In recent years, June was a month of relatively stable, warm, and dry weather. This year, that wasn’t exactly the case. And I got a full taste of it even during my hikes. This time, both long-awaited returns had me getting wet, one more than another.
Return after 15 years
The first hike of this post was the Kriváň peak, one of the most beautiful mountains in the country and the national symbol of Slovakia. I first visited it in leta June 2008, so it was almost exactly 15 years later (short by 5 days). However, this hike was a bit complicated long before departure: it was organized by a different group than I usually travel with, and because it’s a long journey, they started opening the sign-ups a month ahead. So, I signed up and waited as their core members had a priority.
A week before, I got a call that they have a free spot for me, and I was getting excited. Kriváň, apart from being a cultural symbol for Slovakia, is also the second highest mountain (at 2495m) in the country you can reach without climbing gear and a special permit.
The journey itself was teasing us when it comes to weather – sun and rain showers took turns at a varied pace. Clouds floated through the area, swallowing this and that peak only to spit it out and move on to the next. Among them, we could spot the snow-capped peak which was our goal.
The final approach to our starting point got slowed by road repairs, so it was by 9:15 we finally left the bus. The trail marker read 4h30minutes to the peak. At first, I remained with the rest of the group (around 20-25 people chose this trail) through the foothills, weaving between shrub pines until we reached the trail crossing by the lake. During this part, the sun shone upon us, and even though it wasn’t as warm as June was in the past years, it was enough to warm me up.
After that crossing, the trail started to ascend more. The shrub pines started to recede and views of the surrounding mountains opened up. My attention was mostly to the east, gazing at the peaks [photo above] I visited in 2017 on a week-long holiday.
The peaks near me, including Kriváň, were spending more and more time shrouded in clouds. Fortunately, with no rain yet. I set up my own pace shortly after the lake crossing, one to keep me warm but to not soak me in sweat, and it didn’t feel like any kind of harsh pace. Yet, I left most of the group far behind me. Especially as I was taking several photos of the landscape around me, with the clouds casting shadows that changed every minute.
The trail leveled out for a short moment as it rounded a bend around the mountain’s southern ridge, and I could finally see the inner fold where the western approach (which I walked up) and the eastern approach (which I was to descend) converge, as well as a sight of the peak itself.
In this endless sea of rock and stone, the trail was more visible by the colorful jackets and backpacks of other hikers than by any hint of the trail itself. Reaching the crossing, I found out that I’m over an hour ahead of the ETA given. The altitude (by now, around 2150 meters) also meant the air was colder, and so I picked up my pace for the final ascension.
Though I made sure to take my time looking around – the last remains of snow, mostly confined to high-altitude bowls and valleys, contrasted with the granite, more so given the plays of shadow and light. A light breeze picked up as I neared the exposed peak. Patches of snow slowed my (and others’) progress in some places. But there was no stopping me. I reached the peak exactly 3 hours after starting – shearing 90 minutes of the given time – despite the light start.
I took a break on the peak, watching the clouds flow around, sometimes obscuring the view completely, sometimes putting this or that peak into focus. This turned out quite a charming display that clear skies wouldn’t provide.
But sitting at one spot had inevitably led to loss in warmth, and I set out some 30 minutes after reaching the peak. The initial descent was trickier than the ascension, especially around the patches of snow. But once I was past those, I picked up my speed.
Soon, I was back to the lower altitude, with shrubs and trees around. The narrow path weaved between the foliage, opening here and there to let me look back at the peak, but not much more. My hurry had two reasons: it seemed that the clouds were gathering and gaining on density, which meant a rain shower was possible (and I wanted to be far from the exposed smooth rock by then) and also my full bladder – so I wanted to get somewhere with at least some tree cover.
The rain shower reached me shortly before I finished the descent to the place where my 2008 hike started. Fortunately, it lasted only 15 minutes, and the rain was relatively weak, so I dried up quite fast. With more than three hours left before departure, I decided to wander the foothills and go towards the hotel a bit further down along the main road that was the last pick-up point. The trail I chose led me along a swelling stream, where I took a couple more photos.
After reaching the resort, I had a bit of time left for some warm food, before we departed. On the way home, the weather kept alternating between rain and sunlight, giving those of us who didn’t fall asleep quite a nice show.
The moody mountain
A week later, this time with my usual group, was another hike I was looking forward to. It was a repeat of a hike from June 2005. The Babia hora peak (elevation 1725m) on the border between Poland and Slovakia is known for its “moody” weather, and my previous three trips there had me taste the good and the bad.
The first hike in 2005 was difficult in the lower parts – the windstorm that hit central Europe in November 2004 leveled vast swaths of forest in several locations, including the southern slopes of this mountain, and the fallen trees were yet to be removed from the trail, which made navigation complicated (back then, I didn’t have a GPS, and smartphones didn’t exist yet).
The first return in 2010 was, for a change, planned from the Polish side. However, the weather was quite unfriendly, and so, me and my parents opted for skipping the peak and just took a trail to the chalet below.
The second return, in September 2018, was more successful when it came to weather.
This time, the weather wasn’t favorable. Gray clouds covered the area, bathing us in a light but persistent rain and making the day feel colder than it really was. Soon, we were soaked, and I had to keep a brisk pace to stay warm. In the lower portions, partially covered by trees, this was still manageable. Reaching the secondary peak exposed us to light wind in addition to light rain, which was even worse. By that point, my fingers were too wet and too cold to bother trying to find gloves.
After a short break, I continued to the main peak. Of the ~20 people I knew to be taking the full trail to the peak, the first group had around 5 people including me. We stuck together at first, but as the trail started to ascend, we each set our own pace and waited to meet at the peak. There, we took a short break, but the cold rain and wind had cut our stay there short. We decided to sart our descent soon. Roughly halfway through, the rain started to recede. By the time we reached the foothills, it was down to an occasional drop here and there. But by that time, it didn’t matter much.
Nearing the chalet that was our start and finish line at once, I took the chance to admire some flowers, given that clouds still shrouded the landscape.
June turned out to be rainier month than usual – a title that in the previous year belonged to July. This time, they seemed to change the roles, as July was quite a pleasant month, but that’s a topic for another day.
Despite the rain, I was glad to be out and get moving. In a twist, this very weekend I’m posting this is full of rain and had me cancel a hike as the forecast warned about “extreme” rain. Sometimes, I guess there’s some weird sense of humor in nature.
Tomas - the wandering dreamer 