Retezat

june 2023

45°21′57″N 22°53′33″E

how a short hike in early June taught me a shocking lot about winter in the Carpathians

i had walked on ice before. in fact, one of my most vivid memories of summiting Kilimanjaro brings back the unbearable cold, slowly making its way through the soles of my boots and up my legs. i knew a bit about avalanches and had experienced snow blindness in Nepal before. i also knew staving off the cold typically means moving almost continuously, provided i’m not trekking across Antarctica with nothing but a cotton top on.

none of this mattered on that fateful 1st of June. the Retezat range taught me a tough, yet crucial lessons about dealing with snow in late spring.

the gist of it

i’d argue summer in the Carpathians has changed a little bit. back when i was a kid, i could hike in June without the need for winter gear. the months before, i had planned to kick off the hiking season in May. but keeping a close eye on the weather, i ended up hitting the trails on the 1st of june.

essentially, up until the 5th of June, i had set out to navigate the vast swathes of sopping wet snow in Retezat. i only made it as far as Lake Bucura, hiking over the ridge from Pietrele. granted, the snow only started in earnest above an altitude of 1600m, but that’s where most of the action is anyway.

with the wet, mossy forests behind, i began walking up the snow, loosely following the buried trail. having lucked out a few times by crashing through the white, but emerging unharmed, i became aware of the difficulties of inferring what lie beneath the glossy surface. one could easily be walking across a concealed crevasse, mere steps away from a fatal fall. to mitigate such risks, observation is key. identify the flow of snow, see where its softer outer layers melt and subsequently drain. a depression could mean a sudden change in elevation, below. look for places where the vegetation peaks out - this could mean the layer’s a little less stable around those areas. equally, the edges of any given patch of snow are likely to be softer and should be avoided. walking close to boulders or trees could be just as risky - the closer you are, the softer the snow gets.

be it necessary to turn back, i am of the opinion that one should retrace their steps. i have found that using an already carved pathway is a little safer than battling the unknowns of cutting a new one. in other words, the snow i had already walked on usually supported my weight the second time around.

given all of the above, it should be apparent how walking across tight spots on high altitude trails is particularly risky. in fact, you may find entire portions of the trail have disappeared under the snow. in such situations, one is faced with a gamble: walk across the patch, thus risking a fall, or avoid it by means of a lengthy detour. in other words, you’d be swapping a source of risk for another. an ideal scenario would be to clearly identify an alternative, safer route, even if it means walking much, much more.

i have also learned that a spring in one’s step may not be advisable when walking on snow, but you should still retain the capacity to react quickly if need be. as such, a heavy backpack will do you no favour.

as for gear, unless you’re wearing waterproof boots, you will almost definitely get wet, gaiters notwithstanding. wet feet don’t have to be a curse, but you’re probably signing up for varying degrees of discomfort.

above all else, one should always consult a ranger or one of the chalet operators before wandering off in the snow. they may be in a position to suggest alternative routes, often unmarked “winter trails.” equally, if told not to go any further, you should listen.

this is what it all boils down to and i believe it’s all practice otherwise. go out and walk the snow, but remember - this is best done with a companion.

still interested in photography and a more narrative approach to all of this? read on.

the route

i had initially planned a five-day foray into the Retezat Natural Park, with a view to climbing all of its notable peaks - Papusa, Retezat, Peleaga, and so on. this relied on setting up camp wherever feasible, bivouacking, or taking advantage of the Park’s few permanent shelters or chalets.

i wanted to start off at the Pietrele Chalet (“Cabana Pietrele”), but could hardly find any up to date information on its condition. thus, i elected to carry on to Gentiana Chalet, where i ended up spending the first night. this is an excellent launch pad for many of the trails in the Park, which can be connected in a loop which circumnavigates range almost entirely.

upon consulting Gicu, the keeper of Gentiana Chalet, i decided against trying out the peaks’ routes from the get go - i’d first climb across the ridge, to Lake Bucura, on the other side. by the lake, a permanent shelter awaited, which could only be used on account of the rangers’ absence - a rescue team is normally stationed there throughout the summertime.

from there onwards, the plan was to trek circles along the range and around the peaks. this, however, would not come to pass.

the business of late spring snow

the second i set foot in Retezat Natural Park, i grew thirsty for rapid progress. the weather forecast had been wet over the course of my hike, but that was not going to dissuade me from hitting the trail. i very much prefer the rain over the scorching sun and i was ready to bear with a thorough soaking. and a soaking it ended up being - the humidity increased with the altitude, while the temperatures dropped, as if the breath of the mountain itself blew over me. above an altitude of approximately 1000 metres, moss covered everything and decomposing organic matter lay thick on the ground. it made for a very comfortable carpet, but it was clear the forest had seen a long string of wet seasons.

up at the Gentiana chalet, i could see some of the minor heights were still covered in snow - a worrying, but delightful sight. i was told i could only spend a single night at Gentiana, but that did not matter: as Gicu, the chalet operator, would welcome a large group of guests the following evening, i’d be hunkering down in my tent, on the other side of the ridge. to my delight and perhaps to Gicu’s scorn, seven of the hikers he expected on the evening of my arrival did not show. that set me up for over eight hours of pure, uninterrupted sleep.

but before that, a conversation with Gicu revealed that the rescue team had not yet set up shop in what could be the most attractive shelter Retezat has to offer. near Lake Bucura, a log cabin lay vacant… for now. the only inhabitants could have been two Dutch hikers, who had (unorthodoxly) crossed the ridge the night before. i wished to find them well, as i wanted to hear stories of their travels.

the following morning, i left any impression of sleep behind by washing with what could have been the coldest spring water on Earth. by nine o’clock i had already begun following a small group of hikers.

through the forest we went and eventually reached Lake Pietrele, just as the thick vegetation had begun to turn into dense coniferous shrubs. the scenery earnestly unfolding before us looked uncomfortably wet, with tens of rivulets making our advance tougher. in reality, to go any higher meant to start negotiating with the snow. at the time, this seemed like a much brighter prospect than having to contend with the rivers and the mud.

it was exhausting. fettered by a large, five-day backpack, i dug my boots deep into the white. i often crashed through, which meant i had to push myself out every time. not the worst situation all in all, but ascertaining the safest path forward, where the snow would not give, became of paramount importance.

we took an entire hour to advance a few hundred metres. to give our legs (and our nerves) a rest, we would walk towards “islands” of vegetation or exposed soil. but island hopping was simply not possible beyond a point where the sharp angle of the slope had thickened the snow. one step at a time, we dug our boots into it, carving not only a pathway, but also sort of an escape route, should the ascent eventually require one.

i parted ways with two of the hikers and carried on up the slope with my last remaining colleague. eventually, two red-suited individuals appeared seemingly out of nowhere. they glided across the white surface, a reckless descent that could only be done with light loads. verily, they barely carried anything. i managed to make my way up just in time to greet one of them - he spoke English with a very particular lisp. we had found the Dutch, alive and well. he instructed us to carry on up the slope, “left of a waterfall.” indeed, we could spot bits of the summer trail among the patches of snow and we climbed a rock wall neighbouring a small waterfall. surprisingly, the stream of water disappeared under the snow.

in the distance: my impromptu colleague, slowly making his way to the top.

as we reached the top of the wall, my valiant companion turned out to be in a much better position to assess the way forward. i followed along as he walked on whatever little exposed soil there was, eventually reaching Bucura saddle (“Custura Bucurii"). that is where we parted ways. i watched him scurry down the same way we had come up. in spite of a worrying weather forecast (and storm clouds visibly gathering over the ridge), i took my time up on the saddle.

backpack leaning against the plaque marking the geological formation, i felt a drop of rain on my head. and another one. and then another one. swiftly packing everything up, i started making my way down to the other side of the ridge. as soon as it started hailing, i knew i was in for an interesting descent. granted, there was little real risk involved - going down the jagged rocks wasn’t too dissimilar from simply walking down a flight of stairs, but it was an area i hoped would not be covered in snow. this was of particular concern due to poor visibility - a turn in the wrong direction could easily send me down a crevasse leading nowhere.

when i reached the middle of the col between Peleaga and Bucura , it all came into view - Lake Bucura covered by a thin sheet of ice and several other pools, along with the shelter i’d been waiting to spot. the saddle allowed for descent on the other side of the ridge.

walking past these pools revealed an agglomeration of frogs of all sizes, engaged in a process of mating. this was happening on the snow, the temperature of which made the frogs incredibly slow. i found it funny and fascinating in equal measure.

trudging on to the other side of the lake, i found that a group of five had already made it to the shelter. discouraged by the weepy weather, they had elected to spend the rest of the day scouting the area, which explained why they had ended up spending the afternoon indoors. they would make for excellent companions - the maturity and synergy they displayed was something i had rarely witnessed before.

the shallows of Lake Bucura and the shelter.

nonetheless, i had gotten soaked on my way down. with every couple of steps, my boots sounded as if i kicked a bladder. my creased skin and the cold aside, i felt a strange sort of pain around my toes and thought of the poor souls who’d gotten trench foot in some damp, muddy European war. pushing that thought aside, i rushed to change my socks for dry ones. the following morning i would find that the clothes i had hung out to dry were just as moist as the day before.

the shelter featured bunk beds on multiple levels. where the first three layers met the ceiling, a trap door granted access to a makeshift attic, opening up at least another couple of layers. sandwiched between bunks on the lower level, tucked into my sleeping bag, i drifted away to sleep.

the morning had few surprises in store - with the promise of particularly bad weather from afternoon onwards, my newfound companions elected against carrying on.

i went on to stubbornly follow an upwards trail, one which would typically circumnavigate the entirety of the Retezat cluster. with my backpack pressing down hard on my shoulders, i walked up the snowy slope for as far as i could manage.

things were not looking bad up at Bucura Peak. but following the trail for another 30 minutes revealed a large portion of the pathway had been swallowed up by the snow. i felt i’d be risking it if i were to carry on and a few failed attempts at circumventing the white patches all ended in failure. i would often almost make it across, but meet a steep, several metre descent. normally, this would have not been an insurmountable obstacle, but i was walking on large, somewhat unstable clusters of rock. not only that, but the forecast turned out to be frustratingly accurate. with storm clouds gathering south of the ridge, i knew i needed to turn back and retrace the previous day’s steps.

easier said than done - i could hardly recognise the pathway (which had nonetheless been navigated with very poor visibility). the very same fears i had expressed the previous day materialised and i did end up losing my way repeatedly. hanging by a few slippery rocks on the other side of the previous day’s peak, i would slowly make my way back. when i finally reached (or better said crashed into) the snow i’d dug into the previous day, relief washed over me. i was finally walking in known territory and could slowly make my way back to my car.

yet this outing still held on to its biggest surprise. once i’d walked past the snow, i realised the trail had turned into a river. vaulting from one rock to the next, i eventually slipped and landed on my feet in a nearby patch of snow. this caused one of my backpack’s straps to snap. with my waist straps still firmly on my hips, i was immediately thrown off balance. had i been up on the rock still, that would have meant the end.

coming down the mountain was a particularly wet experience. virtually all of the pathways had sunken - jokingly, i wondered aloud whether i’d be able to “boat” downhill on a log. the further i got from the mountain, the warmer the weather became, as if an artificial boundary had been traced across the forest, somewhere.

by the time i had changed into my driving clothes, my memories of the time i’d just spent in the snow had lost their lustre. not unlike looking at a grainy photograph, what remained in my mind was nothing but a string of vague moments, one which i have (unapologetically) recounted here.

what has not faded however is the realisation of how close i’d actually come to meeting the end.

june 2023

the gist of it

the route

the business of late spring snow

Cyprus