Words and photography by Fabienne Lang
Website - @fab_venturing

My heart is thumping. It’s ready to burst out of my ribcage. My fingers are numb. My sweat turns cold, sending chills up and down my body. I’m surrounded by darkness. All I can see is a sliver of rock face, brightly lit up by my headlamp. I’m focusing hard not to look left, where I know there is a vast emptiness. One wrong step and my body will hurtle down the mountain’s edge like a rag doll – something I’m reminded of regularly as I scramble up past plaques etched with the names of fallen mountaineers. It’s 5am. I’m climbing up Slovenia’s tallest mountain alongside my sister, two friends, and our mountain guide.

As my body screams out in protest, I’m reminded of how much I have missed hiking. I haven’t felt this type of painful elation in nearly four years.

I used to hike all the time. I grew up spending my weekends loping up and down lush mountain trails in Hong Kong. As an adult, I nurtured my passion for hiking. I rarely went a week without reaching a summit. I signed up to numerous trail runs, turning my passion for hiking into a sport. I cherished the feeling of my burning quads as I pushed myself over crest after crest. For three decades, most of my holidays encompassed hiking to new peaks. Mountain trails etched themselves into the creases of my brain, becoming as familiar as the folds of a well-used map.

All of that changed when I moved to Berlin, Germany four years ago. The surrounding landscape is flatter than a pancake and about as exciting as watching a flight safety demonstration for the hundredth time. The shift was imperceptible so I took up new sports. Running became my new “thing”. So when I agreed to join my sister and her friend on a hiking trip in Slovenia, I didn’t think anything of it. 

The girls decided we would hike up Slovenia’s tallest peak: Mount Triglav. The mountain sits 2,863-metres high at the top of the Julian Alps in the country’s only national park, Triglav National Park. Sure, sign me up, I thought. I asked a friend to join us and our trio became a quartet. 

As the travel date approached, I started reading up about the two-day hike. The ascent started immediately and lasted 1.5 days, but the descent was short and sharp (hello, knee pain). The final climb to the summit was a via ferrata, a climbing route on a steep mountain face equipped with steel cables, ladders, and other fixed anchors, which none of us had any experience in, so we needed to hire a guide. We would sleep in a mountain hut and have a pre-dawn start on day two. Even though this was late August, we needed to pack for all weather conditions as we would be at high altitude. 

My insecurities crept in as I hadn’t hiked in a few years. The three other members of my group were all younger, fitter, and with more recent hiking experience. Would I hold them up? I tried my best to usher my doubts away and reminded myself that this was meant to be fun. Just take one step at a time; mind over matter. Only then did a gentle excitement settle in. I was heading back to the mountains.

Fast forward to day one. What started off as a lush forest trail nestled deep in Krma Valley quickly opened into a picture-perfect mountain painting. Towering rocky monoliths surrounded us and an expansive blue sky strikingly contrasted with the grey rock and green trees. With every step I felt stronger, more confident, invigorated. There was barely anyone else on the trail. It was just us and pure, unadulterated nature for miles on end. You could hear the crickets chirping.

We made it to our mountain hut – home for the night – and I was thrilled. My heart had pumped all day and I felt content with my fatigued legs. I had worked hard, marvelled at striking views, and enjoyed deep conversations with my trail mates. I felt a warm tingle permeate my body; this was what hiking was all about. 

I didn’t have long to revel in that warmth. It was now day two and five in the morning. We had barely slept, no thanks to our raucous hut neighbours. Standing in the darkness at the base of the via ferrata, a bitingly cold wind tugged at our jackets. The next hour and a half involved harnesses, helmets, headlamps, carabiners, and fixed steel cables. We pulled and hoisted ourselves up around craggy rocks and terrifyingly narrow steep ridges. We resembled a band of mountain goats scaling a steep mountainside. One wrong step and we could drag our whole team off the cliff face. Our goal was to reach the summit of Mount Triglav by sunrise. 

I wasn’t sure I could make it as my muscles screamed in agony. My heart thumped like I was sprinting and my feet stumbled like I was tipsy. I was cold yet hot. I was hungry yet not. I’d forgotten what this part of outdoor adventures was like. The type-two fun that is not enjoyable at the moment but it’s fun when you reminisce about it. 

But I made it and as I watched a new dawn unfurl its soft orange hues over an endless mountain range, I could breathe again. Truly breathe. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed – ached for – hiking.

Knowing you can move your body through dangerous terrain and reach mountain tops is a liberating feeling. Being surrounded by colossal natural landscapes humbles you to the core. You feel at one with yourself and your surroundings. It’s an immensely powerful experience. It imprints memories into your mind and creates lessons that last a lifetime.

Before this trip, I had no idea Slovenia’s nature was as stunning as it was. From dense forests and deep valleys reminiscent of Switzerland, to Moon-like terrain and snowy caps, the small nation packs it all in. The combination of discovering a new country and its mountains, all while reigniting my passion for hiking and pushing past my imaginary limits, reminded me of who I am. I hike to ground myself.

I can’t wait to see what I’ll discover on my next mountain adventure.