I have a lot of stories to tell since my last update in January, but I’m going to start with the last one: my traverse of the Cerna Mountains in September. I’m going to share it with you in two instalments since I finally figured out that writing it all in one go is a lot of work and becomes way too daunting a task – which means I keep postponing it and hardly get to post anything. So I’m lowering the bar a bit – so that I can write and you can read! Here goes.

“What if I fall?”
“Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?”

I was so scared beforehand: can I still do this? Is this the right thing for me to do now? It was mid September, and I had finally decided to go on a long hike; the first of the season, at the start of autumn. I was reeling from so many things: the drawn-out process of purchasing our Romanian house and starting the renovations have taken a huge toll on me, and sent me hurtling down a terrifying depression episode. I’ve hardly had time to work, or hike. Still sniffling with a cold, I was only just regaining the courage and energy to embark on an adventure like this. But could I? The only way to find out was to actually try. And I felt I just had to. So I planned a trip, and sat on a bus, terrified and tempted.

Day Zero: Travelling to Cerna-Sat & the Corcoaia Gorge

I was in the Cerna Mountains last autumn too, but only did day hikes – and I’ve been curious about the main ridge for a long time. Besides, this is one of the most glorious places to be in autumn. Getting there isn’t easy though: I still don’t have a driving license (I swear I will work on it this winter) and so I have to travel to the Cerna Mountains by public transport. By car it would have taken me four hours; now it takes me most of the day. I fall asleep almost immediately on the first bus and only wake when I have to get off; only to discover I get dropped way outside of the centre of Lugoj. Fortunately I have one and a half hours until my next bus leaves. At the petrol station I find a kind guy collecting the recyclable trash who is willing to give me a ride. He drops me in the centre from where I walk to the bus station, from where the bus should leave according to the ever unreliable Autogari.ro. It looks derelict, and helpful bystanders inform me that it’s been closed for years; a man suggests I try the bus stop next to the park. I try calling the bus firm but they don’t respond – it’s a Saturday. So I decide to try my luck at the other place and just wait there – until the bus driver calls me, rather upset that I’m not in the right place. I explain that I had no way of knowing; he tells me to take a taxi and then, over the phone, tells my driver where he should go. I’m relieved he waited for me, but I’m so fed up with relying on public transport in Romania. You’d think by now I’d know the drill; but there is no drill. I honestly don’t know why I’ve put up with it for so long. It really is time to start those driving lessons I’m so scared of. (Yeah, I’m not afraid of bears but I’m scared I’ll be too stupid to drive.)

I get dropped off at the intersection towards Cerna-Sat around 16:15. A little dazed, I open my pack to reorganize it a bit for the 12 km walk ahead. I resolve to hitchhike if I can, but don’t expect much traffic. But within one minute, a little red car turns on its blinkers, and stops right next to me. With three women in it and some luggage on the back seat, the small car looks rather full; I am dubious whether I and my luggage will fit in, so I don’t wave. But they have spotted me and ask whether I need a ride. They’re going to the same place, looking for abandoned houses for sale. The teenage girl in the back makes space for me, and since she’s the only one with signal, looks up a picture of my guesthouse so that we can spot it from the road. And so I get there by 5 pm instead of 7 pm – leaving me time to do a bit of exploring. My host is not there yet, but has left the door open, as promised. I have no idea which room is mine, so leave my pack in the hall, use the shared bathroom, and then set about heating a can of soup in the outdoor kitchen. Zero signal; this makes me extra happy I finally bought a satellite tracking and messaging device! Soon enough, my host shows up, I settle in, and then set off for a short walk through the sleepy and mostly abandoned village of Cerna-Sat, and then through the rather spectacular Corcoaia Gorge. The rocks fold around me like a petrified wave. I’m here now. I’m going to do this.

Day One: Steep & Sheep

I’m off by 9 am, happy to exchange my rather bare but too brightly lit room for the trail. In hindsight I could have camped on this first night as well – there’s a good area close to the Corcoaia Gorge – but I wanted an easy start after the long journey. The start of the trail is unflinchingly steep; the signpost announces it’s five to six hours to Oslea Romaneasca Peak – more than I calculated. And it will remain steep – with an average gradient of 15% until the peak, and more often than not well over 20%. This is not a frequently used trail, and it’s not well-marked either, which makes me miss a turn sometimes; once I have to wade through tall ferns to find the trail again. A gps to follow is no luxury here. I climb past impressive ancient beeches; peacock butterflies feast on fallen plums, baked by the sun, which is still going strong.

And then I reach the sheepfold, wary. It looks abandoned, but I think I hear a low growl. I see a brown heap of fur in the grass, lying so still it might as well be dead. I shout a ‘Hello!’ because I don’t want to be surprised by the dogs, or surprise them. There’s three of them, approaching me – only one barking, but nothing serious. There’s no one else around, although I see fresh signs of sheep, and when I pass the stâna I see two donkeys standing in its shade. There’s water from a pipe, so I gratefully top up my bottles and take a few good swigs. I have no idea whether I can rely on the other water sources on the map. And sure enough, the next spring is dry – or nowhere to be found. I anticipated this; after all the heatwaves we had this summer, I half expected many springs to have dried up. But there’s no knowing until you are actually in the terrain – and then you can only hope you find enough water to get you through each day. Fingers crossed. This was one of my biggest fears before I started, but I don’t want to let it stop me.

After the sheepfold I quickly rise above the treeline, and wind my way up the flanks of Oslea Romaneasca Peak. It’s still early, so I resolve to continue walking ‘for a bit’ – meaning either until I find a pleasing spot to pitch my tent, or until I find water, or until I hit the ridge. But I know I’ve secretly set my mind on the latter. It means I still have a good way to go, and I’ve already climbed 1200 m with a heavy pack. But the knowledge that I will be able to camp next to a gurgling stream keeps me going. And it pays off: the stream is gorgeous with perfectly flat spots next to it, and I get treated to a perfect sunset. There are sheep nearby, but they probably won’t bother me until tomorrow morning, when they come down to the stream. Hopefully the shepherds will be nice too – I feel a bit more scared of potential encounters with lonesome men than usual. After all, I’m close to the Tarcu Mountains – seven years ago the people I was staying with strongly advised me against going there on my own because there was talk of ‘rapist shepherds’. I never found out how much truth there was to this, but a girl’s got to be careful.

Day Two: (Not) Taking it Easy

The next morning I wake early without much trouble. Laying down on my mat and sinking into the down of my winter sleeping bag has never felt so good! The grass is frozen over, I discover during my morning pee – good thing I brought my warmest sleeping bag! Feeling cold at night can really suck all the joy and energy out of a hike. I leave a bit hurriedly because I want to get away from the stream before the sheep – and dogs – descend. I still get to meet them on the trail though – there’s about ten dogs. The shepherd tries to seduce me to come to his sheepfold with him, trying lots of angles: asks me whether I can charge his phone for him (nope); he can offer me cheese and something to drink; he can show me a better trail… Still no. A younger shepherd, who has now joined him, laughs in his face. What is he thinking? He finally settles for me taking his portrait with his sheep, and gives me his address, so that I can drop off a print sometime soon, pretty please. It might just take me a while! But I get some good shots.

I intend to take it easy today; after all, I covered half the distance of today’s section yesterday already. But today has other plans in store for me. Although the terrain isn’t technical, the going isn’t easy: there mostly isn’t a trail. Underfoot I find a mixture of treacherous grassy knolls, blueberry bushes and sheep trails. Besides, the marked trail mostly isn’t marked, and also mostly doesn’t correspond with the gps trail in the Muntii Nostri app. Again, water sources are nowhere to be found. Mid-afternoon, I regret having taken only two litres in the morning instead of three – trying to reduce weight and trusting there would be a source. The next shepherd helps me out though. His dogs are obnoxious, but he very helpfully escorts me to a viewpoint from where I can see the water source; he describes it very well and I find it without trouble. I have to descend 200 m though. Back on the ridge, the shepherd warns me that the next shepherds aren’t so friendly and that their dogs are evil. If I get attacked I should just call 112, he adds. He approves of my pepper spray. Coming from a shepherd, I take a warning like this very seriously, so I feel a bit unsettled. The day is drawing to a close, so I decide to pitch my tent in the saddle after Babei Peak, where I finally have signal, and resolve to again start early tomorrow to pass the flock before it gets to the ridge. All these dogs and shepherds are getting on my nerves, but so far so good. And it’s still worth it. All the dogs, all the risks, for all this beauty and freedom, and headspace. Because I can think a little more clearly now.

Map

Like what I’m doing? Buy me a coffee tea on Ko-Fi! Much appreciated.