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Zakopane, Poland – August 2025

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This was probably my least favourite summer so far, so I was looking forward to my trip to Poland as if it were a breath of air. Alas, Zakopane met us in a drizzle of rain when we arrived from Kraków. We had planned a full traverse of the high ridge, sleeping each night in mountain huts scattered along. But a small misunderstanding with the reservations changed everything. So Zakopane became our base. Each morning we set out before dawn, climbing and returning the same day. Every evening we came back to the same not-so-warm inn (the heating was turned off for summer), and the same clouds gathered again above Giewont’s dark outline.

The Tatras are the crown of the Carpathians — a long arc of mountains curving across Central Europe through Poland, Slovakia, Ukraine, and Romania before softening toward the Danube. Unlike most of the Carpathians, which are forested, the Tatras are alpine in character albeit lower: steep granite peaks, glacial valleys, and countless lakes. The border between Poland and Slovakia runs right along their spine, but no one seems to care. Nature knows no borders.

Przełęcz Zawrat and the Five Lakes

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Our first hike led from the hut of Murowaniec and Czarny Staw Gąsienicowy, then to Przełęcz Zawrat (2159 m), a narrow mountain pass part of Orla Perć, the most difficult market trail in the Tatras. The route climbs through the Valley of Five Lakes — Dolina Pięciu Stawów Polskich — one of the most beautiful glacial valleys in the Tatras. We took the cable car from Kasprowy Wierch (1987 m) to save both time and some 1000 meters of ascent. At the top we were greeted by thick mist and drizzle.

The path is paved with heavy granite slabs — a legacy of the Austro-Hungarian period when the Tatras became a fashionable alpine destination in the early 20th century. Hiking here was already a well-established pastime among the Polish intelligentsia, artists, and scientists of the interwar years.

We were lucky that the fog stayed with us while we climbed the metal chains near Zawrat; otherwise, I suspect half of our group would have fainted from the height. It was a strenuous effort, but everyone pulled through, and the view on the other side — when the clouds lifted — was a reward in itself: five glacial lakes (it took a while to pick out the fifth). The shepherds of the past must have been extremely demorilized, for they gave the most common names possible: Wielki Staw (Great pond), Mały Staw (Small pond), Przedni Staw (Front pond), Czarny Staw (Black pond), and Zadni Staw (Back pond). These lakes are less crowded than the nearby Morskie Oko, and this quiet beauty is part of their charm. Since we followed a point-to-point trail, we also passed next to the Siklawa waterfall on our way out. This 70-meter high waterfall is the highest in Poland.

Red Peaks

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The next days grew a little warmer, and we turned to explore the Červené vrchy — the Red Peaks — again starting from Kasprowy Wierch. Indeed, their slopes are broad and rust-coloured with iron, while the trail curves gently along grassy and green ridges. This was definitely a more popular trail; we met people of every age and in every imaginable hiking outfit, moving cheerfully along the path. From the ridge, the view towards Giewont (1894 m) — the “Sleeping Knight” — was exquisite. According to legend, the mountain hides a warrior, King Bolesław, who (similar to our dear Byzantine King Palaiologos) will awaken to defend Poland in times of danger. Do I need to mention the Second World War to see how this prophesy is coming through?

That day we also stumbled upon an ultramarathon, whose course happened to cross our route. We cheered for the runners as they passed us, stepping on the side to give way. Unfortunately, one woman injured herself as she tried to make way for an athlete. Within minutes, the famous Tatra Volunteer Search and Rescue team (TOPR) appeared in their red helicopter. We watched as a rescuer descended by winch, secured the injured hiker, and lifted her away with remarkable efficiency — all within fifteen minutes.

Our plan had been to complete all four Red Peaks, but our slow pace forced us to exit at the second, avoiding the exposed chain section at the third summit. From there we descended closer to the “head” of the sleeping Giewont and looked up at the great iron cross that crowns his nose. The iron cross on top of Giewont is 15 meters high and weighs almost 2 tons. It was installed to celebrate the 1900th birthday of Jesus Christ. A wealthy patron once wanted to move that cross to Kraków, a ludicrous idea thankfully abandoned. However important the religious significance, this metal structure is extremely dangerous during a storm, as pilgrims have been struck by lightning many times.

Instead of pressing on toward Giewont, we turned left and descended to the entry point of Dolina Strążyska. This shortened route was a small disappointment perhaps, but that evening’s kwaśnica soup — the highlander cabbage soup rich with smoked meat — made up for it. Polish soups seem to contain everyone and their mother, taste incredible, and fill you up as if preparing you for winter.

Snow on Rysy

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Our biggest goal on this trip was Rysy (2499 m) — the highest peak in Poland and a symbolic summit on the Slovak border. The weather, however, had turned colder than usual for late August. Snow had dusted the upper slopes overnight. We decided to skip the Polish route, which climbs steeply with long stretches of fixed chains (similar to Mytikas on Olympus but longer), and instead approached from the gentler Slovak side.

Even there, the snow greeted us early. Still, a couple of porters were carrying the heavy load of provisions in a wide strides. In the Slovak part, most of the hiking trails in the Tatras are closed from 1 November to 31 May. Only trails from settlements up to the mountain huts are open. Compare this to Poland, where the trails are open year-round. On our way up, we met hikers descending from Chata pod Rysmi, the highest mountain hut in Slovakia (2250 m), with crampons on. We were less prepared. As we reached the last 300 meters below the summit, the local guides grew uneasy and urged us to “be safe and finish early.” Their caution felt excessive — the sun was already melting the snow — but perhaps they had seen more of the Tatras’ mood swings than we had. Our group was indeed slow, and though I felt a quiet frustration, I couldn’t entirely disagree.

Instead, we continued on to Veľké Hincovo pleso (1946 m), the largest and deepest lake in the Tatras. During that time, two of my companions split from the group, went on to the summit of Rysy and made it back safely. I stayed behind, as my knee finally rebelled after the consecutive hikes. It was the first time in my life it had failed me, and not a happy surprise. Still, there will be another chance. “I’ll be back” – The Terminator, 1984.

The River Beneath the Peaks

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After the rigour of high trails, the Dunajec River Gorge felt almost tender. South of Zakopane, wooden rafts drift quietly below the Pieniny Mountains, piloted by flisacy — traditional river guides dressed in embroidered vests and felt hats adorned with seashells. When I asked about them, one guide joked that each shell represented a drowned tourist. In truth, they were souvenirs collected when the old river merchants used to navigate the full length of the Dunajec to its confluence with the Vistula, and onward to the Baltic Sea.

Our boat glided beneath Trzy Korony — “The Three Crowns” — as their pale cliffs reflected in the water. According to the locals, the peaks are named Kate, Sophie and Hairy Mary (Kaśka, Zośka i Kudłata Maryśka). The river marks the border between Poland and Slovakia. We landed near Szczawnica, a spa town decorated in full Górale fashion. The Górale, or Highlanders of Podhale (namely the Polish highlands), are mountain people and descendants of shepherds who migrated here in the 15th century under the Vlach law (prawo wołoskie), a legal code that granted semi-autonomous rights to pastoral communities across the Carpathians. They have their own Robin Hood, Juraj Jánošík, the 18th-century outlaw who stole from the rich to give to the poor. The Górale trace their lineage to the Vlachs, nomadic shepherd tribes who once roamed the entire Carpathian arc. Their descendants can still be found across Romania and even in the mountains of Greece, where the Aromanian (Vlach) shepherds still tend flocks in summer pastures.

Among Tatra legends, the King of Snakes stands out — a monstrous serpent crowned with gold, said to bask on rocks after rain, its scales glinting like a rainbow. In Kazimierz Przerwa-Tetmajer’s The Fairy-Tale World of the Tatra Mountains (1906), the hero Perłowicz defeats it and casts it into a cave. Other spirits inhabit the Tatras too: the płanetnik, a weather daemon in a straw hat who drags clouds across the sky and releases hail from his sacks, and the dziwożona, a wild female spirit who kidnaps infants and drains milk from cattle, but can be warded off with bellflowers.

Here you’ll find each day’s trail: Kuznice – Hala Gasienicowa – Zawrat – Swinica – Kasprowy Wierch, Kiry – Czerwone Wierchy – Kuznice, Rysy/Hincovo Pleso and Traditional rafting in Dunajec. Before visiting, be sure to check out sites like Krakowbuzz, to learn more about national park entry fees, access and guiding requirements. Many thanks to EPOS Fylis mountaineering club for organizing this trip. You can read more hiking posts under the tag hiking. If you liked this article, share it with your friends. Until next time!