The Team Sherpa Blog

   "in the Nizke Tatra, nobody knows”, I was told. And it’s true. I had left Canada about 10 days earlier, after following weather and snow conditions in Central Slovakia for the past month. It was supposed to be spring. I was anticipating snow above 1500m, maybe some wet stuff a bit lower, but not deep winter. Needless to say, as I arrived in Donovaly amid snow storm I was surprised. But mountains are mountains, with their own weather and termpers. So for 5 days I slogged through thigh deep powder, crossed icy ridges, and blinding near white outs when I had assumed I would be hiking though the last snow fields, seeing the daffodils and crocuses raising their sleeping heads towards a waking sun. It was adventure…

My crossing of the Nizke Tatra had started in Donovaly. I had planned to hike the entire length of the 80km ridge line, all the way to Telgart, in 5 days. Stepping off of the bus, I immediately saw my plan as “optimistic”. My first leg would take my up onto the ridge, from 950m at Donovaly and finish some 28km and 1700m ascension further at Durkova Sedlo (pass) where there was a Chata (mountain hut) shown on my map. It was early, 7.00 or so, and with a set jaw and quick prayer I headed up and along a path the lead to south and up into the mountains that surrounded the tiny hamlet. About an hour later, the sun broke out. I stopped, pulled out my camera for a photo and happened to look down at some tracks in the snow. My heart skipped a beat… bear tracks? They were small, but none the less unmistakable. I counted myself as lucky having seen them- bears are exceedingly rare in Europe, and these  mountains are one of their last wild refuges. I continued on upwards on an easily graded path. Up here, it is a world of sparsely dispersed stunted pine, weighed down to the ground with ice and snow. The marked path I had been following south from Donovaly that suddenly ended when I came to the summit Kecka (1225m). Mine were the only tracks on the fresh snow,  and while it is a proud moment to look back on your own solitary tracks from high above it is  something quite different when a path ends without indication as to where it should be leading and the only guide from here on out is the spine apex the mountain range.

From Kecka I headed west and followed the forested ridge until I started crossing the south face of prasiva (1652). Here I set a Northern bearing and cut directly up the face towards the summit; a 500m climb. I decided a direct route to the ridge would be best, given that the only defining features of my landscape were shadows and a few stunted and buried pines. I reached the main ridge at about 1600m, spent from the last 200m of the climb through the deep powder but inspired as the layout for my next 5 days of hiking unfurled in front of me. It was clear at this point, the line of mountains extending eastwards were clearly laid out up to the massive rampart of Velka Chokula, with each peak building in altitude from it predecessor. Leaving behind the sleeping, spakeling world of the snow laden trees at this point, and took a few steps out along the iced and windswept ridge. Clouds loomed to the west, but the snow had stopped and the only sounds were the whistling wind and sharp raps of dry icey snow glancing off my nylon jacket. I was now walking on the raw mountains’ apex, a thread of snow and ice that would lead me up and over the range for the next 80km. As I approached the Chochul’a massif, the weather began to deteriorate. The Traverse between Mala and Velka Chochul’a(lesser and greater, 1720 and 1753m) was tough, with high winds whipping snow up the North faces and over the ridge. From Velka Chochul’a my next stop would be Kosarisko (1695m) via a narrowing and exposed ridge line. I was moving slowly and cautiously through thick cloud cover when for a few minutes the weather miraculously lifted and I caught a glimpse of the land far below. It was a strange feeling, having walked along this exposed ridge for half an hour in the fog and mist oblivious to the fact that I was some 1000m above the valley floor below. From Kosarisko, I descended and crossed onto the south side of the mountains about 20 below the ridge to get out of the wind. It was a trade off- calmer weather, but knee deep snow. I persevered for the next hour along the Sedlo (saddle) Skalkou. Where the Ridge began to climb up again, I took a much need break before climbing up to Velka Hol’a (1640m). During the climb up, the weather again worsened. Wave after wave of ice laden wind swooped over the ridge as I descended down then hiked back up to Latiborska(1643m).

My pace was quickening now, as the cloud cover that had been hovering just above me sank in and I got caught in a dense fog at Zamostkej Sedlo. I was contouring around a small peak when the fog lifted again and I looked up and saw something sillhouted on the ridge above me… something wolf shaped. It was too large to be a dog, I was hoping that my eyes were deceiving me; this would truly be rare- wolves are even scarcer than bears in these parts, and what were the chances of finding bear tracks and seeing a wolf in one day? I watched the animal disappear into the ridge and into the storm. I came around the small peak and started up my final climb of the day- a 200m trudge up to Durkova(1750). The storm was really working against me now, and visibility was getting worse by the minute. The wind howled and froze my eyelashes, ice was forming from any moisture on my body. Knowing it was the last push of the day, I hauled myself up the steady incline with a grim determination, knowing full well that if I the storm had come to this sort of intensity earlier in the day I could have been in real trouble. I stumbled down the other side of Durkova, and suddenly the wind switched direction. The wind had blown the whole day from the North, but here just above the long, broad Durkova Sedlo an extremely strong wind was blowing up from the South.

       I knew I had reached the saddle only because I could feel the ground level out, otherwise visibility was so poor that I could only see a few feet. The Chata (cabin) Durkova where I would spend the night was some 150m below the pass on the south slope, and herein laid a real challenge: with the wind blowing snow up from south and a heavy fog I was not sure what line I should take down. I could pass within 10m the Chata without ever knowing it. I was thinking about this a minute, huddled behind a frozen sign post when I caught a whiff of wood smoke on the wind. The cabin was down there, I was sure of that now, and knowing that the fire was lit warmed me up quite a bit. I resolved to head down South side in zigzags through the deep snow, enabling me to cover more area in my search for the cabin. I was 20m down the slope, after switching back once when I came across a wooden pole sticking up out of the snow. I squinted down the slope, and could just make out another pole a bit further down. Somebody had marked the way down to the cabin from the pass! Overjoyed, I quickly started down to the next pole. From this pole, I could see the next and so on until out of the white I could make out small roof . I was only about 10m above the cabin here, and would have missed it completely had it not been for the pole markers. 

          As I approached the door just as it flew open and a massive dog flew out, almost knocking me down. It was a massive husky/ shepherd, the “wolf” I’d seen at Zamotska. I knocked the snow from my boots and stepped inside to a most inviting scene- a roaring fire in the stove and three other intrepid mountain travelers. One man jumped up at the sight of me, and helped me remove my pack. Another threw another log on the fire and a woman thrust a huge mug of tea into my hand. Heaven! As I removed my crampons, a small tumbler was pushed down a table towards me. “Na zdravie!” shouted the woman. “Na zdravie”, I replied, and tipped the contents of the glass into my throat. It burned, but warmed the whole body instantly. I immediately instantly had a coughing fit, and they all laughed as tears streamed down my cheeks. “It is made here, in the mountains. I have made this”, explained one of the men. Nothing like a bit of moonshine to warm the body after a hard days’ hike…

          That evening I met Stephan and his brother, two Czech ski alpinists. They were going to stay two days up at Durkova. When I told them where I had come from, they didn’t believe me. They walked me over to a map on the wall, and pointed to Donovaly and said, “you walked from here?”. “Yes. It was a tough day”. They looked at each other and told me that it must be crazy to hike in Canada. Nobody in Slovakia or Czech would walk that far in one day. I went to sleep at about 8 o’clock, completely spent from the days excursions. The storm had cleared for the evening, and I enjoyed a view across the valley. On the radio they were forecasting major storms for the next three days, and I went to sleep hoping the forecast would be wrong.