn’t seen many running bears before, but this one was incredibly noisy and fast as hell. Believe me, bears can run just as fast as deer or wild boars.

Spoon leading to another bear encounter

I woke up at dawn on Friday, 2^nd August, silently packed my gear, and set out for the hike. Everything was soaked from the previous day’s rain, and the forecast for the next day was even bleaker—continuous rain from early morning. I moved silently through the dense fog, listening out for where the shepherd huts might be and trying to avoid them. At one point, some dogs caught my scent, but I managed to run away. Being constantly on alert was mentally exhausting and was really slowing me down. My key dilemma was: should I stay silent to avoid the dogs, or jangle my bear bells to avoid the bears?
I realised that some ancient hunter instincts had awakened within me—I started reading tracks: how old they were, which animals they belonged to, and which direction and when they had gone. Tracking gave me an idea of what was waiting for me behind the next hill. To my surprise, this just happened effortlessly, and I found myself relying on my interpretation of the tracks more and more each day.

After crossing a forest, I cooked breakfast. To my surprise, the road in the next pass (1070 m) was quite busy, so I decided to hitchhike 10 kilometres to the village of Ojdula to buy some lunch and recharge my phone and batteries. It was a good choice, as it drove away my fears of running out of power and food.

Unfortunately, while having lunch, I realised I had lost my spoon again. I must have left it at the breakfast spot. So, after hitchhiking back to the pass, I hid my backpack there and walked 4 km back to the breakfast spot and back. To my frustration, the spoon wasn’t immediately visible; it took me a painful ten minutes to find it. Near the pass, I spent another hour washing my socks, as it was my only chance for them to dry before the heavy rains arrived on Saturday and Sunday. I checked my feet and they were okay, but my boots stank after being constantly wet for several days, and they were passing the smell onto my socks, so I washed the insoles too. It was 5 pm by the time I set off from the pass, facing a 23 km hike ahead to the refugiu under Lacăuți Peak (1777 m). What had seemed like a short hike in the morning had now turned into a race against time.

I wanted to reach the shelter before the night rains caught me. It was obvious I would need to walk in the dark, with a high probability of encountering bears. I called home to let my wife know I would be hiking in the dark and promised to send a notification as soon as I reached the shelter. At about 6:30 pm, I came across a sign stating that the peak was still an 8 to 9-hour walk away. Up to that point, I had already gone through sections where the trail was non-existent, and I could hardly discern what had probably once been a forest path. Signs of bear activity were frequent.

However, even without having had dinner, I mobilised all my energy and pressed on as fast as possible. Fortunately, the trail was well-marked; unfortunately, it led along forest tracks covered in fresh mud left behind by loggers during the workweek. The area had no mobile signal coverage. At sunset, I caught a glimpse through the clearings of the more open eastern ridges of the Vrancea mountain range, including Cristianu Peak (1629 m).

It grew dark, so I put my headlamp on. At one point, I spotted fresh bear tracks. It was a big guy, and he was heading in my direction. I continued singing loudly and making noise with my bells, praying for God’s protection. We finally crossed paths at a poiana (mountain meadow) below Lujerul-Cobert Peak (1517 m). The bear was jumping in the grass about 150 metres away, but when he spotted me, he ducked down, and I could only see his head. I kept walking across the meadow, deliberately paying no attention to him.
Once I had passed him and thanked God for my safety, my smatwatch beeped. I suddenly realised I had taken the wrong turn. I should have turned left immediately upon entering the meadow, which would have actually avoided passing the bear altogether. So, I turned back and took the correct path, assuming the bear would still be in the same spot. But he wasn’t. He had retreated right onto my trail, so as I approached the forest, I was startled when a huge, shadowy mass suddenly started moving. I could see the bear running uphill, growling loudly. I refused to follow the trail markers that pointed straight in the bear’s direction and stayed on the forest track instead, which later turned out to be the correct route anyway.

I walked incredibly fast, running wherever possible, without feeling any fatigue due to the adrenaline. I kept my energy up with a glucose bar while walking. I kept track of the time and kilometres left to the shelter, chanted, whistled, and scanned the ground for bear tracks, but nothing else happened—apart from encountering some crazy guard dogs at the Lacăuți transmission station, which were fortunately behind a fence. At around 11 pm, I finally reached the refugiu, thanking God for his protection. I bet that was a hiking speed record between the pass and the peak.

But the day wasn’t over yet. Despite my exhaustion, I needed to find a signal and text my wife, collect firewood and water before the forecast rain turned the streams muddy and soaked the wood. I didn’t have any luck finding a proper spring, but I collected some water from small streams running along the forest road. Settling into the shelter and making it feel like home also took some time.

The rest day

I woke up at about 8 am on Saturday, 3^rd August, having gone to bed very late the night before. Before I could finally get into my sleeping bag in the refugiu, I had needed to gather drinking water and fuel for the woodstove, since the weather forecast predicted the rain would start at 3 am.

Surprisingly, there was no rain initially, and every now and then the sun shone through the clouds—which, at an altitude of 1,700 metres, translated into thick fog. It reminded me of the situation two days earlier, so I ran up a hill to catch a GSM signal for an updated forecast. It promised rain later in the day, so I decided to stay in my temporary home, which turned out to be an excellent decision. It rained non-stop through the entire afternoon and evening.
I eventually ran out of water and was on the verge of having to filter the dirty puddles from the tracks, but fortunately, two guys in an all-terrain vehicle—the only two passers-by on this weekend day—left me some of theirs. (Months later, I learnt from a friend that there actually was a spring in the forest just to the north.) Saved from dehydration, I spent the day writing my blog, cooking, repairing my gear, and doing some laundry. The time passed much faster than I had expected, and I still had things left on my to-do list.

There was a cross nearby equipped with a solar panel and batteries that ran a small eternal light. I tried to hook up my gadgets by cutting open my backup micro USB cable to wire it directly, but it didn’t provide the right voltage. As I learnt later, it’s wise to carry a small 12V adapter into the Romanian mountains, as this allows you to get electricity at some refugii and from certain shepherds.

I went to bed just before midnight while the rain was still drumming loudly on the roof of the shelter.

Five weeks later, I received a heartwarming thank-you letter from a Czech tourist who was walking these mountains in the opposite direction and felt just as lonely as I had. He found my entry in the refugiu logbook along with one of Jan Skácel’s poems—copies of which I had received from Pája and had been leaving behind along my route. He wrote to tell me that finding it had completely made his day and warmed his heart.

Meeting a wolf

I got up quite late on Sunday, 4^th August. I wasn’t happy about it, as I had wanted to get as far as possible since only showers were forecasted, but it later turned out that my timing was just right. I was soon soaked from walking through the wet vegetation.

Clearcuts opened up views over this part of the Vrancea Mountains. Once heavily forested, they are now extensively logged, like many other forests in Romania. The tourist signage soon disappeared. It was clear that nowadays, only bears walk along what used to be forest roads. No wonder I lost my way, but it didn’t make much difference whether I was walking through the thick forest or along an overgrown forest road blocked by fallen trees and high vegetation.

In the Delușor mountain pass (1200 m), I took a lunch break just as the heaviest rain of the day was passing through. It was nice to watch it from the terrace of an abandoned cottage. I continued over Piscul Hergheliei (1412 m) and, in the next pass, came across a newly built, wide forest road. Wow, what a difference!

When my planned trail was about to leave this wide road to plunge into what had once been a path but was now buried in high, wet grass, I decided to follow the wide road instead. I preferred to walk a few kilometres further rather than navigating the main ridge. I’ve never been a fan of wide forest roads, but this time was different. Even the sun began to shine through the clouds, adding to my euphoria. I didn’t need to sing loudly because I could see 100 metres ahead of me and could have spotted a bear early enough. There were only a few old bear scats and no fresh tracks anyway. I didn’t have to fight my way through dense vegetation. It was a pure feeling of safety and happiness.

And then, on the slope across a stream about 50 metres away from me, I saw a beautiful head. A wolf and I stood staring at each other for about three seconds. A REAL WOLF, beautifully lit by the evening sun. I tried to pull my smartphone out of its pouch to take a photo, but the wolf turned around and started bounding up the hill. It disappeared into the vegetation before I could even open my camera app.

I continued toward what looked like a local forester’s settlement. The area was clean and beautifully decorated, and the forestry infrastructure matched. All the roads were named, and plentiful picnic areas had been built for visitors—truly impressive. Another rain shower caught me, and I decided to climb back up to the main ridge using another newly built forest road. It even had a signage, just like a real road :-).

It was around 8 pm when I reached a side ridge, and a stunning view opened up over the Penteleu Mountains. Just as I was filming a short video, another rain shower hit, casting a rainbow to my left… and right there, in the middle of the rainbow on a side ridge, stood a newly built, uninhabited shepherds’ hut (koliba). A miracle. I felt an overwhelming moment of thankfulness for finding a dry place. I soon colonized it, but it was difficult to fall asleep due to the flea bites from the previous days.