Bieszczadzki Trek

Rough around the edges are the Bieszczady Mountains and their inhabitance. After the Southeast corner of Poland was demolished during World War II, nature reclaimed the land and a healthy population of brown bears, wolves, and all good signs of life has emerged. In a land so full of life, people have begun to return. They are returning slowly, and with a new respect for the wilderness. So here we are, two Americans romping around the wild, wild east. Why are we here when we come from the land of the plenty, from the comfort of our own bubbles of safety? It is to explore, and to explore is to learn. I am blessed in the life that I lead, the places I see, and the people I meet.

The bus dropped us off in Ustrzyki Gorne, the outset “town” for our multi-day mountain trek. After many nights out in Krakow, an escape from hangovers and poor choices was most welcome. In tent by 8 pm, even the wolves hardly disrupted my sleep. Bam, wide awake at 4:30 am. It is going to be one of those days. When I get up at these hours, I stumble into a euphoric god complex in which I am brimming with life and delusions of grandeur. I decide to pregame our backpacking trip with run to the Poland-Slovakia-Ukraine tri-boarder. All fun and games, but due to a mistranslation in units, I did not realize it was 18 kilometers and 1000 meters (3000 feet) of vertical. And I fucking hate running. Besides my premature death, it was a lovely adventure to kick the morning. I summited an adjacent mountain, illegally crossed the border into Ukraine, and said good morning to all the Polish shells I ran by as if I were Ted Lasso on game day.

After my run, it was straight to the trail. While these, as they call mountains, were no match for the Cascades in which I come from, the raw and remote nature held an air of reverence that I fell deeply within. They were proud, wild, and unforgiving. The day consisted of two large summits, each followed by an up and down ridge rock climb. They have yet to discover the switch back out here, so every ascent and decent brought me face to face with God. Our 50 lbs. (at least) packs contained everything for our two-week trip and our backpacking gear. The trials of man are placed upon themselves, so my suffering was of self-infliction. Boo Hoo. We continued our march of masochism for another 40 kilometers of the next several days to land in the village of Cisna. As we approached the village we heard festivities, we walked into a gypsy festival. But this, and the food poisoning my friend and I got that weekend is a story for another day.