Looking the Beast in the Eye

This is the continuation of the story A Tribute to Madness: The Slovenian Route.

Intermezzo

The Julian Alps Sky Trail. This is what I’ve been training for. The big sporting goal of the year: running 54 kilometres through the mountains. I’m fit, but anything but fresh as I stand at the starting line. Things in Slovenia haven’t exactly gone according to plan. My taper week turned out to be far more intense than intended. Oh well, that’s how things go sometimes. Now for the race. The race is tough. Brutally tough. But also incredibly beautiful. Even though I have to dig deep, I still manage to enjoy it.

Afterwards, we can all recover and spend a little more time enjoying ourselves as tourists. Actually, it’s time to head back to the Netherlands. The holiday is over.

But suddenly, I have my vision again. This time, it’s clearer than ever. There I am, standing on the summit of Triglav, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction as I take in the spectacular view. I’ve reached the top! The entire running event was amazing, but it’s increasingly starting to feel like a sideshow. Because I have to go back up that mountain. Triglav, it turns out, is the real reason I’m here. I didn’t regret turning back last time. It had been the right decision. But that didn’t mean I’d made peace with it.

“Daddy, Daddy?” My daydream is abruptly interrupted. “Are we going to that other cottage now?” “Yes,” I reply. We’ve decided to stay a few more days. Partly because we’re having such a great time here, but also because I simply can’t bear the thought of leaving without making one more attempt at that Slovenian route. I want to go back into the lion’s den and stare the beast straight in the jaws.

Crux

Obsessively, I keep digging for information about the terrain. On Strava, I find other people’s activities and segments that provide valuable clues. I combine everything I can find into a much more accurate GPX track than the one I had last time. I also watch the footage by Andraz Egart and others again. I find even more stories and photos showing how the route unfolds, focusing specifically on the final section: the exit. Somewhere near Frelihova prečnica is where I turned back last time. That’s where the crux lies for me: finding the Frelih Exit.

I study my drone footage in meticulous detail. In my mind, I visualise the terrain over and over again. No more straying off route and ending up in tricky terrain. That’s the lesson I learned last time. I’m ready for attempt number two.

It’s exactly 12:30 p.m. on Wednesday, 23 September, when I find myself back at the start of the Slovenian Route. The last traces of doubt have disappeared during the approach. Now that I’m here again, I suddenly feel as though I’ve been here countless times before. Apparently, visualisation works. Minor aches and pains fade into the background. I quickly tighten the laces of my approach shoes and start climbing. I’d bought these shoes yesterday, especially for today. My category D Scarpa boots had proved too warm last time, while the flexible soles of my trail running shoes made climbing difficult.

I make my way through the first sections without any trouble. Through the larches, traversing back, across the bele plati, up the rocky gully, past the boulder. I skip signing the logbook. No time for that.

Within two and a half hours of starting the route, I’m back near the spot where I experienced those precarious moments nine days earlier. So far, everything is going smoothly.

Now the search begins for the ledge, the Frelih Exit. There! That’s it! No, wait, it isn’t. I need to climb higher. According to the descriptions, there should be another very distinctive landmark before entering Frelih: naravno okno, the natural window. A narrow passage between the rocks.

I look up. This is the terrain where things nearly went wrong last time. From the route descriptions, I know there’s an easier way up to the left. But the further left I go, the steeper the terrain becomes. That can’t be right. I spot a narrow rocky gully, but it looks wet. No, thank you. For 45 minutes, I search for the best way up. Feeling somewhat disheartened, I watch the black Alpine choughs circling ominously close to me.

Then I decide to take a closer look at that wet gully after all, and to my delight, it’s far less slippery than it looks. Carefully, I climb upwards. This must be the route. After a few minutes, I glance to my right and spot an opening. YES! That’s the natural window mentioned in the descriptions. Apparently, I’ve indeed gone around it on the left, as climbing up through the window is also an option. I’ve now actually made it further than last time. It feels like a huge victory.

I’m even happier when, a little later, I actually find the ledge of the Frelih Exit. “I’m almost at the top!” I think. Just the traverse to go! Epic!

The route leads to the right, around the Slovenian rock pillar that juts out from the mountain, before eventually continuing upwards on the other side. I follow the first section carefully and without any problems. Once on the rock pillar, the narrow ledge gradually widens, reaching its broadest point exactly where the pillar protrudes furthest from the mountain. Around the corner, the ledge narrows again and the number of pitons increases. I’d read in the accounts that most people prefer to tackle this section roped up. There’s a lot of loose debris here. Fine gravel, but also larger rocks. I move slowly, placing my feet very precisely. Every now and then, I use my shoe to sweep the ledge clean first. I’d rather not walk on a surface covered in rolling marbles.

With every metre I move forward, the ledge becomes narrower. The rock at chest height also starts to protrude further and further outwards. I can feel my backpack increasingly pulling me backwards. Wouldn’t it be better to crawl here? Yes, I really think it would. I crawl on my hands and knees for a while, then slither along on my stomach when my backpack gets stuck. After a short passage, I stand up again and continue on my feet. Once more, the ledge narrows, and I remember reading in the descriptions that at one point, the edge you’re standing on is only a few centimetres wide. That must be somewhere around here.

But am I really on the right route? I can’t clearly see where it goes, and behind me, the terrain has dropped away completely. I’m standing above an immense abyss. Should I crawl for another section? No, there’s nowhere near enough room for that now. Can I get past here standing up? I don’t like the fact that I can’t see where the route leads. Do I just have to push through this passage, or is this not the route at all, and am I climbing myself into a dead end? I stop and think. Before rounding the corner of the pillar, I noticed a gap in the rock between the pillar and the mountain itself. Maybe I’m supposed to climb through there? I decide to go back and investigate.

I accidentally knock a fairly large loose rock with my foot. The rock slides over the edge without any resistance. Whoosh, gone. Ouch! I don’t want to cause a rockfall. I prick up my ears to hear what happens to the rock. But I hear… absolutely nothing. Only many seconds later (maybe ten?) do I hear the loud crack and clatter of the rock far below me. Wow, that drop is deep! I suddenly feel a little less comfortable.

With one finger hooked through a piton, I put on my climbing harness and tie into my rope. I then belay myself as I traverse back. By the time I reach the wider section again, my belay device has reached the stopper knot at the end of the rope: I’ve covered 20 metres. But when I try to retrieve the rope, I’m met with an unpleasant surprise: it’s stuck. Completely and utterly stuck. I’m incredibly frustrated. What are my options? Leave the rope behind? And then what? Continue without a rope? But I don’t even know where the route goes. Who knows what else I might encounter. Going back without a rope seems even less appealing. Last time, I was very glad I could abseil. No, I’m not just going to abandon my rope.

Hmm, maybe I can get the rope up and over the rock pillar? Perhaps I can then reach the piton from above and free the rope that way? In no time, I’m on top of the rock, just above the piton. There, I can see the problem: the rope is twisted, creating too much friction as it passes through the piton. No matter what I try, I can’t get it free. I have, however, managed to get a few metres of rope into my hands. I realise I could cut that section off with my pocketknife. At least then I’d still have something.

Before putting my knife to the rope, I notice the gap in the rock again. There! I really think I can squeeze through there. It looks as though you can bypass the entire traverse around the pillar that way. See, THIS is the route! I take the end of the rope with me by throwing it over the rock and squeeze into the passage. As I chimney my way forward between the rock walls, I see the gaping void beneath me. Don’t fall! I reach the other side and manage to pick up the rope there. Yes, that went well. Now I give the rope another pull. YES! Finally, from this side, it gives way, and I can pull it all the way through. This whole ordeal has cost me 40 minutes, but I’ve managed it. I’ve made progress again. Awesome!

And then, after a short climb up a scree slope, I reach the end of the Slovenian Route just a few minutes before 5 p.m. I’ve done it! I’m absolutely thrilled and celebrate with an energy gel.

Summit

A glance at my watch tells me: sunset in two hours. The weather is still good, so onwards to the next section: the ridge and the summit. I set off through what can best be described as a lunar landscape: enormous scree slopes covered in rocks of all sizes, large and small. Sometimes, one step up sends you sliding three steps back down. Not dangerous, but exhausting. Before long, I find an unmarked path, which makes walking easier and means I slip less often.

I’m thoroughly enjoying my surroundings. The terrain is easy, the mental strain minimal. I no longer have to figure out the route. My GPX track is spot-on, and in this terrain, my watch keeps me firmly on the course I’ve prepared. The plan is to ascend on the western side of the north ridge. Don’t head upwards too early. I’d read about other climbers getting into trouble that way.

The wind picks up, but at least I’m finally getting some sunshine. The climb towards the ridge goes well. I keep thinking I’m almost at the top, only for yet another section to appear ahead of me.

With just nine minutes to go until sunset, I reach the ridge. I can already see the Aljaž Tower. The summit is close! The mountain’s shadow stretches across the landscape like an enormous pyramid, reaching all the way to the horizon.

A few minutes later, I reach the summit! It feels magical. I’ve got goosebumps, though that might also be because of the wind.

Still, I don’t linger for long. I have to get back down. I grab my headtorch and a triple chocolate brownie from my backpack. Miraculously, the brownie has survived the day. What a stroke of luck! Apparently, the mountain gods are smiling upon me today. With one hand on the steel cable and my culinary highlight of the day in the other, I make my way swiftly down the mountain. I’m enjoying every second of it!

It Ain’t Over Until the Fat Lady Sings

I’ve been on the move for eight hours now. But from here on, it’s easy. On this side of the mountain, the rock is worn smooth, yet it inspires confidence. Nothing is loose; everything is solid. And the route is perfectly clear: follow the steel cables and painted markers. Impossible to miss. It feels wonderful, like a train running on rails. Before long, darkness falls. The fantastic views disappear, and the descent becomes a little boring after all.

Far below me, I can see lights. They look as though they’re almost down in the valley. After an hour and a half of descending, I suddenly come across a group of young Alpine ibex providing some entertainment. They bounce enthusiastically back and forth, seemingly unbothered by the blindingly bright beam of my headtorch. Fifteen minutes later, I check my watch for the umpteenth time. I feel like I must be almost down in the valley by now. What altitude am I at? What? 2,000 metres!? The valley is at 1,000, and the summit was at 2,864. That means I’m not even halfway down yet! Pfft.

A little later, I suddenly spot headtorches just below me. The group is moving very slowly. These must be the people whose lights I saw a few hours ago. “Everything ok?” I ask them. “Yes, we are happy to see someone else here.” We chat briefly before I wish them good luck and continue on my way.

As cold as I was at the summit because of the wind, I’m now just as hot. I stop, take off a few layers and stuff them into my backpack. To my dismay, I notice that the bottom of my backpack is completely soaked. What happened there? Sweat? Then I spot the problem: one of my soft flasks filled with drink mix has ended up at the bottom and leaked quite badly. It must have slipped down there during all the commotion with the rope on the pillar. Wet rope, everything sticky. Damn! That’s going to be quite a cleaning job when we get home.

I don’t bother belaying myself anywhere. It saves a lot of time. The pins and cables provide more than enough to hold on to. My mind starts wandering more and more often. Whoa! My heart skips a beat as I suddenly spot a dark abyss right in front of me. I nearly walked straight into it. Stay awake!

Finally, I reach the foot of the wall again. From there, I descend to the river and follow it back towards the huts in the valley. After three hours and forty minutes of descending, I’m back at the car. Eleven and a half hours on the move in total.

Satisfied, I sink into the car seat. I’ve done it. Now we really can go home.

View on Strava