I’d had less than five hours sleep, the previous night being similar - and I’m not the kind of guy that can run on that. When the alarm went off early Friday morning I really felt like texting my hiking companion, and telling him… something… anything. But, at that time of the day who has the imagination to come up with something convincing?

Somehow I managed to drag myself to the window, secretly hoping it was raining, or snowing. But no, conditions were absolutely ideal (typical!).

It was only the afternoon before that I was invited on this mountain climbing trip, so I was more than a little unprepared. In the couple of spare hours I had, I had managed to find my hiking gear (or ‘tramping’ gear, as we like to call it in NZ). They hadn’t been used for about eighteen months – likewise all those muscles you use specifically for climbing and descending steep inclines. I was feeling soft, out of shape – but, true to form, if I’m invited into the hills something deep down inside me just can’t resist.

From the picture at the top, you should be able to guess where we were heading. That’s it, that pointy peak in the distance. This is Kriváň, one of many peaks in the High Tatra mountain range in north-east Slovakia. It’s not Slovakia’s highest, that honour goes to the 2,655 metre ‘Gerlach’ further to the east, but at 2,494 metres it’s not far short.

For Slovaks however, Kriváň is ‘the favoured one’ of all the mountain peaks. It has been the subject of folklore and fairy tales for centuries, and also a symbol of national identity and pride. It will accordingly appear on the Slovak version of the Euro when they’re minted.

Additionally, early climbs in the area by Ludovit Stur, a nineteenth century poet, writer, and national revivalist, are the subject of Slovak lessons at school. Stur was a member of parliament during the era of Hungarian rule, and doggedly fought to preserve and promote the Slovak language, at a time when the region was undergoing a forced ‘Magyarisation’ (Hungarianisation). Hungarian was made the official language, and all other languages were outlawed. Stur’s work and influence was central to the resulting 1848/1849 revolution that stopped Hungary’s plans in its tracks. Ludovit Stur is known and remembered by all Slovaks, and Kriváň, with it’s striking profile, seems to have become a larger-than-life representation of him, and all he stood for.

The climb itself was fantastic. The first thing I discovered, on arrival at the base, was the privilege that was mine to climb it before winter sets in – as from November 1st the mountain tracks in the Tatry National Park are closed until the following June!

This autumn has turned out to be the warmest and longest in several decades – so these mountains that often retain snow throughout the summer months were completely dry, even now in late October. Environmental concerns aside, this meant that although the views weren’t as dramatic (a snow-capped mountain is hard to beat visually) the hike up was easier on yours truly.

Actually, compared to a similar mountain in New Zealand, I must say that things are much more ‘civilised’ here. Rather than mud tracks, some parts of the track on Kriván were more like a Roman road! Don’t get me wrong – it wasn’t all like the picture at right, but at such an elevation I’ve never seen anything like that in NZ.

The last 45 minutes were more of a scramble, over and around boulders and smaller loose stones. At this point I could almost hear my old hiking buddy from NZ - reminding me to “eat big” before a trip, and thinking how he’d now be telling me “I told you so” now that I was starting to run out of steam, just short of the prize. To breakfast, or to sleep? Life is so full of hard decisions.

The usual feeling of elation swept over me as I took the last few steps to reach the summit of this fantastic mountain. From here the views stretched for miles on every side. The cross-lorraine (the centrepiece of the Slovak national emblem) stood proudly at the crest, overlooking the Polish border just to the north – the very next ridgeline you can see in the picture at left.

Behind us, just to the south, is the wide valley between the High Tatra and Low Tatra mountain ranges – a valley the Warsaw Pact tanks streamed through on their way to Prague in 1968, and where several thousand young Germans lie from an earlier, and more aggressive altercation.

Rather than head back the same way, we headed off down a different ridgeline and made a circle of the trip.

On the way down, yellow grasses and green-lichen covered boulders gave way to deep green dwarf pine, in turn giving way to tall stands of fir, spruce, and beech.

Here we found a stream in shaded forest. My companion said the water wasn’t safe to drink, but it was okay for washing hands – which I guessed was why it wasn’t safe to drink.

A little further on we stopped by a small and serene lake, where I was disappointed to find evidence of multiple very inappropriate toilet ‘activities’ carried out only half a metre from the water line. This made me more conscious of why I should fear the water in this area. Not wanting to ‘contaminate’ my record of the day, I pointed the camera in the opposite direction instead…

Seven and a half hours after leaving the car, we made it back just as the sun was heading off to another hemisphere, and despite a near head-on collision on a bend with your typical ‘third lane frequenter’ on our way home, we made it safely back to town none the worse for wear. Now for some sleep… Zzzz…