Peak – and fears – conquered
Hugh Morris faced his worst fear as he scaled Slovenia’s treacherous Mount Triglav. Then the adrenaline kicked in.
Astorm hurtling over the Julian Alps from the east meant that instead of waiting until dawn the next morning to tackle the final ascent of Slovenia’s highest mountain, we would be setting off for the summit in just under an hour.
And praise the Lord for aggressive weather fronts, because I think any more time spent staring up at Mount Triglav’s intimidating summit and I’d have been reduced to merely the gibbering semblance of a hiker, incapable of tying my shoelaces, let alone grappling with one of Europe’s most famous via ferratas.
I know, I had no idea what one was either, until four days before this trip. But a via ferrata – or ‘‘iron road’’ as the Italians know it – is in essence any series of cables, holds or steps that aid climbers up particularly tricky routes, diminishing the level of danger from cripplingly terrifying to just deeply unsettling.
Enter Triglav’s summit. Peering over the rest of Slovenia from a vantage point 2864 metres above sea level, its peak of grubby grey resembles a sleeping beast, whose ample hips, craggy spine and thick neck must be negotiated by all who aspire to its pinnacle. Few nations are as proud of a mountain as the Slovenians are of Triglav.
A reproduction of it features on the country’s coat of arms, while Milan Kucan, the former president, once said it was the duty of every countryman and woman to scale its full height at least once in their lifetime.
And here I was joining them. My group, led by our guide, Jerry, had reached the Kredarica hut at 2515m after six or so hours of hiking through the lush cool of Triglav’s eponymous national park.
So far, all we’d had to contend with was tiring muscles, rising temperatures and a clumsy herd of rather substantial cows making their way down the same narrow mountain path we were trying to ascend. But despite it looking like one of our group was odds-on to be carried back down by heifer, we’d made it.
And now it was business time. The buzz at the hut was unique to a base camp, I imagine: the arresting blend of excitement and fear. We fitted our helmets and were hoisted into harnesses (all provided). Nothing focuses the mind like the click of a carabiner (a type of clip).
I brought up the rear, behind three companions, and Jerry at the front.
We were roped together, so anyone’s heebie-jeebies could only last as long as it took the person ahead to take another step. ‘‘Hang on a second,’’ was a common refrain.
Our group rose steadily, grasping at iron loops and testing the security of natural holds, always trying to keep as close and tight as possible to the cable (oh, blessed cable) of the via ferrata.
I promised myself not to look down. Take each step as it came. Three points of contact at all times. But nature would not entertain it.
At once, the climb conspired against me. The cable stopped, a sheer window on to a 500m void obstinately presented itself and a plaque appeared. Nobody wants to see a plaque while hugging a rock face at 2600m.
I was reassured, however, that those memorialised here had not slipped free of their harnesses and tumbled to the scree slopes below, but had instead been struck by lightning. Oh good.
The initial face conquered, we began to move with more confidence – nothing, I must admit, compared to the Slovenians, some brazenly tackling Triglav before tackling puberty, who bounded and leapt towards their rite of passage.
After an hour-and-a-half and precisely nine heart-stopping moments, I was stood cautiously arms wide open, gulping lungfuls of fresh mountain air as officially the highest man in Slovenia.
As it was, the descent was bizarrely free from vertigo, and I felt entirely comfortable gazing into the abyss while pondering
where to put my foot.
Still, even though strangely emboldened, I glanced over my shoulder at the dark, brooding clouds rolling closer by the minute and said a little thank you that they’d prevented the behemoth of Triglav from having the chance to psych me out before I’d so much as stepped foot on it.