Touring the Black Holes

„Be careful with open fire.”, the man says in broken English, his hand somewhat raised as though he’s uncertain whether to lift it fully or shove it into his pocket, “All might burn.”
It’s early September and even though the sky is perfectly blue, the land all around is scorched. Sun is merciless. It blinds you, flogs you, even hurts you. Fagaras Mountains are an eerie place. Jagged mountains: narrow ridges and sharp peaks. Everything consists of rocks and yellowish, harsh grass. Wherever you look, you just see the vastness of peaks, valleys, winding paths and dark, cracked rocks. Everything is bone dry and hot – so hot it makes you want to crawl under a rock and just stay there, but if you do, the wind (even though it’s not very powerful) will soon leave you shivering and craving for any warmth. The shepherd we met, told us to be careful – it’s so hot and so dry, anything might start a wildfire. Already, he claimed, some of the mountains are actually on fire.
We pick up the pace and soon we’re on our fours, grasping rocks, legs looking for a anything solid. We pass the pileup and stand atop another yet peak.
We feel lost. Were it not for occasional shepherds (and their aggressive, massive dogs), we as well might be traipsing through some fairytale landscape, slightly nightmarish but still beautiful. Fagaras Mountains, despite not being overly tall, are tricky to navigate. There are never enough sings, not enough markings and the paths keep straying off. If you – like us – don’t have a map (even though you did print something from the Internet), you’ll soon feel – like us – queasy. Uncertainty seeps in. We’re headed for Moldoveanu, the highest peak of Romania, but it’s already been ages of constant climbing up and going down, and the destination isn’t even visible yet.
We climb atop another peak in the ridge and Moldoveanu appears ahead, monstrous, shaped like a pyramid, casting shadow on a valley. There’s water there. Some few lakes well below the ridge. We swallow thickly – we’ve been running out of water and probably the next night would be a thirsty one.
There’s a shelter by the path. We’ve already seen a couple of these: tiny shed painted white and red. Inside there are only bunk beds – plain wood and iron, no mattress, no pillow, nothing. Luckily we brought our sleeping bags and rubber mattresses. We’ll leave our gear in the shelter, climb the mountain before dusk, return to our basecamp, spend the night there and leave in the morning.