Fear of the Accursed Mountains
I went hiking in the Dinaric Alps in Albania — it was absolutely worth it despite some anxieties I had beforehand. The fears that kept me hesitant turned out to be mere phantasms.
A magnificent valley sprawls beneath me. Chalky white rocks crumbling in the glaring sun at the far side of the dried out basin. At this moment I am truly by myself, squinting through perspiration but fully immersed in the landscape around me. I make my way up a dusty mountain path towards a top I cannot even see from here. Unbuckling the belly strap from my backpack, I let myself fall against the edgy stone.
The heat rules this place, no shade is in sight. I notice my heart racing at a speed that would make a gerbil jealous. My legs seem petrified, only moving for ten or so climbing steps, then going into strike until I have rested for another minute. That’s it, I think, the climb I feared so much. I seem to be doing fine though. With the help of regular breaks, deep nose-breathing, and constant hydration, I can totally make it.
What was I afraid of?
There are many wild stories about the Accursed Mountains in Albania -
at least that is what I read two weeks ago in an old travel guide: Predatory animals, blood feuds between the hill people, sudden, dangerous changes in the weather — they say the devil built this place within one day.
I’m not afraid of the devil, those old legends spark my interest in the history of the place, rather than scare me away. A little research showed that my designated hiking route of 20 kilometers and a climb of 900 meters between the villages of Valbona and Theth is only one small stage of the popular “Peaks of the Balkans” hiking route through the Dinaric Alps.
There are only two things that made me afraid of going there: My own, flimsy endurance and bears.
Let’s look at my stamina first. I don’t think that I am in bad shape, but in the last two weeks I was vacationing in Serbia, which means cevapi-sausages, köfte-burgers, other cured meats, and plenty of beers instead of my modest exercise regimen. I remember with dread my first real hike up to an active volcano in Nicaragua, four years ago. In the middle of the climb I collapsed in the heat, my health status bar was barely a tiny fraction of blinking red. The words of my guide, when he stood over me with serious worry in his eyes, still ring in my ears: “Please don’t die here!”.
Some of the mistakes I made back then were:
No exercise in the five years before, overpacking, underestimating the heat, too little water, no breaks, no breakfast, and getting drunk on rum-cola the night before.
But I learned from this failure and will not do those mistakes again.
So, what was I afraid of?
Bears. There is no animal that scares me as much as those ruthless omnivores. Their existence is the reminder that we humans will never be unthreatened on this planet. Nordic tribes of the past knew two words to speak of this terror. One was sort of a nickname for the beast. The true name of the bear was forbidden, only to be uttered during the winter months, when it was likely asleep. If you would break this rule, you would risk calling it into the village. I call that a healthy level of respect for a being like this.
The bears here in the Albanian Dinaric Alps are estimated at around 50 or so. Nothing compared to the Romanian Carpathians, where their numbers have recently grown into the thousands. Over there, they have now started to come down from their forested hills reminding the town-people that nature does not care if you are mayor, influencer, or cobbler — you are a nutritious source of meat and your screams are just garnish for the feast.
But already the ride to Shkodër, the town from where most people start this hike, lowered my anxiety about a trip to the Accursed Mountains greatly. There are hundreds of hikers on this route every day. The bus was filled with teenage girls, gap year students, and other jolly travellers, going up for a day of nature hiking. I ended up being part of a merry, young, international party, of whom I was the oldest. The night in the guesthouse before the big climb was great fun, but once we started, I let myself fall behind. The kids had a bluetooth speaker with music, were laughing and talking so loud, that any form of wildlife — including the dreaded bears — would be too annoyed to come near us.
My heartbeat has calmed down a little bit, allowing me to enjoy the microfauna on these chalky rocks, before moving on. Tiny stone fractals of the mountain, overgrown with minuscule forests of alien-like lichen and wild flowers of enormous beauty. The group must be pretty far ahead by now — I am lucky to encounter a teal-toned snake in a small leafy patch. It is not longer than my forearm and gives me enough time to marvel at it before slithering back into the underworld.
Some people are afraid of snakes. Luckily, this phobia never got to me. Even if this one would belong to the most venomous ones on earth, I could just jump back two steps and would be perfectly safe. My gaze zooms out to the macrocosm of the kilometer-wide mountain valley. If I would spot a starving brown bear on the other side of this mountain, and he would be curious about me, even a thousand meters and a million rocks would not keep him from tracking me down. I would find out pretty quick how far I can really climb on my feet before my stamina reaches zero. But maybe I would also just gaze at it from afar, awestruck by this mighty spirit turned to a giant of the mountains.
Fears are treacherous. Amidst this beauty of a landscape, I am reminded of my psychedelic journeys, where my stomach filled with dread always tells me to take a modest amount, and once the ride has started, I am fully here in the adventure, only regretting not having been bolder.
The last steps before the top are the hardest. The stony serpentine path protruding from the chasm turns thinner and thinner, requiring balance and attention to every single step. The sun is merciless. And then, suddenly I find myself on an edge, overlooking a new valley. A young wanderer is standing there, her blonde ponytailed hair has caught little twigs, her sunglasses can’t hide the joy in her eyes. “Is this the peak?”, I ask with a heavy breath, not able to hide my fatigue. She turns towards me, laughing: “It’s one of them!”
