Below: Snow-capped - frolicking on the Kasprowy Wierch ridge.
Highlander
The Tatra Mountains straddle Poland and Slovakia (its highest ridges forming part of the border between the two countries) and are the loftiest parts of the Carpathian Range. This stretches in a wide northwest-southeast crescent from the eastern Czech Republic to southeastern Romania. Mary and I have fond memories of our first Carpathian sojourn in Yaremche, in Ukraine, and she still misses the cottage we spent three nights in. The mountains would continue to loom large over our journey after Zakopane, as we travel across and along them through Slovakia before swinging back east towards Transylvania. But we would write again of them when we come to it.
Zakopane nestled in a valley amongst the northern foothills of the Tatras. Its billing as Poland's Winter Capital is entirely deserved. Staying in an apartment on the main street, we observed the ceaseless traffic of tourists - even at midday under clear blue skies which would have been perfect for skiing or winter walking in the mountains. Tourism is more than a century old here. Their natural beauty aside, the isolation of the Tatras in the nineteenth century meant the region was promoted in a partitioned Poland as a last, untouched bastion of Polishness.
Yet for centuries before that, the town's Goral (highlander in Polish) inhabitants followed a way of life that defied national classification. Found all along the northern Carpathian arc in the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland and Ukraine, perhaps the most famous Goral was Pope John Paul II, who as a young student in Krakow Seminary spent many days walking in the Tatras. Goral culture is Zakopane's other major draw. This is most visible in the horse carriages which line the pavements, driven by men dressed in Goral folk costumes. Elsewhere in town, the culture is loudly proclaimed in souvenir shops, restaurants and an abundance of wooden architecture.
Below: the view from Kasprowy Wierch - somewhere in the thin clouds below lies Zakopane.
Up...
It being winter, a good number of hikes were ruled out through lack of expertise, experience and equipment. There were still walks enough to slake the thirsty eyes of adventurers with nothing more than regular crampons and walking poles (us). Mary's antipathy towards gravity meant we relied on cable-cars and funiculars for headstarts as much as possible. It became clear she took a lot more to walking uphill only after we cleared the tree line, when the views justified the exertion. Two day-trips relied on just such a strategy, bookending one in which we relied solely on our feet (this exception led to a very different outcome - suffice to say footsore wives aren't the most cheerful).
Kasprowy Wierch offered the most economical scenery-to-effort ratio anywhere in the Polish Tatras, as we were whisked by cable-car to, at 1,987 metres above sea level, nearly eye-level with the peaks that surrounded us. We made an effort to arrive very early, and were rewarded with empty paths (shown to be clearly frequented by the compressed snow on its surface) and quiet viewpoints. The highest summits extended majestically to both east and west, unhindered by cloud. A prancing shadow in the distance revealed the presence of a chamois crossing the snowy slopes. We pranced around ourselves until noon, when it looked like half of Zakopane has ascended to the shoulders of the same mountain.
Above (top to bottom): Mary smilingly approves of the only way to properly ascend a mountain; our first sight of a wild chamois on the slopes of Kasprowy Wierch; sitting tight on Liliowe Pass, looking out over Ticha Valley to the northwest. This is the highest point on the ridge, where most regular walkers turn back to the cable-car station.
Below (top to bottom): Panoramas from the ridge between Kasprowy Wierch and Liliowe Pass - looking east from the cable-car station on top, over the Gasienicowa Valley; walking southeast on the ridge towards Liliowe Pass, looking out over the same valley; vistas over the Ticha Valley from Liliowe Pass.
Below (top to bottom): Clear skies and empty paths vanish by mid-day, the cable-cars vomiting a steady stream of visitors onto the mountain top; Mary's deck chair neighbour looks askance at her as she triumphantly holds up a pair of crampons (life-savers on the slippery paths). We have no clear photograph, but the bronze plaque in the centre (just above the window with white words) commemorates the visit of Pope John Paul II to the station in 1997. As a young student in Krakow Seminary, he loved spending time in the Tatras.
Mount Gubalowka was much lower. Set across the valley from the main peaks, it offered a panorama of nearly all the Polish Tatras as they unfurled like a banner to the south. In 2007, I had heartily quaffed a mug of highlanders' tea (a potent mixture of tea and vodka, or rum) before racing light-headed up the gentle slopes of Gubalowka. Mary enjoys the brew, but chose to go up differently. The engineers worked really hard to construct the funicular, she blithely quipped. We should honour their work. This contraption we honoured ferried visitors to 1,123 metres above sea level. Well within walking distance of the town centre, there was always a queue for the funicular. We went late in the afternoon, giving ourselves barely an hour and a half of daylight - enough to watch the peaks set alight in the orange glow of the setting sun. The hive of activity we found at the top bore witness to Gubalowka being perhaps the most family-friendly mountain trip in all the Tatras.
Below (top to bottom): The panorama from atop Mount Gubalowka; everybody has pretty much the same idea of what kind of photographs they'd like to take; Mary uses a pair binoculars for the first time...
...and down
The exception to the two trips taken above was the one to Rusinowa Polana. A alpine meadow located near the border with Slovakia, we had to climb an hour to reach it. It was not Mary's preferred mode of locomotion, and her level of enthusiasm was evident. Low cloud obscured the mountains above, parting briefly here and there to permit glances of the vistas they so jealously guarded. I had wanted to wait out the cloudiness as the forecast had promised, but had to leave to disperse the cloud that had gathered closer at hand.
Above (top to bottom): Walking up from Polana Palenica to Rusinowa Polana; Heidi is not a happy camper. Rusinowa Polana means Rusyns' Field, no doubt referring to the Rusyn (who share kinship with the Ukrainians) herders who'd bring their flocks here seasonally to graze; the clouds sat thickly on the peaks around the meadow, only parting now and then to reveal the vistas they so jealously guarded.
Below (top to bottom): Walking back down to Polana Palenica from where minibuses return to Zakopane; As if willing our feet off the mountains, each downward step saw the ceiling of cloud lifted more clearly. Here, golden light, held back previously as if by a dam, floods the Bialej Wody Valley to the southeast. The far bank belongs to Slovakia.
Ambling down the hillside to where the minibus would take us back to Zakopane, we saw the gray roof above us already pierced in the distant valley by shafts of golden light. Once back in town, Mary resumed her search for highlanders' tea.
My wife cracks irony like a whip.
We could have no complaints about our stay in Zakopane. I had planned for four nights to maximise our chances of getting at least a single day of clear weather. We could count two and a half days which qualified. Crucially, Zakopane also yielded an invaluable lesson, one that would save me a lot of persuasion - plan mountain trips around cable-cars.
Logistics
Zakopane itself is small enough to get around on foot. There are frequent minibuses that leave from around the bus station to the various trailheads leading into the mountains. For the cable-car to Kasprowy Wierch, hail one for Kuznice; for Rusinowa Polana, Morskie Oko. The Gubalowka funicular station is at the northern end of Krupowka, the main shopping street.
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