The town of Międzygórze is at an elevated altitude on the Sudetes Mountain. A stream rushes down-hill past small gable-roofed lodges and waves of trees run up hills and cliffs that surround the area. The bus I was on drove through the peaceful town – a lady swept the ground outside her store while some people stood at the threshold of their house or business, chatting or just being idle. A large and lively group of youngsters dressed in hiking or skiing gear sat outside a pizzeria, seemingly waiting for something.
Warm sunlight poured through the windows as we drove through town and then pulled away once we left civilization behind and the tall trees closed in on us. A few hundred meters away the bus pulled up at an isolated lodge and let out all its passengers. Immediately something inside me cringed and wanted to crawl back into the bus. The sound of rushing water, the feel of the cool and crisp air on my face and the smell of earth were foreboding and ominous. I moved away from the vehicle, pulled out my hiking map of the area and my compass to orient myself and keep my mind busy. I broke the situation down to its simplest form: the path to Stříbrnice is a hiking trail – I am not venturing into the wild at the mercy of the elements and predators salivating at the chance to gnaw on my bones. It is just a matter of finding the start of the trail and following the right color-coded sign for the trails that will lead me to Stříbrnice. More so, if I get tired then I will stop at any of the lodges on the way for a pit-stop.
Time check: it was around noon – there would be about 5 hours, at most 6 hours, of sunlight left to complete the trek in a day. I looked around the bus station and noticed a sign indicating the direction to the Śnieżnik peak pointing away from Międzygórze. A bus packed with youngsters – probably the same that were waiting at the pizzeria in town – drove passed me, heading in the direction of the peak. Feeling a bit more relaxed, I saddled my large backpack on me, hooked my smaller day-pack to the front and started walking.
The hiking path started off as asphalt then abruptly changed to gravel as it entered the forest. While walking on the gravel path, alongside the same stream that runs through Międzygórze, I noticed a light white sheet covering trees and the ground. I stopped, set my gear on the ground then bent down to take a closer look. I even touched the white sheet and rubbed it on my fingers: it was snow. I completely forgot about this detail when planning my hike! Snow on mountains – who would have thought… Fortunately, I had on hiking shoes, hiking pants, gloves, enough layers to keep my upper-body warm and a ski hat to cover my head and ears. Breathing a sigh of relief, I hydrated and ate a banana.
Shortly after that break, as I started to ease into hiking-mode and believe that I can see this adventure through, a sobering moment suddenly hit me. It happened while I stood in front of a very steep cliff that rose up to the sky. My eyes looked up and my mouth spoke of its own accord: “Oh, shit.” There was no clear path, only trees, earth, rocks and snow. Hiking up that slope, while carrying over 20 kg of gear, seemed like a stunt bound to go wrong. But there was no way around it – on the trunk of a tree in front of me, at the foot of the cliff, was the painted color-code indicating the direction of the hiking trail.
I saw myself slowly walking back to Międzygórze then sitting on a bench at the bus station, my eyes fixed on the ground as I waited for the bus to Krakow. In my head I rehearsed the story to tell friends and family – about how nature got the better of me. These random thoughts paralyzed me. To break this spell I slowly leaned forwards until the weight I carried tipped me towards the cliff. With my gloved hands holding onto rocks for support, I found a good foothold and pushed myself up.
Taking my time and hiking at a steady pace, I made slow but consistent progress until I eventually found myself on a wide path cleared of trees that snaked up the side of the mountain. The straps of my backpack cut painfully into my shoulders. I took off my gear, stretched my back and rolled my shoulders and arms in circles. After having hydrated and eaten a quick snack I looked at the nature around me: thick snow covered the trees and the wide path; not a soul was around, everything was quiet and calm. I breathed steadily and waited until my body cooled down.
It became routine: hike until I feel pain from the straps cutting into my shoulders, stretch my back and arms, take a short break, saddle up and continue. A thick curtain of tall trees hid what lay across the mountain range, but every now and then there was a small gap from where I could clearly see the horizon and other mountain ranges surging over the land. A few people hiked up and down the same trail, all carrying very light gear if any. Most gave me quick glances as they easily walked passed me. Once, as I was eating a snickers bar and admiring the view, an elderly couple approached me. The man smiled, pointed at me and at my backpack and said: “Śnieżnik?” I nodded. He gave me a thumbs-up and walked away with his wife.
Hours later, and after climbing a grueling steep hill barren of trees, I reached a lodge that is 500 m away from the Śnieżnik peak. I could not go any further – my shoulders screamed in pain and my left arm trembled badly. Dropping my gear on the ground, I bent over and breathed heavily. Two men were shoveling out snow in front of the chalet. One of them walked up to me – a tall and big fellow in a yellow jacket and yellow ski hat – and asked me a question. Out of breath, I asked (in Polish) if he speaks English. The big man in the yellow jacket called over the other man who was shoveling snow. This fellow walked up to me and, in good English, asked: “are you looking for a room?” I was shocked. My mouth ran off with my surprise: “You speak English!”
Snieznik or Antler Mountain
It turns out that he worked in the US for seven years, doing odd jobs in different States. When the economy started to go bad he returned to Poland and continued doing odd jobs. He is in his forties, working temporarily in the lodge before trying his luck in Northern Europe, all the while dreaming of returning to the US. Eventually we returned back to the question of whether I wanted a room. I was too exhausted to go on hiking and, besides, there were only a couple of hours of sunlight left. The English-speaking fellow insisted on carrying my backpack. He slung it over his shoulder and nearly fell over as he let out an obscenity in English that traveled far off into the distance and down the mountain range.
Note from the Editor:
Mohamed Asem is a writer from Kuwait and currently on a journey across eastern/central Europe. When he was in Poland he visited Warsaw, Krakow and Wroclaw. During his stay in Krakow, he visited the Auschwitz Birkenau museum.
A Smile from Auschwitz.
Crossing the Polish-Czech Border on Foot
Part 1 of 4