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Published: June 20th 2018
Mountains generally have a variety of routes up that are labelled for the competency of the climbers. In the Rila Mountains, Glyn and I needed the incompetent route but ended up on the complete and utter numpty path. There's no mountain rescue in the Rila Mountains that I could see. Not even a map or sign telling you how far it is to the top (yes I know we could google it but where's the fun in that?)
The weather forecast for today in Borovets was sunny, so Glyn and I decided to take the gondola up to Yastrebets and then take a hike to Mount Musala. Nothing like the gondolas in Venice, these cable cars are for carting skiers and snowboarders up to ski slopes. At 12 lev each return (£6), it wasn't much to take us up 1046 metres so that we could hike to Mount Musala. Arriving at the gondola station, everyone bar us were donning mountain gear and some had trekking poles (gag!)
We shared our gondola with two guys in serious looking gear, looking very cool and unlike us, not getting off incorrectly at the half way point. No eye contact was given when
we were put back in the gondola by staff.
Mount Musala is the highest peak in the Balkan Peninsula, standing at 2,925 metres. Getting off at Yastrebets I began to wonder if wearing shorts was a good Idea, as there was a cold wind, black cloud in the distance and an elderly guy changing from his shorts into trousers quite publicly.
Marching on regardless, both Glyn and I kept our shorts on (we had long trousers in our backpacks, don't think that we were contemplating climbing the mountain in underwear!) we enjoyed the first hour which was undulating and easy. Worryingly there were downhill areas which are never good when climbing a mountain - this only means steeper bits further ahead and uphill on the way back when you are particularly shattered.
After an hour we came across a building by a lake that appeared to have been a hotel that became derelict before it was finished. There were also a few log houses where people can stay for the night.
It was at this point it got more interesting (see Chinese curse: may you live in interesting times). Up until now the path was easy
to follow and didn't need the regular spray painted red arrows on the rocks. But from here, we seemed to be climbing a landslide with various streams running down the hill just to make it slippy and more interesting. The arrows were still around but hard to find, plus every hiker around us took a different route. Glyn had fractured his toe some weeks ago and it was hurting him already.
Further up we encountered pink snow ( it was just old and stained with red mud) and Glyn threw a snowball at me that actually hit. We passed icy lakes and took heaps of photos. The climb uphill was steady and although hard work, not exhausting - I never needed to stop. This was a surprise as I found Mt Snowden a lot harder despite it being 1/3 in height.
The path became increasingly difficult to follow as the whole area looked like it had encountered many landslides and was encased in a mix of firm and loose rocks, but which to climb on? It was anyone's guess. We continued slowly but grateful for the shorts, it was around 8 degrees but we were very warm. Other
people stopped for sandwiches but we had none of that nonsense, just a couple of packets of refreshers and some cherry drops and we were just fine! Ok, so maybe bringing a pack lunch would have been a good idea; this walk was taking a long time.
Eventually we scrambled up the hill to a hut that appeared to be almost at the top. There was no loo - it was nothing more than a landmark, dammit. Now at this point, I was thinking that despite the hard work, it still had been a bit easy for a mountain. I knew it was risky saying this out loud, but I did nonetheless and soon paid for it.
The last leg of the journey was ridiculous. No longer a hike but a real climb and Glyn and I only climb a mountain once a year when on holiday. There was no set path and people were choosing their own routes. Another British couple had actually paid a guide to take them up and didn't seem to fare much better than us, I heard one of them yelling that she was scared as she crossed the slippy snow on the
sheer mountainside.
At this point, Glyn stopped to ponder. Do we cross the dodgy looking snow that could result in a long fall. Or do we climb the rocks, that according to him would soon be easy grass, that could also result in a long fall. Both looked unappealing so I followed Glyn, on hands and feet, pulling myself up loose rocks, hoping that Glyn wouldn't fall on top of me. Clinging onto the mountainside, I did wonder if this was the most stupid thing I had gotten myself into and my short legs were struggling to get me up. But obviously I did make it or I wouldn't be writing this. As we arrived on a plateau above, we were greeted by a mountaineer shouting 'bravo!'. In England they would have shouted 'idiots!'.
It didn't get any easier. A guy behind me actually put away his trekking poles - what could be so bad that he needed to do that? Rocks. Big huge rocks. With metal poles wedges in them, connected with metal cables for us to hang on to. Hmm. Glyn found what he considered an easier way, but further up, we couldn't avoid pulling ourselves
we found snow!.
Mount Musala, Bulgariaup over the rocks on the cables. My knees and shins soon got grazed and battered, but we got up. The cloud descended as we eventually arrived at the peak.
The top has a ski lift and a rusty hut that has something to do with nuclear energy. That was worth the climb! There was a Bulgarian flag and a point to pose for selfies to prove you had done it. Apparently on a clear day there's an amazing view. We had a lot of cloud and could only see the near vicinity which was still awesome. The top soon got boring so we headed down.
Now the really interesting times began. Both Glyn and I hung onto the metal cables as we tenderly climbed down the steep and treacherous rocks. It was slow going and there were a few slips with a bit of swearing. Some of the poles holding the cables were completely bent out of shape, or wobbly as the concrete that held them had cracked. This was a big concern. After a millennia, we passed the loose rock and cable stage and were back to just loose rocks with no discernible paths. What makes
it worse is that whilst I was carefully stepping down, trying not to twist my ankles (again), some experienced mountaineers waltzed by like mountain goats, as though it was a walk in the park. B******s!
The climb back down felt like a lot longer than the walk up. The derelict hotel was a sight for sore eyes as we knew it was a lot easier from then on. The last hour was a breeze (ish, if you don't have a fractured toe) and only ruined by one last hill back up to Yastrebets which was totally uncalled for. According to my Apple Watch, it had been a 13 mile return trip and apart from the scary bit, not too hard. I was tired but not shattered beyond belief.
We weren't even on the last gondola or the last people off the mountain! Get in!! The journey back was a welcome rest and we did not attempt to get off half way this time.
Glyn had already decided where we were having an evening meal: the Happy Duck, down the hill so that we could walk back up it to get home. Glyn had meat and I had
breadcrumbed cheese and lovely grilled veg, plus cold beer that went down a treat.
A British couple who own an apartment here started chatting to us and pointed out the very large man who runs the Happy Duck. This guy talked to us in Bulgarian, we had no clue what he said, but shortly four unidentifiable shots arrived. As Glyn doesn't drink, I had his too. I have no idea what it was, it wasn't that good but it sure helped the walk back up the hill to our apartment!
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Peaked our interest
We have a friend who wants us to visit her in Bulgaria and your blog certainly makes us want to go. Thanks for the details.