GR-G1 - Day 2 - A Crazy Hike

Today I wake up and it's dark because the inside of the hut where we slept doesn't have any real windows. Glass might break and is expensive and open windows would allow rats and all sorts of animals to come into the shelter.

It's still early, 6 am and I am still somewhat tired but can't sleep any longer because of all the noise. There is a pair of weird ten centimeter crickets on the outside wall and the noise they make is annoying as hell. It's what woke me up. Once Rebecca is awake too, we eat some breakfast and then pack our stuff and start the hike for today.

According to Organic Maps today's route should be doable in 4 hours 50 minutes but with the quality of the path in mind from the day before we have our doubts. The morning starts out with beautiful sunshine filtering through the leaves in the trees and we hike up a slight detour to enjoy our breakfast from the top of a small mountain in the area called Mourne Legér.

We have some of the bread and meet another hiker while we eat, who goes by the name of Valentine. He will be the only other soul that we meet for the whole three day trek and it's weird to think about how little these paths are used. Old roots of trees pave the way, intertwined with patches of grimy clay.

The green is overwhelming once again. The plants slowly wave in the wind. The moisture of the rain glistens from the leaves. There are layers and layers of leaves, of different shapes, all green, different shades of green, all rustling, glimmering in the sun. We often stop in awe of the beauty of this environment.

There are a myriad of sounds, of birds and insects and the different shades of green of the plants are mesmerising. It's like we're walking through a living sea of green, a seemingly endless void, where every step has to be taken carefully in order not to slip and hurt yourself because of the muddy underground.

Every once in a while the dense cover of the forest opens up to reveal more mountains partially hidden behind clouds and fog in the distance.

These moments let you breathe and enjoy the hike. It's like the mountains are asking you to continue, beckoning to be explored. Windows out of the forest, looking at mysterious places, covered in fog, where nobody has ventured before.

The more we walk, the more we start realising that time is not on our side today. Every kilometer is hard and takes longer than expected and the steepness of the path is only increasing. We can see how the sun is changing over us, how the time passes to quickly, while we make not nearly enough progress.

We walk up higher and higher into the mountain ridges and jungle cliffs, up and down. Following the small meandering footpath through the lush vegetation. The amount of mud increases, we have to walk over fallen trees and to each side of the small pathway yawns a beautiful green abyss.

It doesn't look like an abyss because the cliffs are well hidden by the trees and the vegetation, but they are cliffs nonetheless, one wrong step and this is it, no more hiking, you're dead. But we have to continue, there's no way but forward and the feeling of exhaustion and desperation starts creeping in, slowly but surely.

Then it starts raining. First only a little bit, you can barely feel it, because the canopy of the trees above is so dense that it filters out all the rain. But then the rain picks up more and more until eventually we get soaking wet. It's raining buckets and it doesn't look like it will stop any time soon.

Yet we have to continue, there's nothing anywhere for miles and miles until we reach the next hut and there's still a lot of way left. And the slipperiness of the path increases with the rain. But the fog gives everything a beautiful atmosphere.

There are little bits and pieces where we sit down, and slide down the side of the mountain, which can't be called path anymore. Just sitting in the mud, everything sticking with dirt and soaking wet, you stop caring. You don't take anymore photos, your mind goes numb. You just think "don't slip, don't die". It's all that your brain can handle to think. Still, every once in a while we stop and admire the beauty of the forest somehow. The odd plant, or sign of the path, the tiny bits of color in the otherwise unending sea of green.

By now my phone has no more charge left, it's so wet that it started behaving weirdly anyways. But luckily, even though the path itself is horrible, it's well marked and there's no chance of going "the wrong way" because everywhere outside of the path is dense unsurpassable jungle. Even if you wanted to, there's no other way to go but forward or backward. And sometimes it seems like there's no real way at all. Can you see the path?

After some time we look on Rebecca's phone for the time and it's already later than expected and now a bit of fear starts settling in. We don't want to walk these dangerous paths in the dark, especially because it's deep in the jungle and who knows what sorts of animals there are around after dark that want to eat you. So we walk just a little quicker, going faster than we should on the slippery terrain.

The mud and the roots of the trees intertwine, we climb up and down steep walls of mud, with little or no steps in it. Paths that look treacherously non slippery even if they totally aren't. Sometimes there are trees where you can hold yourself, sometimes the trees fade and there is nothing to do but sit on your ass and slide up and down the muddy path, not caring anymore if you are wet or dirty or if your bag rips a bit.

Something primal, something aware of the mortal danger of the situation takes over. And yet, even with all the caution, at some point I slip, falling to the side with a little to much momentum, my brain reacting in a split second, stretching out the hand to dampen the fall... but my brain is not quick enough and I feel my thumb twist. Awkwardly. And. I can. immediately feel. the pain shoot into my finger. At first I think it might be broken, because for a split second during the impact it looked like the finger bent backwards onto itself, but luckily nothing major happened. It swells a bit and hurts, but I can still move. I was lucky in that moment and we reduce the speed a little more, so that something like this doesn't happen again.

Yet we have to keep walking. There is no choice in this. By now the forest starts to get dark already. Slowly but surely. The mix of the rain clouds and the forest canopy filters out the light to where everything becomes illuminated by a weird sort of twilight even though it's still a little more than an hour to sunset.

I start to get really scared about not making it in time at this point. There is still too much way left and we keep walking. Through the mud, stomping into and out of puddles, crawling, not even caring anymore if we sink into it until the knees. We just want to get to the hut before it's completely dark. Because then walking becomes close to impossible on these paths. And so we keep walking. And walking. And walking.

Eventually, we reach a small clearing in the forest and lo and behold, there is the shelter, that we so desperately tried to reach. On the clearing it's still quite bright, but the forest by now is a dark slippery hell.

The feeling of deliverance, of having reached the goal of today's hike is simply surreal. Beyond words. We start dancing in the still pouring rain, jumping up and down in ecstasy, because it is soo fucking awesome that we have made it here alive and just before nightfall. My shoes tell the story.

Immediately after arriving, we go to the water tank with a piece of soap, completely naked. The sun is setting behind the clouds and it gets dark really quickly even on this little clearing. Washing off the layers of mud feels so good. It feels like the mud has soaked into the skin and is clinging onto the bones, but soap and water make that feeling go away again.

I have never felt this happy about being clean in my life. And wearing somewhat dry clothes after, in the darkness of the hut felt even better. With just a small light from one of the headlamps dispersed by a water bottle leaning on top of it, this was a wonderful moment. Just sitting there, next to the small gas burner, in safety, not having to hike anymore for that day, cooking some pasta and just being there, safe, with a roof over my head. It felt... beautiful, complete. And we feast on the food that we have. Pasta, with lots of tomato sauce, and afterwards gummy bears galore. It's such a good meal, it feels like I never had something this good in my life. Simple food, but the exhaustion and the hunger make it something special.

I wrote a little note in the guest book when we left.

Situations like this make me appreciate all the little details of beauty that we normally miss in our normal, day to day, ultra sheltered, super comfy lives.

You have to give up that comfort for some time in order to re-appreciate how freaking awesome our normal day to day lives are. It's insane.

This thought fills me with an immense gratitude. Our normal lives are so good it feels beyond words. Like, as long as I don't have any serious accidents or diseases, whatever happens to me, I can probably fall back into a safe net of at least a shelter over my head, food in my stomach, and enough drinking water. And on top of that even have crazy things like the internet, a constant stream of entertainment... and I take all of it for granted. Without stopping to think what privilege any of that is.

Even the worst possible life course that I could have within reasonable constraints, has all these basic needs covered pretty much perfectly. And there is something so terribly nice about that, that it defies description. I am just grateful, and moments like this hike, put all those things that I usually take for granted into crass perspective. Life is good. And I'm grateful for it.