I lived at the base of Babia Gora for seven years and only once tried to reach the summit. Shortly after that, I injured my knee while hiking in the Tatra Mountains. Some time after that, when my knee had healed, I injured the other knee. And so I never made it to the top of Babia. Until today.
Here’s some video showing just how windy it was at the top.
The day starts by breaking the law. But I’m getting ahead of myself. For the seven years I lived in Lipnica, one of my favorite places was a meadow at the base of Babia Gora, accessible via a barely-paved road traversed only by tractors and horse-drawn wagons. It occurred to me the other day that it would be a great place for a picnic followed by a few portraits. I knew going there by bike was out of the question, but I recalled traversing that barely-paved road in a car. So today, I pack the girls into the car and off we go.
I discover that there have been a few developments: a small shelter for picnics and scattered picnic tables. We have our picnic; the girls finish eating as I head off for some photos of what I’ve always thought were ruins of some apparently and relatively ancient building. Trees up to ten meters high grow within the foundation — it has to be ruins. Once the girls eat their sandwiches, their peaches, their cookies, we head up into a high meadow for some photos.
We head back down, where a forestry officer meets us.
“Do you have permission?” he asks.
“Permission for what?” I think. “To take pictures? Surely we don’t have to seek permission to take pictures everywhere.” Instead, I simply ask, “For what?”
He almost laughs. “To be here.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is a national park. You’re not allowed to drive here.” I think of the four or five cars I’ve seen passing us while we ate and had our photo session.
“Really?”
“The only ones who have permission to be here are those who work for the park and those who have permission to log in the park.” That explains the cars. “Do you have a driver’s license?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“So you’ve passed a driving test. ‘No Entry’ signs are the same everywhere.” It occurs to me at this point to disagree: Polish signs are simply circular white signs with a red circle around it; American signs are red circular signs with a white rectangle in the middle — only very vaguely similar.
Instead I explain that I did see the sign but that there was what I thought was an explanatatory sign under it that restricted the “No Entry” sign to select vehicles. I explain that my Polish is not so good and, having traveled this road before in an auto, I just assumed that it was okay for me to pass. And there was a rectangular sign underneath the main sign, and I have traveled that road by car several times.
In the end, he has mercy on me and tells me only not to do it again.
Afterward, we head back down to Lipnica Wielka centrum, my home for seven years. We meet with family (for all intents and purposes), then take a walk up into the hills, the walk I took countless times when I lived in Lipnica. Today, the fields are thick and deep with weeds, grass, and wildflowers; I’ve tried it with equally thick and deep snow — it’s tough-going either way.
I head back down into the village, passing through what could be generously called the town square: LW is not a town, and this area is not square, but it is in the center, it is the location of the main government facilities, and at one time, it was rumored to be possibly developed into a potential real rynek.
I pass the bar that provided just about the only entertainment in the area — conversation and relaxation on a Friday night that was priceless. I walk by the teachers’ housing that, from the outside (and even from the first steps into the main entrance) hasn’t changed a bit since 1996.
Here in LW Centrum I find the real irony of the village. In some ways, it’s developed so drastically in the last seventeen years since I first arrived. There’s a new health center; the city hall has been completely renovated; there are new street lights and new athletic facilities. But the real development is private: seemingly countless new houses, with one new, enormous home. And yet the ironies: the same house that was abandoned and incomplete, standing “raw,” when I arrived in 1996 stands in the same condition. Some bricks have fallen away from the chimney, and it looks a bit worse, but otherwise, it’s the same house.
“What happened?” I once asked someone, but I’ve since learned it’s the same story a thousand times over in Poland: they started building, then went abroad, most likely heading for the States.
Then there are the houses in between: finished, once inhabited, now abandoned. I pass by one house in which I once attended a Sunday gathering. It was like most homes in the area: loved, cared for, with a lovely lawn. Now, it’s not quite a ruin, but close.
I return to find the girls with Pani B across the street, at a neighbor’s house. It’s undoubtedly paradise for them: two young puppies run about the yard — as much as the girls let them.
Kinga and I decided one of the last things we wanted to do before leaving for the States was to take a trip around the most prominent geographical feature of this area: Babia Góra, roughly translated “Lady’s Mountain.”
Babia known as “Królowej Beskidów” (“Queen of the Beskidy”), and is the highest mountain (1,724.6 meters above sea level – 5,658.4 feet) in the Beskidy mountain range, which is in turn seen as a part of the Carpathian Mountains (Wikipedia: Babia Góra||Beskidy).
Babia is an odd mountain, in that it looks radically different from different locations.
I see it daily from the south, and it’s a claim, motherly looking mountain that looks peaceful and wise. From the north, though, it’s almost violent looking and feels more like the Tatra range further to the south.
Living in Lipnica so long, I’ve been to Babia many times, though due to a persistent knee injury, I’ve never made it to the top.
Our route took us around the eastern edge of Babia to Zawoja, then north to Sucha Beskidzka.
Nie wiem jak to siÄ™ stało, że jeszcze nie objechaliÅ›my Babiej dookoła. Już trzeci sezon jeździmy, mieszkamy u stóp Babiej i jak do tej pory nie wpadliÅ›y na to. Być może dlatego, że te drogi sÄ… nam znane, zbyt oczywiste. Ale okazuje siÄ™, że druga strona Babiej Góry to istny raj dla nas i gdybyÅ›my zostawali dlużej to na pewno wybralibyÅ›my siÄ™ jeszcze raz nieco innÄ… drogÄ…. Z Zawoii jest kilka ciekawych skrótów w kierunku Koszarowej i JeleÅ›ni. MyÅ›my pojechali przez SuchÄ…, chcieliÅ›y zobaczyć zamek. Od momentu jak zaczÄ™liÅ›y robić modernizacjÄ™ ewidencji w Raciborzu to co jakiÅ› czas tamtÄ™ty przejeżdżałam i miałam ochotÄ™ zobaczyć co też oni tam majÄ… za zamek w tej Suchej.
A Babia od Zawoi wyglÄ…da inaczej, rzeczywiÅ›cie groźniej, szczególnie teraz jak jeszcze leży na niej Å›nieg. Widok od Orawy jest dla mnie bardzo uspakajajÄ…cy, taka nasza Babia siedzi sobie i obejmuje OrawÄ™ od Lipnicy WIelkiej aż po ZubrzycÄ™.
Last Saturday, Kinga and I went for a bike ride through Slovakia, around to the back side of Babia Gora. It’ll probably turn out to be the last bike ride of the season, because the Indian Summer we’d been enjoying (called in Polish “lady’s summer”) came to an abrupt end recently. So no more pictures like the one at right . . .
Seven lessons, a bike ride to the top of Lipnica, then a hike up Babia – any wonder I’m tired? I am actually well beyond that. I was mentally exhausted before I left for Babia; now I’m just a little numb all over. I’m even having trouble putting the day in order.
Classes went fine today. It was a huge day, but I survived. Around March I will be hating Tuesdays with a totally overwhelming passion. I even managed to make it through IIB. I think they really dislike me by this time. Such is life – I’ve only got to deal with them twice a week.
The trip up Babia was exhausting but well worth the effort. There were about four different terrains on the way up. First, a well-logged and rather sparse pine forest. Then we followed a creek for a while, and it really had an Abbram’s Fall feel. Then it just headed straight up the mountain, like going to Skagg’s Gap. Finally, the forest broke to low shrubs with occasional pine trees no more than twenty feet tall. We didn’t make it to the top, though. We probably had another twenty to thirty minutes to get there. Next time, maybe.
Closing thoughts: From a couple of vantage points I could see the Tatra Mountains in the distance. They jut up from the plains like the Rockies: suddenly and almost unexpectedly. They are not smooth and pristine (like Babia) – they are ragged and haphazard, with sharp peaks. A mist/haze obscured the view a little bit, but Roy said it was about as clear as he’d ever seen it. It was a magnificent site.