Four Days on a Trail through Czech Wilderness

It was May 2023 when I received a message from my long-time friend Markétka, who first told me about the now-famous Czech Trail, which circles around the Czech borders. The trail is about 2,000 kilometres long. Some choose to do it all in one go, some prefer to split it between the Southern and Northern trails, and some tackle it in shorter phases, totalling 18. We decided to take on the 5th phase of the Northern trail, which is about 96 kilometres long.

I agreed to this plan right away, even though it was completely new to me. Although I had regularly gone on mountain hikes with my parents, we always had pre-arranged accommodations in cottages, and my little rucksack only contained a raincoat, snacks, water, and beer. I had no experience with camping in the woods or roughing it in the wild.

So, the day before the start, I frantically rushed around Decathlon looking for a backpack, sleeping bag, mattress, and other survival essentials. It was about 27 degrees Celsius in the shade in Prague that day, so I grabbed a sleeping bag rated for +15 degrees, which in that heat seemed like it could almost be used for the polar circle. I only realized later how poor a decision that was...

Broumov Walls

I set off in my tattered sneakers, which have been with me through almost my entire university years, with the intention of completely "wearing them out" and finally being able to throw them away with a light heart. Armed with a brand-new backpack, my summer sleeping bag suitable only for Mediterranean climates, smoked tofu, instant porridge, and an unhealthy amount of Chinese soups, I embarked on this four-day adventure.

The bus, which was about 2 hours late, eventually took us to the village from which we were meant to start. The beginning was wonderful. At the convenience store, where we went to buy water for the journey, we witnessed a conflict between the shopkeeper and a local who was likely high on drugs. After shopping, we walked about 500 meters uphill only to realize we were going in the wrong direction. Just as we turned around to head back, it started raining relentlessly, so we hurried under the nearest shelter to pull out our raincoats from our bags. We wandered around the village for a while before finding the right path. Eventually, we laughed off all these little mishaps and, hopefully starting off on the right foot, we moved forward.

With our spirits lifted, the weather soon cleared up. We walked through forests and meadows, finding ourselves at our neighbours in Poland. This part of the trail passes through a picturesque village on the edge of the forest, with views straight out of a fairy tale. And the sun continued to shine. We passed the cheerful signpost 'By a Murdered Man.' A few kilometres later, we took off our backpacks and set up for lunch in a clearing.

As we sat in the field, the sky began to cloud over again. We checked the forecast and saw that storms were approaching our area. We quickly packed up and headed out. We still had a few kilometers to reach our "sleeping spot," as marked on the trail schedule. The elevation gain was quite noticeable as we climbed from the valley up to the hills. We passed a viewpoint recommended by the trail guides as a must-see, but we hurried along because we could already hear thunder and see dark clouds gathering behind the treetops. A torrential downpour caught us about 15 meters from our sleeping spot, which turned out to be a small forest gazebo. As we arrived, we saw that we wouldn’t be alone that night...

A middle-aged couple greeted us with smiles. They welcomed us and said how lucky we were. The man looked like a seasoned mountaineer, and no wonder—he turned out to be a scout. If it weren’t for these two angels, we would probably have been sleeping in puddles, as the rain was coming in almost horizontally and would have poured into the shelter. However, the scout, nicknamed Beaver, pulled out a 4x5 meter tarp from his bag and stretched it over the gazebo. We chatted and unpacked our gear. It was around 6 in the evening, and I already suspected that I would be freezing cold in my brand-new sleeping bag. So, I put on literally everything I had with me, which wasn’t much. When Beaver saw my gear, he pulled out a plastic bottle from his bag and handed it to me, saying, "Drink this, it will warm you up." It was Stará Myslivecká, which translates to "Old Hunter's." It’s a cheap Czech liqueur, but if hunger is the best cook, then cold must be the best bartender. It really did warm me up.

It was only around eight in the evening when we all settled down to sleep. I tried to push away thoughts of starting to feel cold again and managed to fall asleep for a few hours. Unsurprisingly, I woke up in the middle of the night, shivering. I remembered that I had an emergency thermal blanket in my bag, which the shop assistant had recommended. It’s used by rescuers when someone is too cold or extremely hot, and it looks and sounds just like aluminium foil. So, I started rustling with the blanket mercilessly, which, of course, woke everyone up. Unfortunately, there was no other option; I was shivering like a puppy.

Once I finally unwrapped it, I did feel a bit warmer, so I managed to fall asleep again for a little while. However, I woke up at least five times during the night. Every time I tried to turn onto my side, the blanket rustled so loudly that I just prayed not to wake everyone up again. The biggest crisis came at dawn when the temperature dropped to about 5 degrees Celsius. I remembered Himalayan monks who can supposedly raise their body temperature by 8 degrees using their minds, and I futilely tried to mimic their methods. I don’t even know if I fell asleep again or was only half-awake, but the most joyful realization came when I opened my eyes and saw that the sun was shining and I wasn’t shaking from the cold.

I noticed that my hiking partner and the rest of the gazebo crew were also waking up. We packed up, had tea, coffee, and oatmeal, said goodbye to Beaver and his partner, and set off on our stage. Guess what? We went the wrong way again. This time, we wandered about 700 meters down a steep hill. We lost about 20 minutes and an unnecessary amount of elevation gain since we had turned the wrong way right by our night shelter. We returned to the gazebo, where we checked the directions at least five more times, knowing we had a long day ahead of us—measured in kilometres. Fortunately, we had no idea what kind of terrain awaited us.

The Broumov Walls, which we headed towards, is a 12 km-long rocky mountain range that sits in the shadow of its dominant neighbours. To the west are the peaks of the Krkonoše Mountains, the highest mountains in Czechia, and to the southeast are the Orlické Mountains. Due to its mysterious nature, many legends surround the Broumov Walls. Its craggy formations once served as an ideal hideout for robbers who lay in wait among the rocks for their victims. Such stories are still told around the Broumov region today. Although nowadays, finding robbers there would be quite a challenge—at least, I hope so.

However, we soon had the pleasure of discovering that the Walls must indeed be cursed. Our intended lunch break was supposed to be at the Hvězda (the star) tourist lodge, but with each step, it seemed to move further away. Not only did the path through rocky twists, alleys, and obstacles seem about twice as long as it actually was, but when we finally reached the signpost for Hvězda, it announced a distance of 4.5 km. We celebrated prematurely, as after what felt like six kilometres, we encountered another sign showing five kilometres to Hvězda. I know what you’re thinking, but no, we weren’t accidentally going back. To this day, we can only explain this mystery by saying that the Walls are cursed.

You can imagine, we couldn’t believe our eyes when we finally saw the legendary building of Hvězda before us. It truly looked like it was straight out of a collection of legends and tales. Built in the Swiss style back in 1856, it stood in stark contrast to the forest bar across from it. We both ordered a beer there and considered having a small snack when it suddenly started to drizzle, followed immediately by a real downpour. Miki didn’t want to delay, so she suggested we head out in the rain and eat later. However, having gotten somewhat comfortable after the beer, I protested that I’d at least like to have lunch inside. In the end, Miki’s argument that we couldn’t afford to waste time won out. I told her I’d at least go inside to use the bathroom and put on more clothes. I was so relieved when she soon followed me, saying it had started raining even harder and that the gentleman in the restaurant was extremely nice, so she’d stay here too.

We immediately plugged all our devices into the outlets, settled in, and I took off my thoroughly soaked shoes, removed my socks, and spread everything out on the hot radiator next to our table. I didn’t even have time to check out where we had made ourselves so comfortable. The interior looked more like a luxury restaurant than a tourist lodge. I judge it to be luxurious because there were cutlery and wine glasses on the tables. Meanwhile, the extremely nice gentleman in a suit and tie hurried over to us with the menu. Fortunately, it was within our budget. I admit I don’t remember what we ordered, but I clearly remember that we polished off every last bit of the dish. We then sat for a while, exploring this strange place.

While it was around twenty-five degrees Celsius in the shade in Prague at that time, here they were heating the lodge with a fireplace. The interior was paneled in dark wood and dimly lit. Dracula would certainly feel at home here. Candles burned on the tables, as the windows let in very little light. The décor included some antlers and wild boar skins. Upstairs, there were two massive wooden balconies on each side, and a huge chandelier hung from the ceiling between them. We concluded that staying here overnight would be scarier than sleeping in the forest. Dining there was an experience in itself.

The terrain from Hvězda was even more adventurous than the way there. The trail now led us directly over boulders, and in one section, we had to literally slide down one by one. We also crossed a rock with sheer drops on both sides—without any guardrails, of course. Luckily, we had kept our backpacks under 10 kilos each. When we finally rejoined a pleasant forest path, it felt like when the rain stops after a whole day—which, coincidentally, had just happened—or like when the sun rises in the morning and you finally stop shivering from the cold in your summer sleeping bag. You get the gist.

We cheerfully marched down the hill into the village, where a "nice place to sleep," as stated in the trail schedule, was awaiting us. However, the asphalt path stretched on for a few more kilometres and completely wore us out, so we ended up crawling almost on all fours. We even unbuckled our hip belts to give that part of our bodies a break, and, half-dead, we finally reached the shelter. Oh, and it also started raining again. I don’t want to accuse anyone of exaggerating about the place because we all have different expectations, but with the prospect of another cold night, I had a very different idea of what a "nice place to sleep" should be like. And it certainly didn’t look like this. Actually, it would have been alright if I had quality gear, as there was a roof over it. However, it was very windy, and there was a draft. So, Miki volunteered to go see if she could find something more luxurious for us.

Just as I had given up all hope, Miki returned saying she had actually found something. But she looked a bit uncertain about it. I trusted her judgment, so we grabbed our backpacks and arrived at... dry toilets?! Yes, we were actually at an abandoned summer camp. There were three dry toilets next to each other, and then a fourth little shed in the row, which was probably a changing room. It had three walls, a roof, and a bench. Just what we needed. So, we decided to sleep there. Priorities were clear: smell is better than cold. So we set up camp side by side. Miki took the spot under the bench, which was nicely adorned with a quality spiderweb and its creator. She said she didn’t mind spiders. She truly is a unique girl. When we lay down in our sleeping bags, it was almost dark. We were still chatting when we suddenly heard a buzzing sound. It was a wasp making its way home to its nest, right under the bench. It didn’t pay any attention to us, but we still started making ruthless plans to exterminate it. In the end, though, we decided that, after all, we were the intruders, and the wasp was actually quite peaceful.

So, we fell asleep in this fine company. Each of us with our weapon of choice at hand: Miki with pepper spray and me with a knife. Although the knife was so dull that you could barely pierce a head of lettuce with it, at least it gave me an illusion of security... I felt much better that night, but just to be safe, I wrapped myself in the emergency blanket once again. When I rustled around in the middle of the night, Miki woke up and was quite annoyed that the stupid blanket was waking her up again. I understood, but without it, I would have been freezing. This way, I only shivered moderately, so I was able to sleep well.

When morning came, we were both relieved. The place had a strange atmosphere, or maybe it was just the smell. The wasp had also woken up to start her daily rounds. We used our little shelter to prepare breakfast, ignoring the odour. The sun was shining, and everything seemed perfect. The third day awaited us. Today, we would be exploring the famous Adršpach-Teplice Rocks. The trail runs through this nature reserve, which can be compared to the world of Narnia—especially the part around Mr. Tumnus’s house. This description is even more fitting since the rocks were actually chosen as one of the filming locations for the first movie, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005).

Each famous rock formation is named after what it resembles, so you might pass by "The Lovers" or "The Mayor and The Mayoress." At times, the trail gets so narrow between the rocks that you have to go sideways. The most challenging spot is even called Myší díra (Mouse Hole)—not ideal terrain for our backpacks. It is indeed a unique place to visit; however, with our burden, we only properly stopped by a beautiful, clear lake that we couldn’t resist, then exited the site to reach our accommodation on time.

For our last night, we did indulge a bit and agreed on a hot shower and no crinkly foil. That shower, despite a couple of cockroaches, was the best I’ve ever had. We slept comfortably in a cabin at the campsite. The menu at the buffet had only one option, but we didn’t care at all. We were just hungry. Once again, nothing was left behind. We even enjoyed a local beer that tasted like home. However, as I was falling asleep that night, finally content and without the crinkly emergency blanket, I heard loud scratching coming from somewhere in the corner of the cabin. It was past midnight for Miki, so I was alone with the situation. I checked to see if the scratching was coming from inside, as it sounded dangerously close. But it wasn’t. I decided not to investigate further. If nothing had eaten us in the forest, it would be quite a misfortune if it happened in the cabin.

On the last day, the sun was shining again, and we, fresh as the morning dew, set out towards the Vraní (Crow) Mountains. These are relatively small hills to the east of the Krkonoš (the highest peaks in the country). When you stand beneath them, they seem quite significant, but from Sněžka (the highest mountain in the country), they appear more like mere samples of hills. The path led us across fields along the edge of the forest. As we walked one behind the other, Miki turned towards the forest and said, "Hello." She continued at the same pace ahead of me, so when I looked around, I saw no one there. After a moment, I asked her who she was speaking to. She said there was a man sitting there making a fire, but he looked strange—like a miller. Excited by the possibility of some paranormal phenomena, I concluded that it must have been a ghost.

We faced a steep climb to reach the ridge and walked along the Polish border on Dlouhá Stráň towards Královecký Špičák, the highest point of our route (881 meters above sea level). The weather alternated between rain and heat, causing us to put on and take off our raincoats every few minutes. There was still a bit of an ascent to Špičák, and we suspected that a storm was inevitable. However, we couldn’t skip the highlight of our trip. We passed a few people hurrying down from the summit as we marched forward with false bravado. Once we reached the top, the weather was kind to us for a while, and we managed to enjoy the view and take some photos. Unfortunately, there was no chance for a snack as the clouds were racing towards us, but at least we got some dramatic photos.

As the downpour began, we ran to take cover in a small forest. Although the rain found us there, luckily, the lightning did not. The storm passed, and we only had a pleasant descent to this village called Bernatice ahead of us. We continued walking along the ridge for a while when a man emerged from the forest in front of us, looking like... a miller. Miki whispered in astonishment that it was the same man she had seen in the woods. He walked towards us, and as he passed by, we greeted him casually. Finally, I had a chance to observe him. He appeared to be in his forties and was dressed entirely in traditional miller attire, complete with a leather bag on his back and a miller's hat. Everything, however, looked suspiciously clean—his white shirt and trousers. He looked more like he had just stepped out of a costume rental. Considering that he had just emerged from the forest after the downpour, it was indeed odd. However, he seemed too tangible to be a ghost. So, after a while, we started wondering what he was doing there. Understand that this was about two hours after Miki had seen him down the hill. And now, here he was, emerging from the forest, not even on a marked tourist path.

Not far behind us, there was a group of women in raincoats who were quite loud. At that moment, we were really glad for their company. Some mysteries simply cannot be explained. There were many theories, but after a while, Miki said she’d rather not speculate further, at least until we got out of those mysterious hills. I must admit that after this experience, I would probably be afraid to venture into the Vraní Mountains on my own. Unlike the Krkonoše, their peaks are completely uninhabited. Even at Špičák, there’s nothing but a TV tower and a parachuting clearing. But maybe we’re overthinking it, and the man was just on his way to a costume party after making a fire in the forest, across the mountains, in the rain, during a thunderstorm...

Nothing else of great significance happened on our way. The only event was a huge, enraged dog barking furiously at us from behind a yard, jumping wildly at a wooden fence that swayed back and forth, almost breaking. It really looked like it would have preferred us for lunch. We were on the verge of calling it a day in Bernatice, even though the official end of the trail is in Žacléř, which is another 4 kilometres away. In the end, we decided to push through and finish the hike. The rest of the journey was all on asphalt, but fortunately, there was no traffic. The sense of accomplishment was immense when we finally arrived at the Žacléř sign. Indeed, the journey is the goal, but in this case, the destination tasted truly sweet. However, there is no destination without the journey. And that’s why we do it.

In conclusion, I’d like to point out that even though it might seem to the reader that I’m complaining, that’s not the case at all. Everything is taken with humour, and in the end, it’s the mishaps and tricky situations that we remember the best. They also make for the best stories. A long narrative about how everything was sunny for four days, how we were completely comfortable, and how we never shivered with fear would neither interest me to write nor you to read. Ultimately, it’s those eccentric situations that make this memory so intense. Since then, I’ve found a guaranteed recipe for restoring balance to my inner scales: heading to the mountains. Because sore feet are a hundred times more bearable than a sore heart and dark thoughts.