Hiking Mt. Krn |
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| Written by Bonita Slunder |
| Tuesday, 17 November 2009 00:00 |
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As I age and am rewarded with more time to reflect on experiences past and how things have influenced my life, I find it somewhat peculiar how being raised at sea level branded me with a sort of bias against mountains in my younger years. I don't have this bias any longer, but for the first quarter of my life or so, I wasn't remotely interested in going to any mountain, and I certainly had no desire to ever climb one. Even when some of my closest friends pursued the dream of leaving the Maritimes to go out west, I couldn't be convinced to join them. They'd live their dreams by 'making it' in Banff or Jasper: working in the service industry bussing tables, changing beds, washing dishes, and barely surviving. But living in the mountains, for many of them, made it all worthwhile. They came home with rich stories and dreamy melancholy for the Rockies. Understandably, it was life-changing. As I reflect on this now, I confess that I think I was jealous, but it wasn't because of the mountains -- it was the adventure of leaving and going somewhere new that I was missing. I never quite understood why people wanted to climb or hike up really big, rocky hills, especially when it was "just for fun." Where I grew up, everything around me was flat. The tallest point in the entire province of Nova Scotia wasn't even on the mainland but in Cape Breton. White Hill is the highest point in all of Nova Scotia at an elevation of only 1745 feet (535m). But even so, it is said to be a most difficult peak to reach because it is located deep in the middle of the 40 kilometre-wide Cape Breton Highlands, an area where thick brush and treacherously boggy trails await the ill-prepared. Many underrate the effort it takes to get to White Hill -- I've been warned that it really is a tough haul. Alas, before leaving the Maritimes in the late '70s I could only claim that I ventured to Mt. Uniacke, but there was no climbing or hiking involved since Mt. Uniacke is certainly nowhere close to being a mountain. By my mid-20s, the time had come to leave my rocky coastal flatland so I could follow my air force hubby from airfield to airfield -- 13 times in total. I remember being excited about the adventure (the first time) of driving 6,148 kms across this magnificent country that I love to call home: trucking through tiresome northern Ontario, across the moody prairies, and into the Canadian Rockies. It's an underrated journey driving coast to coast, something I humbly suggest every Canadian do at least once in their lives. (Yes, roads in New Brunswick are a national embarrassment and sometimes there are sparse accommodations en route, but seeing every province and the geography of this great land is truly a worthwhile adventure). When I saw 'real mountains' for the first time I was awed by their massiveness and felt vulnerably insignificant in their shadow. They were breathtaking and awesome, but I still had no desire to climb or chase a summit. 
Cividale del Friuli (photo: Daniel Slunder)
On a really clear day hikers who make the summit can see both the Adriatic and the Dolomite Mountains. After my first visit I learned that being in the mountains is a lot more than just "being in the mountains." The air is thinner, the terrain unassumingly precarious for the tenderfoot, and the peace and tranquility can be almost unnerving until you get used to it. The Julian Alps are rather underrated and unfamiliar to many, even though this mountain range of the Southern Limestone Alps stretches from north-eastern Italy to Slovenia. These Alps are named after Julius Caesar, who founded the municipium of Cividale del Friuli at the foot of the mountains. Cividale is one of my very favourite places on the planet, not only because of its historical significance but for its sheer beauty. A large part of the Julian Alps are included in the Triglav National Park, and they rise to 2,864 metres at Triglav Mountain. Krn (know as Monte Nero to many Italians) is the first mountain (other than Matajur, of course) that I truly fell in love with. Krn is easily recognizable because of its unique triangular tip that rises above other peaks and, at least from a distance, doesn't look as foreboding as the others. Krn, especially from the top on Matajur, is enticing. In 2005, my husband convinced me to hike it. We were told it's an easy, relaxing, steady climb. The best possible beginner hike in the region. We were also told that the distance between Krn and the Adriatic sea is only about 50 km (32 miles) so on a clear day, you can see the ocean. Bonus, I thought.
Trail Marker (photo: Daniel Slunder)
All I need to say here is, no, Beppu, it was not molto facile at all -- it was arduous and literally breath-taking, and we are fairly fit people. After the first hour of what felt like climbing the stairs at the CN Tower, I stopped thinking about my body and started thinking about the vistas around me. I thought of Ernest Hemingway's After many hours of twists and turns and moments of sheer speechlessness at the views, we made it to the refugio only to find out that they were closed because the weather had been so bad that supply helicopters couldn't get in. Fortunately for us, the old Nonna who lives there for most of the year offered us mirtillo tea and pasta, but we soon realized that the sun had disappeared and the refugio darkened. As it is in the mountains, clouds rolled in without warning and we knew that if we didn't start down right away, we'd be stuck in the refugio with Nonna and her cats for the night. The hike down was exhilarating, and I felt a powerful sense of personal accomplishment the entire way down. I've climbed Matajur many times since then but Krn, I think, was an once-in-a-lifetime hike that I will never do again. Now when I'm in Masseris and I climb Matajur, I look across the Soca Valley into Slovenia and up at Krn, and I reaffirm my promise that I will never underrate a mountain again. More information on Krn can be found at by contacting the Bovec Tourist Information Center. Previously:Hopewell Rocks were the peak of Dahlia Liwsze's summer. Darren Moore admired Yukon's mountains.
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Comments (1)
Mountains and God
A delightful article. I could feel the trajectory of the author's personal journey from her upbringing to her encounter with the mountains. Seeing the picture was very helpful. As I got closer to the end of her account, I was reminder of the link in the Jewish scriptures about God and 'rock' and the many sayings, from the psalmist to the prophets, about them 'going up to the Lord.' This 'up,' of course, was a mountain. It was even claimed that Moses received his tablet for the 10 commandments 'up on the mountain.' Further reverie then had me reflecting on the incredible insight of the first commandment: to avoid having 'false gods' in one's life. |
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