Starolesnianske pleso

I knew nothing about the Tatra mountains, a tiny, but impressive mountain range that straddles the border of Poland and Slovakia so it seemed like an opportune diversion to escape the maddening crowds, reconnect with nature and do some hiking. I heard about them in Krakow, where the mountains can be reached by heading south to the town of Zakopane, but I was warned that its proximity to Krakow and the Polish holidays meant that it would likely be packed. So instead I headed to the less popular Slovakian side and chose Poprad as my base.

Poprad is a sleepy town nestled at the base of the Higher Tatras and mercifully free of western tourists. The vast majority of visitors to the town appeared to be Slovak families heading to the towns Aqua Park or in hiking gear getting ready to tackle the mountains. There was very little English information online regarding hikes in the area and I was completely clueless when I arrived, so headed to the towns information centre where an enthusiastic young man gave me a couple of recommended day hikes, but strongly encouraged me to take a route from Vysoke Tatry, taking you from Mala Studena Dolina to Velka Studena Dolina, two big and beautiful glacial mountain valleys, via a narrow pass that connects the two (Priecne Sedlo, which I only found out later directly translates as ‘Vertical Pass’). He sold me a hiking map, marked the trail, mentioned something about chains and warned me to start early to ensure I got through the pass before the predicted rain came in the afternoon. Thus began another one of those terrifying and glorious adventures that can only happen through a combination of ignorance, lack of communication and overconfidence.

If I had gone back to my hotel and googled Priecne Sedlo I would have discovered that this pass is considered the most technically difficult and dangerous stretch of trails in the Tatras, itself “an immensely dangerous mountain range ... where every year, 15 to 20 people die”. Oblivious to these facts, I got up early the next morning and caught the train to Stary Smokovec from where I took a furnicular to the trail head at 1100 metres. It was 8am as I started hiking and it was a perfect morning, bright and sunny, yet cool. Not long after I headed off I reached a view point from where I could see the opening of both valleys and my first real glimpse of the Tatras majesty and the challenge ahead of me. High Tatras have a tree line at about 1600 metres and much of the forest is still recovering from a massive storm that killed a third of it a few years ago, but it was still beautiful going as I walked through forest, next to streams, passing waterfalls, over small wooden bridges and through varied flora. When I stopped looking down at my feet as I struggled with the rocky terrain and gazed above the tree tops I could see the towering mountains, clean of vegetation and dressed in bare granite, it was overwhelming and daunting as it slowly dawned on me that I’d be scaling them to get from one valley to the next.

As I ascended the valley the clouds started moving in, intermittently obstructing my view, but providing a very atmospheric backdrop. After about an hour I left the forest behind, the trail became progressively steeper until eventually I was clambering up large scree slopes. At one point I came upon my first “nosic”, a human porter carrying supplies to one of the two chalets on this particular route. These Chalet’s are one of the few in Slovakia where supplies are delivered only by humans and they are a sight to behold and incredible testament to human strength and endurance. As I read later, their load usually weighs between 60-80kg, but the record was a delivery to Chata pod Rismi (at 2250 metres the highest in the Tatras) of 116kg. At this point my load, which would have only weighed a few kg and already felt heavy, looked rather pathetic..

After a final scramble up a series of switchbacks, which gave amazing views back down the valley when the clouds parted, I emerged at Teryho Chata, Terry’s cottage in English, a small mountain refuge located in a small saddle plateau at 2000 metres, with mountains on three sides and overlooking two small glacial lakes. It is a beautiful piece of landscape art in a way only alpine scenery can be. Since this is as far as most hikers go, it was dotted with tired people sitting and lying by the lakes, eating and drinking and catching their breath for the return journey. I stopped for a small break and to take some photos, but was conscious of the weather that was moving in and the need to get through the pass before it started raining, so quickly pushed on.

As I continued to climb, the landscape got progressively rougher and more severe. The number of hikers also dwindled until I was the only one within eye shot until I’d come around a bend and see people off in the distance. At this stage I was still oblivious to what was to come and had lulled myself into a false sense of security as I clambered up small cliffs that had chains for handholds believing that this is what the information centre meant by ‘chains’. Within an hour though I had arrived at 2100 metres and was standing dumbfounded at the base of a near vertical 250 metre cliff looking up at the chain lines disappearing into the clouds. A small group of three people were also at the base when I arrived having a drink and catching their breath before the climb, so I figured I’d do the same and wait for them to start climbing and follow their lead.

To say I was apprehensive would be an understatement, so it was lucky that at this stage I didn’t know that rescues are incredibly common on the pass as people get stuck or freak out, for which the Slovaks charge the princely sum of 10,000 euros a pop. I’ve never done much climbing and definitely have never attempted scaling such heights without a safety line, but with the simple choice of either turning back or pushing on, I chose the later and after some water and packing away my camera into my backpack I started climbing. The first section was comparatively mild with plenty of foot holds and a slope to lean into, but as I got higher sections opened themselves up that were invisible from the start, smooth granite surfaces, which either had had mental loops drilled into them or crevices to jam feet and hands into and vertical drops that screamed instant death. Having people in front of me was a godsend as I waited patiently at the base of each chain link watching and studying their route. After 30-40 minutes I mercifully reached the very narrow gap, which signalled I’d reached the top and from where I could see down both valleys. Unfortunately in my frazzled state I didn’t even think to get my camera out to take any photos and other than a couple of dodgy iPhone photos snapped in a hurry as I caught my breath on ledges I have no other evidence of the climb.

My relief at reaching the top was short lived as I made way to the other side of the gap only to see that I’d be descending down another series of chains. Luckily the descent was less tricky and technically difficult than the ascent, but at least ascending I didn’t have to look down, which didn’t help my already shattered nerves. My nerves were not helped when I dislodged a stone the size of my head that narrowly missed a guy below me. I eventually got to the bottom though and was greeted with a further steep descent down incredibly loose small scree, which meant a good portion was done on my arse as I slid and slipped further down the mountain side.

Not long after I started descending the rain started falling, which was frustrating, but also incredibly fortunate as it hadn’t started as I was climbing. I would not have wanted to climb the pass in any kind of wet conditions, the mere thought of which makes my blood chill. The trail was also very hard to follow at this point and after losing it multiple times I ended up traversing far to much of the mountain side, which at least was very impressive. Covered in huge granite boulders many looking like menhirs and covered in green moss that gives the landscape a pistachio colour.

Eventually the landscape started evening out a bit and, to take a break from the rain and have some lunch, I stopped at Zbojnicka Chata where I had a big bowl of goulash, for sustenance, and a large beer, for nerves and pain relief. From there on, it was mostly downhill, but I still had almost 4 hours of trekking over the most ankle breaking, small and increasingly slippery and wet gravel and rocks. I was already struggling and my foot was complaining, but. Well. Unless I wanted a 10,000 euro helicopter ride there was only one way. Keep walking.

Eventually I reached the trail head 10 hours and 20 km of gruelling trials later, exhausted and relieved, but with that calm warm feeling you get when you test your limits and overcome something bigger than yourself.Read more