The Team Sherpa Blog

I was up before dawn, and ready to go at 7.00. I ate a small breakfast with a young Czech I had met the day before. He was heading up to Chopok to ski down the dangerous but “exciting” North face of the mountain; I wished him luck, and we both set out in opposite directions. There was a steep 200m climb up from Stefanik, and a thin layer of fresh snow lay on top of hardened neve and ice. Over the past three days, crampons had become my most cherished piece of gear. As I climbed back onto the ridge below the bulk of Dumbier, I was treated to a glorious morning scene. It seems sometimes that in the winter, mornings are the only time when real colour is shown- delicate shades of grey turn hopeful blues and greens as the slanting rays of the raising sun shoot over the land. I could see my way clearly here on top of Kralicka(1807m), simply follow the crest of the mountains. As on my first day out from Donovaly, the mountains gently rolled away beneath me until they tuned into rounded and forested hills on the horizon. The ridge here was much more varied, with a lot of up and down. I was steadily loosing altitude towards Kumtove Sedlo (1533m). then it was a push back up along a very narrow crest to Rovienky. The snow was much deeper at these lower altitude, and soon trees began to appear around me. I was heading towards Certovica, a small ski station and one the only through fares in the mountain range. As I slowly descended, I started wishing that I had kept my snowshoes instead of leaving them at Chopok. I was sinking into snow to mid calf level with every step, and I was worried about leaving the ridge. The snow was piled up much deeper on the southern slopes, as there had been little wind down here to disturb it. Suddenly, the trees again stopped and I stepped out onto the packed snow of a groomed ski area. I had reached Certovica. Skiers were whizzing by at improbably speeds, and I was wondering how I should go down the hill to the road which would lead me to the trail head on the other side of the valley. I edged my way along the side of the hill, and once or twice I was almost run down by errant skiers. At the bottom, I received many a look of disapproval. It was bad form to walk down a ski hill apparently; but it was in fact the only way down. I crossed the road in crampons and made directly for the trees on the other side, where I spied a path that led back up into the mountains.

I was heading for Ramza, where a small hunters cabin lay that I would use for my shelter that night. But by the time I got up to Sedlo z. Lenivou (1376m) I was already spent. The snow was far too deep at these lower altitudes, and I had no snow shoes. With each step I was expending so much energy that it just wasn’t worth the 5km walk from here to Ramza. I turned around, and went back down to Certovica.

I sat, and mulled my situation over a cup of tea. If I continued on, it would be a battle with the snow. I had already crossed about 50km of the total ridge, and what lay between here and Telgart (my original terminus) were basically rolling hills of pine. If I continued on, it would not be enjoyable and the only reason for doing so would be to finish what I had started. But, if I was quick about it, I could jump on a bus and be in the Mala Fatra and begin a hike there. I knew from the weather forcasts that they had not received quite as much snow as the Nizke Tatra, so it was worth a try. I did not want to abandon Slovakia altogether, and the Mala Fatra range was only a hop skip and jump away. I boarded the next bus to Brezno, and by 13.00 I was on my way to the Fatras…
 

The bus ride down and out of the mountains was a little bit depressing. As the impressive wall of Dumbier retreated behind me, I descended into ever warmer environs. I got off the bus in the small town of Brezno, still in the shadows of the Nizke Tatra. I was still dressed as I had been all day- complete with toque and gaiters. I few Slovakians asked to take a photo, and I posed with my iceaxe. I told them that everybody in Canada dresses like this all the time, because when you live in the north “you never know”. I think they may have believed me, and once again somebody produced a small bottle. I could get used to this kind of treatment. From Brezno I hopped on a train to Zilina. I love traveling in Europe- you can just make things up as you go along and somehow there is always a train willing to get you where you need to be. During the train ride I decided to head for Vratna, as small resort town nesltled between the two main massives that make up the Mala Fatra- an ideal entry point. Once in Zilina, I stopped in at a pub and asked how I could get to Vratna. The bartender pointed me in the direction of the bus station, and offered me a beer. he told me in halting English, “We do not have many foreigners here these days. Enjoy yourself in Slovakia”. He shook his head, tapped his watch and pointed to the bus station as I pulled out some money to pay the beer. I drained the pint quickly, thanked the man and went in search of my bus.
On the platform, I was comfronted with a bus schedual like no other I had seen. It was a complex pictogram, combining strange symbols and numbers. I’m supposing that a sort of transit plan rossetta stone is needed to decode which bus will get you where and how. I asked a woman, but my Slovakian is too poor to understand her response. From behind me, a young man stepped forward and asked in perfect English, “where are you going?”. I told him I was headed for Vratna. “I am going the same way. The bus will arrive shortly, and we can travel together”. Great! Saved again by a stranger. Bus fare was 42 skr., and I had a 1000 bill and only 30 skr in change. “Bus drivers hate making change around here”, explained my guide as he paid my fare. We sat together on the bus and exchanged mountain stories. He had just gotten back from the French Alps, but he grew up in the Mala Fatra. Since he was a small boy mountains have been a part of life; I told him he was lucky. He asked my plans, and I told him I was headed to Vratna. “better to stay in the my town, Terchova. It is one bus stop before Vratna. You can stay with my family tonight”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; is it actually possible that people here will just open up their doors to strangers, pay their bus fare, and give them free beer? Had I died up on the mountains and gone to some sort of hikers’ heaven? “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name. I’m Everett. I would be very greatful if I could stay with your family” was all I could respond. “Stefan is my name. Pleased to meet you.”
Terchova is a quaint little village aligned upon the only through fare in the Krivanska Fatra. A small brook runs through the town, and everybody smiles and waves. Stefan’s house is in the middle of it all. I met his parents quickly, and his father told me the weather forecast for the next few days. Snow, wind, sub zero temperatures. Great; a storm front is moving in. It seems as if my bad weather karma isn’t though with me yet.
 

Stefan’s mother insisted that Stefan lend me a pair of pants so that she can wash my laundry. At about 7 o’clock that evening, Stefan and I head to the bar next door for a beer. Beer in Slovakia is good. I’m not sure that has been mentioned yet, but it really is good.
Stefan now lives in Bratislava. He speaks perfect English and German. He works for a multi-national IT firm. Eveything about him represents the new Slovakia. With the EU ushering in a new era for many central European countries, Stefan and his generation are embraceing a bright and new future that is creating a generation gap like never before. I have been told that these moutains were once full of people hiking, skiing, fishing, climbing. But now they are almost empty; those young people that have remained here have no time for the outdoors. Having lived in Europe all through the major EU expansions, this is a story that I have witnessed on more than one occasion. We speak long into the evening after a generous helping of Halusky, Slovakia’s national dish.