The fifteenth day began unspectacularly – with a short trip to the store to replenish my supplies. Then it was back up into the mountains. The real challenge of the day awaited right at the start: over 1,400 of the total 1,800 meters in altitude were in the first ten kilometers. At least that promised some relief after the initial exertion.

It’s always amazing how meters of altitude add up over the course of a day. Even stages that are predominantly downhill on paper often end effortlessly in the four-digit range. This day made no secret of this.

My Garmin 67i accompanied me throughout the entire tour. First and foremost, I carry it as an emergency device – in case something really does happen. I also use it for navigation and to record the route. Nevertheless, I still had a queasy feeling: the device repeatedly lost the GPS signal for a short time and the arrow jumped aimlessly across the map. For a device in this price range, I would have liked more reliability. In the mountains, you want to be able to rely on technology doing what it’s supposed to.

After the long ascent, I finally reached a hut, which also marked the highest point of the day. I parked my rucksack there and made my way to a nearby mountain lake to fill up with water – a small detour that I was happy to take. Walking through this landscape without luggage felt like a brief liberation. Slackpacking, as experienced hikers call it.

This day was a feast for the senses. The landscape changed at a pace that made me feel like I was in completely new regions. From the forest along a stream, I climbed up into a rugged gravel mountain range, then over into a smooth, almost surreal-looking rocky landscape. A wide plateau opened up before I suddenly found myself standing between crystal-clear lakes. Gradually, the trees became denser, the ground softer, the paths flatter and more benign.

It was obviously the weekend. At some point, you lose all sense of the days of the week when life is all about ascents, breaks and sleep. But the amount of people on the trails gave it away. Again and again, I made it a small challenge to overtake the next group – Americans, French, Slovenians. Surprisingly, I hardly heard any German. Strange. Normally we Germans are everywhere.

I took a long break at the largest of the lakes, cooled down and had lunch. The water was freezing cold. My body reacted immediately: my heart rate shot up and I was breathless for a moment – a mixture of overheating, exhaustion and cold shock that drained all the energy from my bones for a moment.

After eating, I was overcome by a tiredness that I could do nothing about. I lay down on the grass – and was gone. A complete blackout for three quarters of an hour. It wasn’t until later that I realized that this break had its price: the areas of skin that I hadn’t applied cream to turned a deep red.

On the way to the evening hut, the landscape changed once again. Gorges and gentle hollows, interspersed with small coniferous forests, opened up a view that I had never experienced before. On the plateaus, the view stretched far into the distance. However, as I became increasingly tired, I lost my sense of direction. I got lost and had to fight my way back to the marked path through dense bushes. It was high time I arrived. One last effort.

When I reached my destination for the day, many fellow hikers were already sitting together, drinking beer and other refreshments. The loneliness that had accompanied me for the first two weeks was suddenly just a distant memory that I looked back on almost wistfully.

The food at the huts is solid but predictable. There seems to be the same small selection throughout Slovenia: Goulash, vegetable soup, sauerkraut soup and a nondescript stew with cereals. Almost everything is enriched with meat, sausage or ham. Even the ubiquitous apple strudel, which I often look forward to all day, usually disappoints. I eat it anyway because of the calories.

In the evening, I write a few lines, read, plan the next stage. There’s not much more ahead of me. My goal was to get to the end of the Julian Alps – a point I will probably reach in the next two days. The actual trail ends at the Adriatic Sea.

I don’t have the time to get there directly. Five or six days, which I don’t have. So I’m already starting to plan alternatives: a descent, a route to Ljubljana, from where my bus will take me to Austria, the thought of which feels strange. I’m still here.
But the end is suddenly within reach.