Tatras

We are giddy as we reach the summit, breathless with exertion and a guileless, childlike joy. In every direction the jagged peaks of Slovakia’s High Tatras stretch out into the distance, nubs on a colossal spine, glittering lakes embedded like shards of glass far below the rocky, ice-streaked slopes. An eagle wheels above. Somewhere on the lunar landscape a marmot squeaks. Easy laughs ricochet around the group, photos are snapped, backs thumped, words of encouragement offered to the more vertigo-inclined.

The summit of Slovakia’s Kôprovský štít had been playing a Kafkaesque game of mountain mirage with us for several hours, always just over the next ridge which, once conquered, revealed a string of further, seemingly endless ridges. Eight hours and about 23km after we had set off on our hike through the Vysoké Tatry mountain range, an eddy of smiles rippled from person to person (some, granted, of the more clenched-teeth variety). “Yes, team! We did it!” Roman, our high-spirited Slovakian mountain guide, stood atop the tip, clasping each of our hands in congratulation as we crested the peak.

Just 24 hours earlier, we had been a ragtag group of 11 strangers making small talk in London’s Luton airport. But here, on a vertiginous mountain top 2,367 metres (7,765ft) above sea level, friendships were budding, veneers falling away. And this was it: the reason each of us had embarked on an expedition to the remote wilderness of the Tatras with a bunch of people we didn’t know. Connections forged during the shared toil of the climb; the sheer wonder at making it to this place where rock meets sky.

Community hiking is experiencing a surge in popularity, with countless groups springing up in the past few years, uniting tens of thousands of people for outdoor adventures. There are women-only groups, LGBTQ+ groups, Black, Indigenous and people of colour (Bipoc) collectives, those catering to slow walkers, “soft girls”, parents, dog owners. Our four-day trip to Slovakia was organised by hiked.up in partnership with Slovakian tour operator Tatra Escapes. Hiked.up began during Covid, with childhood friends Matt and Adam escaping lockdown stasis on walks around Essex, and has since evolved into a thousands-strong community offering expeditions across the UK and Europe.

“The demographic is so vast,” Matt tells me as we pick our way across a boulder field. “Young people, older people, some super-fit, others new to hiking. Most come alone. People join for mental health reasons, or just to get out and have fun, meet new people. You connect with people you might not expect to talk to day-to-day at our events.”

We are a motley crew in ability, age and disposition, hailing from all corners of the UK. The roll call of professions includes a tennis coach, landscape architect, maths teacher, physiotherapist, art adviser and construction site manager. But the stories I’m told track similar contours: ennui at the digitisation of modern life and city confines; a yearning for nature and the chance to connect with like-minded individuals beyond booze-soaked social settings.

Louis, a 24-year-old physiotherapist, believes community hiking taps into something fundamental. “Humans are designed to connect outdoors,” he says. “This is what we did thousands of years ago.” Emma, a 32-year-old teacher, sees hiking groups as a response to urban loneliness and atomisation. “People want to come together without it being centred on drinking or going out; connecting in a more conscious way.”

I admit to a degree of trepidation on the first evening, sitting outside our wooden lodge in Slovak Paradise national park, the setting sun splashing gold and purple across the sky. A jangle of nerves and travel fatigue had created a somewhat jarring group dynamic; the quieter members practically tongue-tied while the extroverts bellowed across plates of creamy bryndzové halušky (potato dumplings with creamy sheep’s cheese and crispy bacon). Was this collection of strangers going to find a rhythm, let alone a sense of camaraderie?

The following morning we tumbled out of the minibus on to the Štrba turistika trail. The sun beat down benignly as we followed a winding path along the mountainside, a valley of deep green pine fanning out below. Our other guide, Uri, a gentle giant with a calm demeanour and bottomless supply of small, sweet cherries, suggested we let silence settle among us, better to hear the birds, the wind, the whisper of the pines.

The High Tatras – a string of snow-dusted peaks straddling the Slovak-Polish border – are the highest range in the Carpathians and among the most dramatic in Europe. Singular in their compact yet lofty nature – with peaks cresting 2,600 metres – they compress an extraordinary diversity of terrain into a narrow alpine arc.

Long shrouded in mysticism and lore, for centuries few dared explore their rugged expanses, believed to be the domain of dragons and ogres. But over the past 250 years, mountaineering has become firmly embedded in Slovakian national identity, the Tatras etched on the national coat of arms and eulogised in the national anthem. The establishment of Tatranský národný park in Slovakia in 1949 and Tatrzański park narodowy in Poland in 1954 – one of the world’s first cross-border protected regions – has kept the land pristine and wild. Camping and swimming are not permitted, and while I longed to cool off in the crystalline alpine streams, I was thankful for the foresight.

Before long, we had broken free of pine and earth and were met with a startling expanse of rock and sky. Sun-dappled forest and wildflower-strewn meadows were replaced by clutches of dwarf pine and obstinate patches of ice amid a tumble of granite outcrops that jut from the earth like crooked shark’s teeth. Reality receded imperceptibly into the distance till there was nothing but the placement of each foot on stone, the kiss of cool mountain breeze, the deafening gallop of my heartbeat.

There is something about the combination of physical exertion and shared adventure that peels back the layers in which we shroud ourselves. It was not long before group discussion had turned to bowel movements, disappointing orgasms and dating apps. We spent the second day weaving our way along a fairytale trail of wooden ladders, steep staircases and fallen logs through a valley enclosed by steep earthen banks and caves winking from limestone faces. Emerging into bright sunshine and a mountain refuge set on a sprawling viridescent meadow, we nursed refreshing pints of Zlatý Bažant, a comfortable silence settling among us like that between old friends.

It didn’t all go smoothly. Tensions flared when an organisational miscommunication left the group without lunch on a nine-hour hike. But, ultimately, that unforeseen trial bound us closer together. When water was scarce, tummies grumbling and boots beginning to bite, it was kindness and generosity that ruled the day – last sips meted out equitably, faster walkers hanging back for blister-addled hobblers, emergency tampons and pee-buddies in abundance.

Steeling ourselves for another ascent of about 2,000 metres, one member of the group erupted in a burst of jubilation: “I’ve got fig rolls!” A cheer rose up from our perch on the mountainside.

The climb was gruelling, the views spectacular, but most of us had come in search of something a little harder to find. Listening to the chorus of gleeful voices echo across the valley, I thought we might just have found it.

The four-day trip to Slovakia was provided by hiked.up and Tatra Escapes and cost £650pp (£600 for a shared room). It included Košice airport transfers, three nights at Ranč Podlesok Relax on a B&B basis, and guides. Follow @hiked.up for details of future expeditions