Overview:
Date: 28-29 September 2024
Location: Snežnik-Ždrocle forest, Slovenia
Total distance: 110 kilometres (68 miles)
Elevation gain: 100 metres (328 feet)
Highlights: Lake Cerknica, Snežnik Castle, and a bear sighting
Introduction:
Hi! My name's Roel! I’m from the Netherlands and I love bikepacking. This autumn, I set out on a bike ride bigger than any I've done before: from my home in central Netherlands to my friend who lives in Sofia, Bulgaria. The 3,250-kilometre journey took me nine weeks, and it was one hell of a ride. Almost every day was filled to the brim with adventure, so it'd be too much to summarise in one blog post. Instead, I want to share with you the story of a special encounter that sticks out from the others, one that will stay with me for the rest of my life: my meeting with a bear.
Trip log:
I was preparing to set out from Ljubljana, Slovenia on a cloudy day in late September. I was feeling good, having just had my first taste of real adventure when crossing the Alps. Two things had happened in those mountains that had changed the feel of the trip, turning it from a holiday into a journey. First, rather than staying in campsites like before, I had shifted to regularly wild camping. Making do without a campsite's amenities, notably managing your hygiene outdoors, was an adjustment that dialled up the adventure meter significantly. The second challenge was that my phone had broken in the mountains. That made a big impact, and not just because I'm a millennial: I was suddenly left without a GPS, camera, flashlight, search engine, or any other functionality. Yet I somehow managed to cross the Alps the old-fashioned way, by reading maps and asking the way. Once in southern Austria, I was able to buy a new phone, then biked on to Ljubljana and took a day off. After a good rest and encouraged by a newfound resilience, I felt ready for the next leg of my journey. The spirit of adventure hadn't left me yet. On the contrary, there was still plenty in store for me.
I will say it took a bit of willpower to leave the comforts of the city behind. It was great to have slept in a real bed (the first since Munich a few weeks prior), and I remember that day being particularly windy. I had to trod on for a while in the flat countryside on my heavily loaded bike. However, once I was out of the fields and into the forested hills, I started to enjoy myself again. Whereas autumn was announcing itself by gusty weather in the open landscape, here in the shelter of the forest I was treated to a show of stunning autumn colours, a last tribute to the growing season from the ageing leaves.
Alone on the quiet trails, I made my way through the hills until it was time to start making camp. This has always remained a nervous affair for me: even if there are spots aplenty, I like to get permission from the relevant land owner to stay where I pitch. I sleep better knowing I'm not trespassing. So as dusk approached, I kept my eyes peeled for anyone I could ask for an appropriate spot. The moment came in the next village I passed, where a lady with a red kerchief fastened around her hair was picking apples on a step ladder. Several buckets were standing at the base of the tree, already filled to the brim.
“Hi, excuse me, do you speak English? Could I ask you something?” I started. “Yes,” she replied to both – and that should not have come as a surprise, Slovenians generally speak excellent English, even older generations.
“Would you know any place for me to camp?” I continued, “I don't need much, just wondering if you know a good spot.”
"Camping?" she said. "I wouldn't do that around here, there are bears around."
Wow... bears. As the reader, you already know the premise of this story, but to me that fact came as a complete surprise. I anticipated passing through bear territory near Bulgaria maybe, but I had no clue there were any in Slovenia. I have to say it didn't inspire much confidence. I have a healthy respect for these animals, not to say a bit of fear. The will to wild camp was fast leaving me. Luckily for me, the lady got down from her ladder and started thinking along.
At that point, another woman came out from just next door and introduced herself as Kati, the sister of the former. Kati proceeded to invite me in for a warm drink while we figured things out. I happily accepted her invitation, and soon after I was seated at Kati's dinner table. In this part of Europe, visitors are likely to be offered plenty of food and drink, and Kati was no exception. She put on the kettle, but also warmed up food for me, and poured me a taster of two different homemade spirits, both of them delicious. On the table soon appeared plates with pork, bread, mayonnaise, and pickles. Everything was fresh and local and tasted amazing. The pork, in particular, outclassed anything I knew from supermarkets in the Netherlands.
It was dark by time Kati's husband Andre came home. He held a basket of mushrooms in his dirt-covered hands, which he had just foraged. The type he found are quite rare and cost a lot when you order them in a restaurant, according to Kati, but I got to try them. Baked in thin slices with some butter, salt, and Parmesan, they were the tastiest I've ever had. Once the meal was finished, we went back to discussing my sleeping situation. I was hoping they'd know a farmer that would let me stay on their land, although I didn't know if bears tend to stay in the woods or if they would happily wander over. My hosts helped shed light on the matter.
"They don't do much, they're scared of humans. You just shouldn't come between them and their cubs," commented Kati. Alright, well they don't sound so bad after all, I thought.
"Yes, they're alright,” said Andre. “If you're in a tent, they can smell the food or get curious, that could be dangerous, but otherwise they're okay." Hang on, maybe I spoke too soon. "And are there many attacks?" I asked.
Andre replied: "No, no! I know just one guy who had a run-in with a mama bear. He had the spray, but she swiped him before he could use it on her, so now he's paraplegic. Wheelchair-bound. But that was in 2007." He told the story as if the rarity of attacks was meant to reassure me, but I didn't feel very convinced. Paralyzed after a single swipe... my imagination had no trouble running wild on that bit.
"Do you have bear spray, the pepper spray?" Kati asked, noticing my worried face. I didn't, as I hadn't thought about bears at all. In turn I asked: "And what about the odds of meeting one on my route?". "Well," said Andre, "when you walk the dog you can see their droppings regularly. The odds of actually seeing one aren't very high though, especially when you make sound, like putting up a song or whistling. They'll stay away.” But for good measure, he took a look at my planned route on my phone and made some recommendations for a different one, on a gravel road that wasn't quite as small as the track I had initially planned. Moreover, he promised the slope climbing up would be a bit more gentle. Happy to take his advice, I wrote down the names of the villages I would need to pass. Then, the first woman came back and said she'd found me an option to stay. A couple down the street used to host travellers on Couchsurfing, and they had a spot. I thanked Kati and Andre for their hospitality and went to my new address.
My new hosts were very nice too. They were Paolo (Italian-Slovenian) and Barbara (German/internationalised) and their two teenage sons. Very well travelled and intellectual, they shared lots of stories about how they ended up settling in Slovenia and what it was like living there. Although I had guessed that most locals would maybe combine homesteading with a job like farming or factory work, the village already had fiberglass internet installed years ago, and Paolo and Barbara knew a fair few programmers in the area. They really enjoyed Slovenia, and I could easily understand why. The stunning forest was just on their doorstep, they were close to both mountains for skiing and the seaside in Croatia, and with Ljubljana within reach too, it had just about everything. For them, it had been worth stepping away from a Swiss corporate job for. And the bears? “Ah, like big dogs,” said Paolo reassuringly. “They're not like grizzlies in these parts. The guy who got attacked went looking for this bear, he wanted to photograph them.”
“But take a picture if you see one!” advised Barbara. “You'd be lucky to encounter one.”
I slept on my pad in the front part of their guest rental unit. All the warm hospitality made me feel quite cosy. If this was what people were like everywhere in the Balkans, I'd be cruising. The road to Rijeka in North Croatia was just 80 more kilometres. Let's see if I make that tomorrow, I thought falling asleep.
The next day I was invited for breakfast: American pancakes. Daily sustained exposure to the elements and riding about 60 kilometres (37 miles) on average, I maintained a voracious appetite. Being polite, however, I tended to save second breakfast for a later moment, so as to not clear out my hosts' pantry. Just my hobbit ways, I suppose. I made sure to thank them profusely before heading out.
Although tourism wasn't very developed in the area, there were several hidden gems to see. First, there was the largest intermittent lake in Europe, Lake Cerknica, functioning as a sanctuary for many migratory birds which use it as a rest stop. Large beds of reeds stretched out into its clear and shallow waters and sunlight played on the lakebed. Although I didn't spot many birds, it did look like a paradise for them.
Soon after, I reached Snežnik Castle. Here was where Andre told me to take a left, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to check out the 13th century castle. With my luck, a guided tour was just starting for a group of Slovenian seniors, which I was able to join for just four euros.
The castle was owned by several different German and Austrian noble families over the years. The most recent owners, the Schönburgs, owned it from the second half of the 19th century until the interwar period and used it as their hunting residence. Consequently, there were still plenty of hunting trophies exhibited. The most prized piece of the collection was a stuffed bear. With its big strong legs and fearsome claws as long as my fingers, it weighed 220 kg at the time it was shot (if that sounds like a lot, they can apparently grow quite a bit bigger). It was cool to see, and the closest I should like to be to any bear. During the rest of the tour, we learned about the castle's noble masters and the striking hierarchy that was maintained in the building they shared with so many servants. If only I had a little bell to ring at my every little request!
I lost a lot of time with the castle visit, but didn't regret going. This cultural outing felt like a nice change of pace. Plus, I saw a bear! Now, only about 40 kilometres of forest remained until I would be out at the other end. My route was all on gravel roads, but they were well maintained and very comfortable to ride on. This stretch was very remote indeed. Biking along, I saw some birds and the odd insect, but no other signs of life. There was barely any traffic anyway (or bearly, ha, get it?). It was nice, and Andre was right: although I was moving up, the slope was very gentle. At some point it started drizzling ever so slightly. Patiently, I biked on.
Then, half lost in thought, I slammed the breaks. About 50 meters ahead of me, a dark brown bear clambered down onto the road from the hillside. It was a bear, a real living bear, with stout legs and small round ears. I could see how the hairs in its fur, wet from walking through the forest, clumped together slightly. Immediately after it got onto the road, two smaller cubs followed suit. The mama was about 80 cm at the shoulder, if I had to guess, and incredibly heavy set. Nevertheless, as she got down, her movements were so agile that I instinctively knew she would be much faster than me, even on a bike. There wouldn't be the slightest chance I could get away if she wanted to reach me. And as stated, I had no bear spray to defend myself either. She was now on the road, where she turned her large head towards me and spotted me. She gave me a glance and quickly crossed diagonally away from me, her cubs in tow. I didn't hesitate to turn around and sprint away as quickly as I could.
After at least 200 meters, I stopped. "Fuck, I just saw a bear," I say out loud, incredulously. "Fuck, I just saw a bear. Fuck, I just saw a bear." I double and triple checked, looking at the deserted road behind me. Nothing. I turned my bike the right way round again and put on a loud song on my speaker. That way, she would at least know where I was to help her avoid me. My phone indicated no reception, but I had a few songs saved. A loud afrobeat tune soon rang through the quiet woods – sounding very out of place – as I processed what I just saw.
By that point on my journey, I had learnt many things about traveling by bike. I knew it's usually easier to take the outside turn when doing hairpins. I knew it's best to put your heaviest bags on the rear rack and that sunset was around 19.15. But I didn't know how long you should wait before carrying on after seeing a bear cross the road. I had no bear expert on call either, not that I could call anyone from here anyway. The fear and responsibility of being left to my own devices in this intense moment acutely hit me. There was no one I could have reached out to for help. This situation could have ended very differently if that bear had decided I was a threat. Was it safe to return at all? And when? Females with cubs are the most likely to charge, mainly when you come in between them, I remembered. A few minutes later though, a small car passed by. I hailed it, explained the situation, and asked to ride behind it for a couple hundred metres. The driver was happy to help me out. The place of crossing was now deserted, and I didn't see any more bears after that. All the better, I’d had my fill.
Heavy rain then started. I put on my rain clothes and kept the speaker on, packed in a plastic bag. When I passed a lodge, I didn't hesitate to pop in to dry off. It felt like a little haven in a stormy sea. I ordered a hot tea and some food and hung out with some Austrian men while the rain battered down on the road. I was keen to tell everybody what had happened in the forest. The guys were quite jealous when they heard what I'd seen: they told me people pay good money to go on bear safaris, with no guarantee of actually seeing one. They themselves only spotted a curious fox on their walk.
Once I calmed down a bit, I realised that those few seconds of being eye to eye with a bear would probably stand as the most impressive moment of the whole trip. What shook me most about it is the realisation I hadn't really been in control of the situation. It felt like sheer luck to not have gotten myself in a real pickle. Meanwhile, the Austrians told me more about bears in Slovenia. There are 1500 of them in the country and the population is managed. Every year, about 40 are hunted to cull their numbers. To do so, food is placed in certain spots to attract them, while hunters lie in wait for them to come out. The lodge had a bear skin hung on the wall from a specimen that weighed over 300 kg. On an accompanying picture, a proud hunter posed next to his freshly killed prize, squatting down, holding his rifle next to him.
Although the rain hadn't fully stopped, I headed back out into the cold and biked on. The forest eventually opened up and revealed a spectacular open valley under dark rain clouds, cast in the limelight of a low sun that peeked out from over the hills.
I was not going to make it to Croatia that day, so I decided to wild camp at a rest stop next to a busy road. It wasn't the most glamorous spot and the grass I pitched in was a bit of a public toilet, but it was worth the safety I got in return. This was still bear country: the traffic noise would help keep them away, and to be extra safe I asked a couple in a mobile home to take my food bag inside for the night. That way the smell of food wouldn't draw any bears to my tent. To top off the discomfort, a cold, hard wind (known as Bora winds) was ripping at the tent fabric loudly, eventually pulling out a stake and collapsing my tent. Exhausted and scared, I had to get out in the cold and the dark, putting back the stake by the light of my phone's flashlight to remedy the situation. Yet somehow, I slept very well after that and woke up feeling refreshed.
Another day, another ride. I felt like I'd cracked Slovenia: experienced it north to south, stayed in beds and wild camped, met locals, seen the wildlife. It was now Sunday, and I spontaneously decided I wanted to go to church. I thought back to a friend I made on the road, and how we agreed that it's good to take time for reflection now and then. So much had happened in the meantime, that it seemed like a good time. Tolling bells of the Roman Catholic church in the town of Ilirska Bistrica drew me in. The service was pretty well visited, not just by seniors. As Catholics tend to do, there was lots of ritual and question-answer type formulas uttered by the congregation. I participated as well as I could and turned my attention inwards: time for a little check-in with my deeper feelings, the emotional centre I call my inner child. I felt a bit nervous, because I would feel bad if he would give me harsh criticism. 'Despite the hardships, did I take good care of you?' I asked. 'Have I made you happy? Did you enjoy what you've seen?' Emotions came up and I thought of the bear encounter. ‘That was really really scary,’ he told me. I cried a little.
We met Roel while he was passing through Split, Croatia, on his cycle ride across Europe. He kindly agreed to write a guest post for the blog. If you have any adventure stories or photography you would like to share, we'd love to hear from you! Click here to get in touch.
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