Misadventures in Montenegro

Or, "On Destinations and Detours"

7.20.08

On our 2nd morning in Zabljak, Jana and I woke full of ambition - we would climb Bobotov Kuk, the highest peak in all of Montenegro standing at 2522 m or 8274 feet.   We borrowed a map from the owner of the hotel and studied the route we planned on taking.  Locals had told us of two main routes, one starting from Crne Jezero (Black Lake), a 5 minute drive from town. This route would take 6 hours to get to the peak and another 6 on the return.  Upon hearing that estimation, we had to admit to ourselves that we didn't wake up that ambitious.  While we were hungry for a good hike, we still had other things to accomplish that day and, honestly, backpacking around the countries of the former Yugoslavia for 3 weeks, testing the local food and brews along the way, was not what you might call "good training."  The other option would require a little longer of a drive (30 minutes tops - along beautiful Montenegro countryside) but put us on the peak within three hours. That sounded more palatable to us.

But getting to the peak required reading the map correctly and paying attention to the clearly marked signs (hard to miss red dots and arrows spray painted on rocks) along the way.  With scenery like we found in Durmitor, it was a tall order to keep one's eyes peeled for the red dots. Great mountains of limestone surrounded us as we climbed ridges, crossed valleys, scrambled up and then down rock outcroppings.  About an hour into our hike, we crested a ridge and faced a mountain wall with remarkable undulating layers of green and white.  This mountain, Stit, is famous for these "Zeleni Pasovi" or green layers.  Sure, there were taller peaks around us, more imposing looking mountains, but Stit is a signature mountain.  Its likeness is even printed on the tickets to Durmitor National Park the psuedo-army guy sold us when we returned to our car after our hike, evidently, we should have purchased them beforehand, but didn't know that as there was no one selling tickets then.  

We meandered down the north side of Stit, still en route to Bobotov Kuk, and landed in another valley surrounded by more impressive stark white limestone mountains.  And, to continue the theme for our trip to Montenegro, this is where we fell off the map... so to speak. 

We took a left when we should have taken a right - suffice it to say, we got a picture of ourselves on a pass, not even a peak, called Skrcko Zdrijelo standing at 2414 meters.  Of course, this wasn't the highest elevation we'd been for the day, having made our way over two different ridge lines.  But this was the point we realized we had taken a detour. 

Not willing to admit defeat yet, we headed back in the right direction and stood at the base of Bobotov Kuk.  Looking up and then looking at our cell phone (our time keeping device), we decided we'd have to live with the consequences of our mistake.  Being in the depths of Durmitor National Park, in the interior of Montenegro with no one from our outside lives aware of where we were and what we were up to, we decided that it probably wasn't the best of ideas to risk climbing to the peak when it was a little on the late side of things.  

Disappointing? Sure.  But it was moment where I came to terms with what I was willing to risk for adventure.  Most likely, we did have enough time.  Most likely, we would have made it to the top and back down to the car with no incidents.  If I'd been in Idaho where I was more familiar with mountain rescue services and the quality of medical care we might receive for any number of injuries that had gotten stuck in my head (broken leg, smashed in skull etc.), I'm sure we would have bagged that peak. But given the way things had gone the rest of the day with our detours and misdirection, I didn't think a broken leg or a smashed in skull was too far off our karmic path.   I thought it better to head back to car, console ourselves with a warm shower at the hotel and make our way to The Garden, the pub we'd come to feel so at home in... 

I've spent my lifetime figuring out it's not really about where you end up, it's about how you get there.  And who could argue with the day we'd had.  The journey was just fine with me. Destinations and Detours.  Does it really matter as long as you are on your way?