Probing the Roof of Slovenia

“Make sure you put the small bouldering mat underneath the big one so we can see out the back a little better,” Dan suggested as we packed the car. We each have a foot well where we organise our clothes, shoes and various pieces of gear. For me that's a via ferrata kit, a harness, chalk, a day pack and a couple of other things. “Your pack's wider, lets put mine in first so we can get the bulk of the gear into the back and have the food at the front,” I said as we began the jigsaw puzzle like task of packing the boot.

These tribulations are typical. One of us often holds the boot up while the other packs or unpacks as the boot cannot sit open with a kayak strapped to the bare roof. Wind things back a couple of days and I was liberally throwing things in the car, only having to worry about one person's gear and certainly no kayak as Dan was using it to race in his debut world cup. I would organise myself in Mojstrana, a small Slovenian town before my trip into the mountains.

Upon arriving in Ljubljana I stepped off the bus to warm temperatures and headed straight for the historic centre surrounding Ljubljanski Grad, the castle that stands sentinel over the car-free old town radiating from a channel of the river Sava. I headed to Annapurna, an outdoors store, to visit the very hospitable man that owns it whom I had met previously. Two hours later I left with ice axe and crampons in hand, suggested “precautions” against the remaining snow and ice that turned out to be a necessity.

As my pack was full I strapped the ice axe to the outside, quite a spectacle in the crowded historic town centre. The Slovenian police certainly found it interesting because they hailed me down and questioned me for carrying a weapon in a public place. They seemed a little confused about its purpose which I thought was weird for Slovenia but when I mentioned alpinism their interrogative tones became curious ones. I'd even go to say they turned into tones of delight when I mentioned Triglav, a symbol of national pride. 

It was late before I left the following day because I waited until I could meet Mathias, an Italian friend, so I could get my insulated jacket back. I somehow forgot to pack it when I left Merano but he had luckily been able to pick it up. I thought it might come in handy with snow down to 1300m when I planned to get close to 3000m.

Leaving town at about four in the afternoon I drove north in moist, drizzly conditions that developed into full on torrential rain. I found it so hard to see out the front windscreen in the heavy rain that I had to sit in the overtaking lane, sometimes overtaking cars, for the sole purpose of only having to endure rain rather than heavy back spray from cars as well.

It cleared a little as I entered Mojstrana so I drove up Vrata, a valley with supposedly awe-inspiring views of Triglav's north face, a mountain that seems to well pride up inside each Slovenian when its mentioned. It's a national icon, even appearing on the country's flag and was my goal for the weekend. Or what was left of it. It was a Saturday night.

The road soon changed to gravel, the only exception being the steep bits that reached a whopping gradient of 25%. The road was merely one lane wide. I certainly wouldn't want to meet another car on a hairpin with that kind of gradient. Luckily I didn't but unfortunately my efforts offered little reward. I drove 10km up a steep, narrow road for non-existant views of the surrounding mountains, the peaks entirely shrouded by cloud.

However, part way down there is a 50m waterfall that is low enough to be unobscured. It seemed mystical in the moist conditions, tendrils of cloud wisping in the valley and creeping in between the pines. The road cuts through extensive beech forests, the leaves having a surreal colour and brighteness in the unusual mottled light. I descended Vrata, camping just outside the town limits for the night. As per usual I wasn't disturbed. 

In the morning I drove to the head of Krma valley, the start point for Triglav's normal route and began to pack my gear. I packed everything and went to strap my crampons and iceaxe to the outside of my pack. Only to discover my crampons weren't there. And it hit me. The night before last it had poured and to protect my gear from the rain I left it in the Australian team tent at the world cup. The crampons were in an inconspicuous brown paper bag and I had completely forgotten to pick them up as they probably weren't obvious in the fading light. That also meant I had no woolen socks as they were in the same bag.

Fighting off the sinking feeling curbing my high spirits I drove 12km back to Mojstrana, bouncing across the scree field on the road with multiple trenches and scraping on one of the drainage ditches. It's some road, in most places it feels like you're driving in rally style if you're hitting 50km/ hour.

Krma Valley

Putting the ice axe to good use

When I returned to the town it was only 7:15 in the morning. I saw some locals and approached their balcony, thinking they would be having a morning coffee but they had already sunken four odd beers each. Despite this they were very helpful and hospitable, inviting me in for a morning brewskie and to discuss the mountain that looms above their town they love so much. None of them had crampons to lend me unfortunately but they referred me to a family business. This was a dead end, all their gear was already lent out. I had no idea why, the area was deserted. I saw a handful of people in the mountains if that, let alone people that were kitted up to have a stab at Triglav.

Dejected, I drove back up Krma, at least determined to reach Krederica, a hut at over 2500m, for the night. Crampons are only required for climbing above the hut. I set out at close to eleven o'clock after lengthy efforts to acquire a pair. The track was in a much worst state than I expected, covered by what must have been close to fifty fallen trees in the lower section, consuming a lot of time. My spirits instantly picked up when I cleared the tree line, getting a panoramic view over the glacial valley below. After a tiring ascent on loose gravel, probably better described as rock, which surfaces the track I hit a beautiful alpine bowl. I sat down for a rest, watching a pair of deer frolic in the corner and the odd marmot dart in and out of shelter.

Getting Higher

Alpine Bowl

A bit higher I hit a hut at over 1700m, making me feel elated as I already had 700m of elevation gain behind me. The hut was in a beautiful spot and I was tempted to spend the night here as it was free and had interesting features around it. It was early though and I wanted to see the higher reaches of the Julian alps so I pushed on after a half hour break. Instantly after the hut I hit snow that I actually had to walk on, chilling my feet that were “insulated” by two pairs of cotton socks. The route was marked sparsely by painted white circles and after another 300m of climbing it disappeared almost completely. After following footprints through a firm snow bowl I was on my own.

There were few signs of previous passage above this. This worried me a little but I pushed on, setting six o'clock as a turn around time. This would give me 3hrs of day light to return to the hut I had previously visited. I pushed up, constantly slipping over on the steep snow slopes. I ascended perhaps five hundred metres on steep snow that approached 45 degrees in places, using the ice axe for balance and occasionally to halt a slip. After two or three hours of steady but tiring ascent I saw a couple of snow poles on a ridge and aimed for these, crossing the steepest section of snow yet. I had a long rest, taking in the improved panorama of the mountains.

 

After a little work on loose rock and yet more snow I was at the hut, a mere half hour's walk from where I topped out on the ridge. It was deserted. I walked around it, not seeing anyone inside but to my surprise the front door was open. I met two meterologists, the only other people on the mountain. They spoke very little English but one invited me to climb Triglav with him the next morning. Not having any crampons and having no access to spares at the hut it was a no go for me. This is as far as I would get.

The deserted rifugio, or mountain lodge, was an eyrie place to be entirely alone. It simply didn't feel welcoming at all when it would usually be populated by at least twenty people in the peak of summer.

The hut was filled with paintings and topos of the surrounding mountains

I sat my stuff out to dry before climbing a nearby hill, probably reaching around 2600m. I sat cross legged for around an hour in the cold, wearing almost all the layers I brought, taking in the landscape and enjoying the solitude. This was the last thing I expected. I was told how popular it is and how even in harsh conditions like this I should see five or so people at the hut. This simply wasn't the case. I wasn't that disappointed I couldn't reach the top, in that amount of snow reaching the hut solo felt like an achievement.

Morning Weather

In the morning I woke to thick fog but I could remember the ascent route perfectly and had no problems locating the correct gullies. The descent was much faster, taking as little as a fifth of the time it took to ascend. I skiied down the snow on my feet in places, using the handle of the ice axe for stabilisation. I popped out of the cloud around 400m below the hut to be greeted by a sunny day and wandered slowly back down the mountain, enjoying the sun and having gravity on my side for once. I must say though, 1500m of descent in 2hrs certainly kills the knees. As I neared the road the cloud base was just beginning to drop again, testimony to the fickle mountain conditions.

Getting back to the car I drank around a litre of water from the fountain and drove a dirt shortcut to Bled, passing several pictruresque towns. I've learnt well and truly by now that a bridge sign may just as well be a stop sign as the bridges often have one lane, if that. This time I entered Bled through the town itself, not the tourist metropolis. I spent another hour or so by the lake shore, having enjoyed Bled so much the first time, before getting back in the car to return to civilisation proper, only making a brief half hour stop. The air was moist this time, many of the mountains obscured, but the place has charm in any conditions.

 

Leaving the lake shore I got back in the car and drove almost half way around the lake, ascending the steep little road to Bledski Grad,  Bled Castle. I'll have to admit, there was the occasional moment where a tour bus really made me cringe. Meeting coaches on hair pins is not fun. I didn't go inside the castle but found a place high on its walls where I could sit away from the tourists and dangle my bare feet over the lake far below.