Carpathian sketches

Briefly about the hike to the highest peaks of Ukraine August 02-07, 2009
The idea of ​​a “joint” hike with my 12-year-old nephew had been incubating for a long time – almost a year. But we were sure that we would go to Crimea together, and if we liked it, next time we would go to the Carpathians... I myself began my hiking life in the Crimea - once a year in the summer, then twice a year - in spring and summer. And last year I changed the traditions: in the spring I went to the Crimea, in the summer - to the Carpathians, to the Montenegrin ridge. That Carpathian hike in 2008 was so full of natural disasters (a night-long thunderstorm on the slope of Petros; hurricane winds near Lake Brebeneskul) and emotions, fortunately, mostly positive, associated with friendly communication and perception of the beauty of the surrounding nature, that when I returned home, I talked almost only about the Carpathians, about our group, about the fact that we would definitely go there again...

And it so happened that throughout the entire spring and early summer we never got out on the Crimean “walks”. From time to time I called and corresponded with friends, looked on websites and forums to see who was going where, and came across your “highest peaks.” – Convince and collect yourself (that is, pull you out of the work quagmire), convince and collect that guy - Svitozar (you are capable of this!), - and that’s all - our thoughts and gatherings were short-lived.

I was impressed (immediately, at the Ivano-Frankivsk railway station) by the group - large, motley and very “heterogeneous”. The thought flashed: how will our guide cope with such a crowd of people? What if someone is “uncontrollable” or not sociable at all? She immediately calmed down: the guide had an assistant, all the participants looked like adults (if they decided to go on a hike, then they would go - where from the “submarine”?). We pulled up two minibuses and loaded up. Before loading, we learned that we were initially going along a changed route (not from the village of Kvasy, as planned, but from the village of Dzembronya), that is, from the other end of the Montenegrin ridge. I remember that in the questionnaire I indicated that it was important for me to follow the stated route. And when I heard about the changes, it became clear to myself that the plan was not the main thing at all (there was no annoyance, no regret, nothing like that).

I was already happy - because I had escaped from work, that I was standing not on the dusty, molten asphalt of my native Dnepropetrovsk, but on the other end of Ukrainian geography - a thousand kilometers from home, with my beloved nephew; that today adventures begin for us, some new experiences, new acquaintances, cheerful live communication - in a word, the life for which we ran away from the hot summer city.

A piece of the road to Dzembronya (the last ten kilometers) was a real rodeo: a narrow dirt road, one side going down to the river, all pitted with holes and strewn with scree; dust from under the wheels - I don’t know whether these same drivers will decide to give someone else a ride there, or will they “give up” on such earnings forever??

While we were driving, we met part of the group - fellow travelers from our minibus: - Hello, my name is Ira. - And my name is Ira! -Where are you from? I am from Lvov. - And I’m from Dnepropetrovsk. - What do you do (I am the chief accountant)? - !!! (And I am the chief accountant!) - a completely unique dialogue, considering that Ira from Dnepropetrovsk, that is, I, almost always speaks Ukrainian, and Ira from Lvov is Russian-speaking! - In the original, the conversation was conducted in two languages). It seems that this discovery that not all people in Lvov speak Ukrainian and not all Dnepropetrovsk residents speak Russian initially caused a state of slight culture shock among the rest of the participants in the hike (they were not used to it yet). At first it was very funny...

Dzembronya greeted us with a riotous rural wedding - a crowd of very cheerful Hutsuls in colorful ethnic clothes poured out of the local general store "Carpathian Dawns" - they walked down the middle of the road and started a song about the local hero Oleks Dovbush. The song was sad and, therefore, the laughter and cries of the performers sounded like some kind of wild dissonance. We quickly unsheathed our cameras to capture living folklore, and moved on – all the time upward – to the highest peaks of Ukraine.

Last year, my friends and I descended from Chernogora from Smotrich to Dzembron, from where we left by minibus; this year - everything is just beginning here: familiar places flashed by, like film frames when viewed in reverse.

The first and second days were almost a continuous upward climb. At home I was afraid that Svitozar would “slip” if it was very difficult, but he turned out to be a great guy, and I was a “radish” (the first day and half of the second day I barely crawled up until I got into a rut). The most difficult thing for me during the entire hike was the climb to Smotrich (I overloaded my backpack a little, it’s not at all significant, but for such heat it’s enough to puff on the climb like a steam locomotive). Sweet said that the most unpleasant thing for him was the minibus ride to Dzembron (and even that was lost in his memory by the end of the next day).

The Montenegrin peaks greeted us with a strong wind, as expected at such a height. Having climbed up, we decided to split up: part of the group remained to rest and wait for the lagging fighter, and part (including me) ran lightly to Mount Pop Ivan (its second name is Black Mountain), the height of this peak is 2028 m above sea level. It is interesting, first of all, for the remains of an abandoned Polish observatory - from a distance the structure resembles an ancient castle; up close you can see that it is still a “box” of cut stone and brick. We explored the ruins of the “fairytale castle”, admired the views that opened up to us from the heights of the Black Mountain - and then headed back.

The observatory made a depressing impression on me (like most of the abandoned buildings that I had seen before) - garbage, the absence of part of the staircases and interfloor ceilings, the inscription “Here was...”. But I didn’t regret that I went with the “initiative group”: I think it’s better to go and see for yourself than not to go and then be tormented by the thought: “What if there’s something really interesting and unusual there?” (last year I already slept through my Pop Ivan - I was lying in a tent while people ran back and forth).

Svitozar immediately determined that Pop Ivan and some kind of observatory were not interesting to him in principle. Three young girls from Canada came with us - Alexandra, Mary and Ellie - and my nephew devoted all his free time to communicating with them. And since they were tired and did not want to run to the observatory, it was natural that Svitozar stayed to talk with them (fortunately, his English at school was almost excellent, and Alexandra speaks a little Russian).

By the end of the third day, everyone had finally gotten to know each other and realized that in the evenings, after dinner, it was good form to stay vigil by the fire, and not lie down early in your tent. The first two evenings, almost no one sat around in the evenings, did not sing, did not fool around - either fatigue and the heat had an effect, or something else personal (I don’t know, but it was very unusual that people were not hanging out around the fire).

And at first they ate very poorly - a significant part of the porridge, especially the morning one, went to the “birds”. We happily devoured only the daily ration - lard with black bread and garlic. Many thanks to the organizers of the trip for this delicacy, LAD was excellent, I have never eaten it with such pleasure (and I almost never eat it at home). This was the true “foie gras” of our camping days! And then, in the subsequent days of the campaign, when everyone had already begun to eat porridge, and canned fish, and everything, everything that was still edible; lard still remained a constant hit. There is undoubtedly a connection between a full stomach and a good mood. When the attitude towards food changed for the better, the tone of the group also noticeably increased: the evenings became meaningful, fun - with games, songs, and fables.

On one of these normal evenings, Yura, the assistant guide, sang us a song about Dovbush, which we had already heard performed by the Hutsuls. It turned out to be much longer and sadder than it seemed to me then in the village. (It’s not at all clear why they sang it at the festival? And why did they laugh at the same time? Did the quantity of certain drinks exceed the quality of their effect on the singers??).

The third day of the hike was also memorable for its changeable weather - we saw lightning flashing somewhere nearby, it was raining on other mountain ranges - there were black clouds with torrents of rain, and the bright sun was sparkling overhead. From time to time, a few drops of rain fell over us, but this time, fortunately, it never really started pouring. We managed to cover at least part of the route dry.

We made a daytime stop near Lake Nesamovyty. And again I remembered last year: we were here at the end of June 2008, there was still snow on the slopes in some places, we hardly saw any people. In August 2009, everything here was like a bad dream: a city park on a day off - picnics, barbecues, screaming, garbage. But they quickly found a “photographer” in this bedlam to take a group photo of the group against the backdrop of the lake.

While we were resting, the weather seriously deteriorated (the sky was overcast with black clouds, droplets of rain began to fly more and more persistently) - we had to hastily go down through the Turkul swamps into the forest. Slava chose a wonderful site: huge wisps, a river with beautiful rifts, a not at all difficult gentle descent to the water, ripe blueberries and raspberries next to the camp, an abundance of firewood. Svitozar and I ran around the neighborhood in the evening - we really liked the forest, especially the part closer to the river - huge old trees, thickets of ferns, the ground was covered with a bright green carpet of moss, in some places bright pink mushrooms (russula) were visible from it.

Late evening was marked by the melting of the remains of vurda (soft cheese bought at the beginning of the journey in an artisanal cheese factory on the mountainside) into...pate. A can lid, also known as a camp cauldron, was fitted under the saucepan; added a little vegetable oil, garlic, spices. A wonderful idea from Ira the Lviv woman, which was duly appreciated: they ate it very quickly and without leaving a trace (and the cheese was not lost, and the “extra” bread was eaten, and they added variety to the diet).

The next morning was met with rain and wind - we decided not to dismantle the camp at all (to stay for the day). Those who don’t want to go anywhere stay in the camp, those who don’t “have it” - forward to Hoverla! Of course, I couldn’t sit still, so I went. Fortunately, the nephew turned out to be more prudent, otherwise he would have had to hold his hand at the top so as not to be blown away by the wind, and dry two pairs of boots, not one.

We went out to the drizzling accompaniment of rain, not a single bright spot in the sky - only gray haze. There was also much more water underfoot - in the river, in the surrounding streams, and in the Turkul swamps. Soon many people began to squelch in their boots. We have also decided not to go up the “civilian” path (bypass), but to traverse the Montenegrin ridge from the place where we emerge from the swamps. It didn’t turn out fast at all (as expected) - we practically didn’t get out, but crawled up, getting our feet tangled in the thick tall grass and bushes.

And nothing good awaited us at the top - the rain intensified, the wind turned from strong to hurricane. We had to hold the raincoat all the time so that it would not be blown by the wind like a parachute (it seemed like one of us was about to fly off the mountain). Of course, we ourselves saw that there was no talk of any Hoverla - thick white-gray clouds settled on the peaks, their shreds were blown lower and lower by the wind, tightly enveloping the surrounding area in fog. We had to quickly go downstairs. We almost did just that (after going to Mount Turkul). That's where the real wind was!!! Windy! Considering that the rain did not stop for almost a minute, it was a very fun walk.

But with what zeal we went down a little lower - to a small depression on the slope of Turkul - we hid in it from the wind and began to eat dry food (dates, nuts, chocolate). I don’t like all this and never eat it, but not in Turkul (even when I ate it, everything seemed so tasty). From the outside, we probably looked very unusual (almost like aliens or like wet hedgehogs in the fog) - a group of people in long multi-colored raincoats with hoods pulled over their faces, all silent, focused on the topic: how not to be blown away by the wind, how not to drive up the butt down a wet slope...

On the way back, just below the swamps, the sun suddenly came out (how and from where it is not clear - just a few minutes ago everything around was gray, hazy, and, suddenly, such a royal gift from nature). Most likely, we found ourselves lower and slightly to the side of the rain belt that hung over our “highest peaks.” Judging by the weather conditions in general and the fact that there are two incomplete days left ahead, Hoverla and Petros will remain unaccomplished milestones on our way. (Petros for the second year in a row).

So what? I came to the conclusion that “passed or failed”, “was or wasn’t” is not the most important thing. It is important how you walked, with whom you walked; our communication and pleasure are important; the good mood you gave to other participants. And “didn’t pass” should remain an incentive for the future - to come here again or come more than once or twice (as it turns out). – I’ll come to Montenegro for the third time and immediately climb Petros, just to be sure! (I'm joking, of course, but in every joke...).

The sun accompanied us all the way to the parking lot and the camp, and later until the evening. Boots and raincoats were drying around the fire, we scattered around the surrounding area - once again for a walk in the fabulously beautiful forest; later they shared their impressions. It turned out funny when, immediately upon returning from our outing, Slava greeted us sarcastic: “No one has ever managed to run to Hoverla and back in such a short time!” You are the first!”

The last days of the campaign were reminiscent of the plot of “Ten Little Indians” by Agatha Christie - the number of participants was steadily decreasing (fortunately, not in such a radical way as in the aforementioned detective story): then the Canadians left, and with them “a lagging wounded fighter”; then some of the Kiev residents pulled out a day before the end of our event. The end of the hike was also very wet - on August 6th it started to rain from the middle of the day until almost the next morning. They went down all the time - the return to “civilization” began. Here my companion was already a little depressed - the pretty girls from Canada had left, his feet were wet, and it was also pouring from above.

The mood improved only in Zaroslyak - they bought a souvenir pendant on a leather strap in the shape of a fang with a carved eagle’s head on it (it seems that it was not sculpted by local artisans - rather representatives of a fifth of the world’s population, but this is not so important). My friends, for example, brought souvenirs from the Czech Republic and Poland that were made... in Ukraine. This was much more fun and unexpected.

The last site turned out to be very original - two half-abandoned houses without windows, but with doors; with attached wooden stairs to the attic (second floor!); with laid out stoves. In one of the houses they found some kind of iron hermetically sealed box (a fireproof cabinet, or what?!). From time to time, tourists like us, or foresters, seem to live in these “kolybas,” as Yura called them. It was obvious that the stoves were being used; on the floors are the remains of a bedding made of spruce branches. We decided to take advantage of this shelter: the rain didn’t stop. We settled in for the night quite well: we pitched one tent right in the house, in the back small room; In the large room, rugs were laid in a continuous pattern, and sleeping bags were laid in a row on top.

The most difficult thing that evening was to make a fire - everything around was damp or downright wet; the kindling paper turned out to be completely useless - it immediately became soggy. Yura turned out to be the “sorcerer”: he pulled out a plastic bottle from the depths of his backpack, which contained several ordinary stearin candles, and with the help of such a candle he lit a fire. Thanks to him, even on such a dank rainy evening, our “get-togethers” around the fire took place: with hot food and tea, with jokes and funny tales. And although this was not the longest dinner of the entire trip and not everyone took part in it directly (Elena from Minsk flatly refused to come down from her “second floor” - she was afraid of heights! Her sons and husband had to serve her “dishes” directly there), - the atmosphere of communication was very warm, much warmer than the humid damp air that enveloped our camp.

In the morning, the realization came that even candles would no longer help - there would be no more fire. No one was particularly upset about the lack of tea and porridge - we will be in Ivano-Frankivsk during the day (we can be patient). The process of removing Lena from the attic, that is, lowering a particularly valuable cargo from the upper apartments, amused me and helped me finally wake up.

A short and quick transition to the road, the last handful of wild raspberries - and that’s it, we’re in a minibus, heading back. Our entire trip now seems short, but intense, a moment. Did you like it? Mostly, yes. All that was left was the feeling that everything was somehow very fast, that “we weren’t there,” that we didn’t have time to tell or find out something. The very “incompleteness” of the hike already gives rise to the desire to “complete it” in the future (Petros! - also to me, “an unattainable peak”!); and the unique beauty of the Carpathian nature evokes an even greater desire to return and see new places.

My nephew and I have already agreed that next summer we will come to Western Ukraine again, go on a Carpathian hike (for example, to Gorgany), and then settle for a few days in Ivano-Frankivsk and travel around the surrounding villages and towns. This time, after the hike, we rented a hotel for two days and managed to go to Kolomyia, as well as get to know Ivano-Frankivsk itself more carefully than before the hike. Svitozar, however, really regretted that he didn’t have roller skates with him - we found a very flat, partially pedestrian street not far from the historical center. On it grew the “Tree of Happiness” (forged from iron) with a beautiful children’s swing on the branches, where local boys and girls skated on roller skates.

We were pleased with the organization of our “event”. Although I don’t eat sweets (including the oh-so-sweet porridge with raisins), and I still didn’t eat it, I never went hungry, since there was always an alternative (a piece of black bread, for example). And thank you so much again for the bacon!!! Apparently it was this that contributed to my constant satiety. Svitozar, in general, ate everything that was offered (although at home he is extremely picky). I also thank you for this - for the fact that the hike thoroughly “corrected” his attitude towards nutrition.

Separately, I would like to say a big thank you to the guides – Vyacheslav and Yura – for their understanding, for their tolerance, for their optimism and their ability to always control the situation. The group was really large, it didn’t seem to me at the station then - and they were all very different people in character, level of physical fitness and general health. And the fact that the hike took place in a friendly atmosphere, that everyone easily compromised, that in a very short period of time, points of contact were found between so many different people, that most of us became very friendly by the end of the route - this, of course, is the merit of those who were “at the helm.”

I remember well how we sat by the fire and languidly talked about various topics, and then Slava came up and began to teach everyone a fun game of “contact”, and how we then played it most of the night and laughed throughout the whole camp; As for Yura, in my opinion, optimism and cheerfulness are simply “in his blood”: he lifted our spirits with his stories so many times that it’s impossible to count. Frankly, on my next trip I would like to be with a guide like Slava or Yura - they are excellent organizers and interesting people with whom it is unlikely to be boring.

Thanks to all the participants in our hike - we are very glad that we met you, it was fun, it was interesting. Let's be friends as families! Let's go to the mountains together!

From Dnepropetrovsk with love, Ira Shartavskaya, Svitozar Marchenko

August 19, 2009