TRIGLAV - part 2

The day began with a bus ride from Ljubljana to the town of Moystrana, a little further north than I had been the previous day; Damjan had said that this was an easier spot to begin an ascent of Triglav from.

It involved a 4 hour hike up the Bistrica river valley to get to the base of the mountain. You could drive this route, but I'm glad I walked, because it was stunningly beautiful. I realized it had been many years since I'd walked among real mountains, and was struck with the feeling: how did I ever live without this?

The fast flowing river was an amazing aquamarine (I think because of all the limestone in the area), the mountains kept looming up higher and higher on either side the further upstream I progressed, and I passed a waterfall that sent me into ecstasies of joy. I'm not sure what it was about this waterfall, called the Pericnik, that made me fall in love with it. It wasn't huge (50 metres), but it was perfect. And you could walk behind it. I spent about an hour admiring it from all angles, dancing about its base like a giddy schoolgirl, before continuing up the valley.

At 4pm I reached the first of the mountain huts that conveniently dot the landscape in Triglav National Park, Slovenia's only national park. This hut (lodge would be a better term), being at the bottom of the mountain, is one of the few that can be reached, and supplied, by car. Most of the others can only be supplied by opposite ends of the technological spectrum: helicopter or mule. Consequentially, food is expensive, washing water is non-existent, and it's recommended you carry all your own drinking water in. Still, it's well worth the cost to not have to carry a tent or food up and down the craggy peaks that comprise the park.

Anyway, I mention the time, 4pm, because the sign at this lodge (altitude 1000 metres) said it was another 4 hours of hiking to get to the next lodge (2300 metres), nestled below the summit of Triglav (2800 metres). It would be cutting it a bit close to make it before nightfall, but I decided to go for it.

Judging from the fact that everyone and their dog climbs this mountain in Slovenia (I did pass someone climbing with their dog), I suppose I had imagined the ascent to simply be a long hike upwards. But as I started to really gain altitude, the reality quickly hit me that this was much more like rock climbing than I had anticipated. The path was basically straight up a thousand foot cliff face. Fortunately, there were many iron rods and handrails hammered into the rock face to assist climbers up the most difficult stretches. It occurred to me that such "defacement" of the wilderness would be a hard sell in Canada; here, we still believe in the preservation of a "pristine" wilderness. In Europe, conversely, people seem to have long ago given up on such notions, accepting that humans live here. It's not unusual to find a castle plunked defiantly atop peaks throughout Europe. To Canadian sensibilities, it might seem a defacement, but I kind of like it. I think that the idea that wilderness can only be "pure" if no trace of humanity can be found in it reinforces the myth that humans are separate from nature. Better, in my opinion, to strike a harmonious balance between nature and civilization. I doubt that there are any mountains in Canada both as high as Triglav and as accessible to novice climbers.

As I climbed, I sweated equal parts exertion and growing fear. A flatlander like me wasn't used to looking down and seeing such dizzying expanses of air beneath. One misstep could easily get you killed up here. Ironically, the higher I got, the more I felt like I was digging myself into a hole; I knew that getting down is usually even harder than getting up. I just tried to focus on the rocks in front of my face, and not looking down - although the view was thrilling. Another irony was that, to climb something so high, you spend most of your time looking down.

I felt I was in something of a race against the setting sun. I was in full sun for most of the climb, as the cliff was facing westward - the shadow cast by another mountain range across the valley slowly creeping up the cliff below me. For hours, the sun seemed to hang at the same height over the opposing mountains - me going up, it going down, the two movements balancing out. Finally, shortly before reaching the lodge, the shadow caught up with me, quickly plunging my sweating body into cool mountain air. I had a quick "bath" in a snowfield.

I reached the lodge just 15 minutes before its kitchen closed, and got a hot meal of sauerkraut and meat soup, and a cold beer. So civilized. The lodge was only about half full, so I got a whole dorm to myself. Man, I slept well.

I got an early start the next morning, wanting to summit early, due to reports of bad weather coming later in the day. It took me an hour and half to walk to the last lodge (2500 metres) before the summit. I paused here for a rest. Inside the cosy confines of the lodge's dining room, I watched a group of Germans getting suited up for the final ascent. They had helmets, poles, and self-belaying systems, for clipping onto the railings. They started me worrying that I was unprepared, gear-wise, for this challenge. I was still wearing the only footwear I'd brought to Europe: water shoes designed for boating.

I went outside to look at the path ahead. It lead straight up. I could see a tiny procession of ant-like climbers inching their way upward. Maybe this is high enough, I thought, trembling from more than the cold. Maybe I don't need to go all the way. But I banished such thoughts; I knew I would regret it if I didn't finish the job at this point, after all the struggle to make it this far. Only another hour to the summit, the signpost said - then I could hightail it back to solid, flat earth before the storm clouds rolled in. How I yearned to be back on ground where to trip would mean nothing worse than embarrassment.

As I climbed I realized that I was now above all the other peaks around me. I tried really hard to concentrate on nothing but the next foot or hand hold in front of my nose.

Then the clouds rolled in. While it was a shame to lose that mind-numbing view, it was also a relief, for I could no longer see just how high I was. I was especially grateful for the lack of a view when I had to walk along the top of a narrow ridge, dropping off into nothingness on either side.

Because there are two paths to the top of Triglav - one on each side of the mountain - I passed a number of people on their way down after climbing to the top from the other side. I stood aside for 5 minutes as a long procession of teenagers passed by - a mixed group of Argentinians and Canadians. They were dressed for a walk in the park: sweatshirts, track pants, sneakers. After seeing the uber-outfitted Germans, it reassured me to see that people less prepared than me had survived the summit. Germans, I have come to realize, are the yuppies of Europe - they're not likely to undertake anything unless they've spent a small fortune on it.

My first hint that I was almost there was the sound of singing: a group of low, male voices carrying through the fog from an indeterminate place slightly above me. When I arrived on the summit I was greeted by the sight of a group of about 20 French "pathfinders" - boy and girl scouts, dressed in brown uniforms of shorts and long-sleeve shirts, white scarves, and black toques. Their leader was backing up, camera in hand, trying to get a group shot, and nearly backed right off a cliff.

There was no great view to savour, due to the clouds - just mist and rock - though at least I had already seen the view in the film I saw earlier. But I did savour the victory for 20 minutes or so, then started heading down the other side of the mountain.

Suddenly the cloud blew away and I was treated to the sight of brilliant white clouds several hundred metres below, and above: the brightest blue sky you could imagine . It was like the view out an airplane window - that same crystal clear light. I was simultaneously treated to a sudden and alarming increase in the wind. I could see the clouds below running into the side of the mountain, then whipping up over the peak like frothing rapids. The weather up there was clearly changing fast. And I wanted to get down even faster.

I made it down to the lower cloud level, back in the bosom of the mist, out of the fierce winds. This path down turned out to be much more gradual than the one I had come up, which was a relief, since it would have been very difficult to descend the cliff I had come up. I even found myself on a (relatively) wide mule track for awhile, doing switchbacks down to the next lodge, at 2100 metres, where I had lunch and something warm to drink.

I spent the rest of the day walking through the park, a different way than I had come in, towards Bohinj lake. Slowly the landscape began to transform from the the weird, alien, rock-strewn world of the high peaks, back to the more familiar world of evergreens, lakes and meadows.

Whenever I passed other hikers, I had to decide how I would greet them. The little guide I received from the tourist office on climbing Triglav suggested saying "dober dan" to those I met - which means "good day" in Slovene. I did this at first, but got few responses in kind, and soon realized that almost all my fellow trekkers were foreign tourists like myself. I heard "hello" in many languages while in the park, and tried out the range of my repetoir. But never knowing the nationality of anyone until they opened their mouth (and often not even then) it was always a crap shoot. So I eventually just settled in to the international language of default, with an English "hi" to all I met.

I finished the day at another lodge that, being beside a lake, had water for a cold outdoor wash by the pump. I met a couple there - an Italian woman and a man from Montreal, both working in Holland. A question I often get is, "How are you able to get 2 months of holidays for travel when you live in Canada?" It seems Europeans are aware of the paucity of North Americans' holidays. I tell them I had to quit my job. I asked this couple how much holidays they get in Holland, 4 weeks maybe? They tell me, somewhat ashamed of their riches, that they get 8 weeks. It must be nice, I think, to work in Holland, and have 2 months a year to see all that Europe has to offer.

The Italian woman voiced the usual disdain for Germans, who were talking at the the next table, and whom she could understand, as she spoke German. "They're always complaining," she complained. Maybe if I could understand them, I would feel the same, but I feel like defending the Germans. All the time I've been in Europe, I've never heard a kind word for them. I suppose they are like the Americans of Europe - the people we love to hate, and are allowed to be prejudiced towards because they're on top. I can understand how being invaded and occupied twice in the last century might turn people against them. But I am impressed by their love of the outdoors, of travel, and of adventure travel in particular. Most people, including Canadians, if they travel at all, it's in their youth. As they get older, they usually just want to go to a beach and bake in the sun. But not Germans. They're out there climbing mountains, paddling rivers, hiking through the wilderness well into their "golden years". They're fit, organized, prepared. If anything, they're too good, and that's what makes people uncomfortable around them.

That night, I had to share my dorm, but still slept well - especially knowing that I was dry and safe from the storm that unleashed rain and lightning outside for much of the night. The next morning I hiked down one last mighty cliff, back down to the waterfall by Bohinj lake I had visited several days ago, and caught a bus back to Ljubljana.

From there I caught the last bus of the day to Piran, a heartbreakingly picturesque medieval town on the tiny stretch of Slovenian Adriadic coast. From the country's highest point, to its lowest, in a day and a half. I could still see Triglav to the north. Climbing it was the high point of my trip.