Two Tickets To The Tatras Mountains – An Accidental Hike in Slovakia

November isn’t exactly peak season in the High Tatras mountains of Slovakia. The pleasant reliability of the summer weather has long since passed, and the winter snows have yet to fall. A perfect time, therefore, to fly to the tiny city of Poprad and book two nights in a mountain hut!

Truth be told, this was a pretty last-minute trip. I was in the process of moving jobs, and had a handful of days to head off on a mini-adventure. The Tatras Mountains had popped onto my radar a couple of times, and I couldn’t resist the lure of £22 tickets on good ol’ Wizz Air.

Before I knew it, I had packed my carry-on rucksack and was making my way to the airport. I had literally no plan other than knowing where my accommodation was. All I knew was that I fancied heading up into the mountains, and I had my fingers crossed for good weather once I arrived.

Foggy Memories in Stary Smokovec

I couldn’t see much when the plane touched down. On our descent, with the sun having already set, I’d been looking out for the shadowy summits of the Tatras range. Unfortunately, none were visible, and as I stepped out onto the tarmac, it quickly became apparent why.

Poprad, at 670m above sea level, is already pretty high and susceptible to changeable mountain weather. Thick fogs had rolled off the slopes and enveloped the city in an eerie wall of grey. My accommodation was even higher still, sitting at just over 1,000m in the village of Stary Smokovec.

As my taxi had rumbled away into the distance, I was left standing in an eerie silence on the corner of a barely lit street. This type of quiet stillness only comes from being surrounded by mists, which silence all but the most piercing of sounds.

I spent the evening getting used to my surroundings and sampling some Slovak food. Full marks to the beer, but I can’t say I’ll be rushing back to try the fluorescent pink sausage. In hindsight, this was a somewhat brave choice for night one.

The pitfalls of off-season in the Tatras Mountains

The Tatras Mountains, and particularly the resorts around Poprad, are well served by a comprehensive network of hiking trails, ski routes and lifts. Many of these lifts operate for most of the year – transporting snow-sports enthusiasts in the winter and a mix of hikers and casual tourists in the summer.

As I researched my options over dinner, I saw a parade of “Closed”, “Shut”, and “Maintenance Break” signs. This applied not only to the lifts but also to many hiking trails. Seemingly the only option was to take a funicular – handily located a mere 5-minute walk from my guest house – up to a tiny ski resort called Hrebienok.

At 1,285m, Hrebienok is an evergreen destination with year-round attractions. Despite reading that most, if not all, of the hiking trails from here were closed, it seemed like the best chance to get a little further into the Tatras Mountains.

At 9am on the dot, I was stood patiently in the queue for the first funicular of the day. My company, almost exclusively Slovakian families, were an intriguing mix of woefully ill-prepared for anything mountain-related (jeans and a shirt), or set with enough gear to conquer Everest.

I was somewhere in the middle. Decent hiking gear, waterproofs and a healthy supply of food and water were a positive. However, my carry-on allowance didn’t stretch to a pair of spare hiking shoes, so I had to make do with my lightweight running trainers. Little did I know that these would be taking me further than I had planned…

The Accidental Hike

Hrebienok is a fun little spot. It’s almost exactly how you’d picture a little mountain resort – a smattering of cabins playing host to cosy restaurants, enticing trails shooting off into the distance everywhere you turn.

I thought I’d be at Hrebienok for an hour or two. Then, maybe I’d pick out a good viewpoint and grab a few snaps. Perhaps I’d even warm up with a good coffee and a late morning bowl of soup.

I was mulling all this over when I spotted an information board. Here, you could take a comprehensive look at all the different hiking trails leading off from Hrebienok, like a network of arteries stretching through the mountains. A restaurant caught my eye; only a 10 minute walk away down a trail which I just happened to be stood right next to.

I could see no sign telling me that it was closed, nor did it look particularly like it was under maintenance. So, I began to walk. As the restaurant came into view, I again could see nothing stopping me from heading further down the trail. So, I began to walk again.

This pattern continued reliably for quite some time. Eventually, I reached a waterfall that had been signposted a little earlier. This in itself was well worth making the extra effort – a postcard-worthy scene, which I enjoyed in blissful isolation.

Just a little further…

I was fully prepared to turn around at the waterfall. My mind had been made up – I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be here, and there was nobody around. I also knew that the Tatras Mountains are home to a not insignificant population of bears but had not done enough research at this point to discover that they would probably all be hibernating.

As I was packing my camera away after photographing the waterfall, I heard voices. Eventually, a young couple in full hiking gear appeared and carried on further down the trail.

“They look like they know what they’re doing,” I thought optimistically. I didn’t need much persuading to abandon my plans to return, and instead press further onwards into the mountains.

This pattern again carried on until my planned hour at a ski resort had become a full day hike. The path took me up, and up, and up. Each time I thought I was ready to turn around, I would see something exciting up ahead or spot some other hikers in the distance.

Eventually, I reached a sign outside a closed cabin that told me I’d broken the 1,600m mark. “Not bad”, I thought to myself, as I wondered what I might find further down the path.

I pressed on for a while longer, through a forested patch, before emerging into a narrow valley surrounded by some of the most spectacular, jagged mountain peaks you’re likely to come across.

At this point, a couple of things happened. Firstly, the clouds descended, and it began to rain. This wasn’t, in itself, the end of the world – I’d come prepared.

Secondly, however, I began to get the sense that the cabin I’d passed was the last building for quite some distance. I could see nothing up ahead but mountains, and could hear no sound of human chatter carried by the wind. It all felt pretty isolated.

Read next: How to catch the cable car to the summit of Lomnický štít

The snapping of twigs

I was considering turning around when a few shapes I spotted at a river down below me made my mind up. In the misty rain, already very conscious of my isolation, I couldn’t be sure that these weren’t bears. Although, of course, I now know that they almost certainly weren’t – but at that moment in time, I was paying the price for not watching enough Attenborough documentaries.

I began to hastily retrace my steps. Through the forest, past the cabin – where a chained up dog decided to test my heart strength by barking at me suddenly. The rain had given the landscape a magical feel, and all thoughts of man-eating bears soon evaporated.

The only slight scare on the rest of the journey was when I’d stopped for a comfort break in a quiet clearing, surrounded on three sides by forest with a steep drop on the fourth. At this point, I heard the tell-tale CRACK of twigs snapped by footsteps. To this day, I have no idea where the noise came from or what caused it. All I know is that the running trainers finally came in handy!

Eventually, I made it back to Hrebienok. By this point, I was drenched from the relentless rain. The light was also beginning to fade – a sure sign that I’d made the most of my day in the mountains of Slovakia.

I signed off my time at Hrebienok with a surreal twist. Hidden beneath a giant white dome was an immense ice sculpture of Notre Dame cathedral. This freezing monolith wasn’t quite what I expected to find halfway up a Slovak mountain, but this had been a day for the unexpected.

As I descended back down on the funicular, I was sure that I’d be returning to the Tatras Mountains at some point. This is a place that deserves more time to discover the endless hiking trails. Maybe there will even be a chance to conquer one or two peaks. One for the future!

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