Hiking in Transylvania

I realised that it had been a mistake to pass the last petrol station on the fertile plain near Sibiu, before starting the long ascend along the Transfăgărşan Road, which is crossing the Transylvanian mountain range from the North to the South. The forecasted 150 km of reach, the fuel gauge had indicated, had melted down to just 45 km, with the nearest petrol station on the other side of the pass still over 60 km away….

I had driven the whole day from a mountain camp in the North of the country near the border to Ukraine. The gathering had been organised by Alex Bogdan Vitalaru and an enthusiastic group of Romanian veterinarians. For a whole weekend I had thoroughly enjoyed their company and particularly Alex’ guitar playing while sitting around a campfire. I was still humming to myself the melody of the song of Andrii Popa, Romania’s own version of Robin Hood, when suddenly a dark shadow appeared from the side of the road, trying to cross right in front of my car – a bear !

Not huge, but still probably 150 kg of fur and muscles, I certainly didn’t want to hit….

Thankfully, I had closed all the windows, and I considered myself lucky for not sitting on a motorbike or – even worse – on a bicycle.

The mountains of Transylvania have some of the highest density of brown bears and wolfs in the whole of Europe. Direct encounters with these large predators are becoming now more common and reports of even fatal attacks feature more frequently in the news.

After deciding that I, surrounded by a reassuringly thick layer of steel and glass, would be “too much work” for a decent dinner, the bear crossed the road and disappeared back into the forest.

Only 40km of fuel left…..

The road continued to climb and eventually I passed the tree-line. The vegetation was reduced to frost and wind resistant low growing shrubs and sharpe edged battle hardened grass, which only the toughest of ruminants were able to digest.

The temperature had dropped significantly and as the last daylight was fading, light rain was starting to fall.

Eventually I reached a poorly lit tunnel, just below the central ridge of the mountain, that was connecting the Northern to the Southern side of the massif.

Emerging from the other end of the tunnel, I finally parked the car and from here it was now just a short hike in total darkness to reach the small refuge.

Passing then the closer inspection of a guard dog, that was not much smaller than the bear I had just seen, I entered the battered cabin and found out that I was in luck after all: there was not only a spare bed for me in one of the dormitories,

there was even a cold beer and a hot soup waiting for me, before turning in for the night.

When I woke up the next morning, the clouds were hanging low over the mountains and it was still raining. While the hospitality at the hut had been great the previous night, it seemed to have run out of steam in the presence of early daylight. The fair this morning was some dry bread, an egg without salt and some plain cheese that had the texture of rubber, all washed down with some lukewarm instant coffee without milk. When I asked to get my thermos flask filled with some hot water and the manageress just took it to the kitchen sink turning on the warm water tap, I realised that it was time to leave….

Passing the now chained guard dog, which in day light looked much smaller than previous night, I ventured into the misty tundra landscape and found myself alone on a small path, while below me the road, filled with cars and motorbikes, meandered its way up the southern slope, with only individual rays of sunlight breaking through the thick cloud cover.

Being less than a mile away from the tunnel and the road, I was in complete peace and there was not a single sound around me. Next to the path I noticed beautiful blue aconites, that were frequented by industrious bees and more clumsily operating bumble bees.

I was just starting to enjoy the sensation of freedom and tranquillity, only the high mountains or the open Sea can give, when I noticed a movement next to a rock in front of me.

Rearing its head, completely covered in a thick coat of brown fur, moving the next moment at considerable speed straight towards me and coming to a halt just a few meters away, displaying a fine set of long and yellow front teeth…….was a…marmot…. that had clearly not been prepared for a visitor at this early hour…..

An earsplitting, high-pitched screech was to follow, before the large rodent disappeared into its nearby burrow.

Once I had rounded the side of the mountain, the path descended slightly into a small green valley, with a small stream running right through the middle of it. On the other side of the valley I first heard, then saw a large flog of sheep. The bleating of the livestock was occasionally augmented by the barking of a dog and I instantly knew that I had to give this seemingly peaceful setting a very wide berth.

The valley was eventually crossed without getting mauled, and then another mountainside had to be rounded before the final ascend was right ahead of me.

Now the path zick-zacked its way relentlessly up towards the ridge and to the only slightly higher summits of the Transylvanian mountain massif.

Finally I was standing next to a small lake – the sad remainder of another long disappeared glacier – and just a few meters away from it, was the destination of this solitary hike – the probably ugliest mountain shelters you will ever come across….

Something that resembled a crude hybrid of an oversized turquoise plastic dustpan and an illegally parked combine harvester with a large handle on it’s roof, had taken center stage on a small plateau.