Zywiec Beskids: Sunrise on the Summit of Babia Gora

There are good ideas, there are bad ideas, and then there are ideas born from pure fantasy. A week ago, while conquering Babia Gora in civilized, daytime conditions, a thought popped into our heads during the descent: "Hey, maybe we should see a sunrise here sometime?" I didn't think that "sometime" would mean "in seven days." And just like that, as part of an experiment titled "What's it like to climb the same mountain two weekends in a row?", a plan was born.

The logistics were, to put it mildly, unconventional. The plan involved pulling an all-nighter in the mountains and driving back in the morning, so the key element of the mission became... a solid Saturday nap. Yep, you read that right. We spent all of Saturday strategically napping, like bears preparing for hibernation. And with all that napping, we banked a good dozen or so hours of sleep in advance! By the way, it's a shame you can't do that with food. I'd totally eat a week's worth of schabowy with cabbage in advance.

We reached the parking lot at the foot of Babia Gora just after midnight. Down below, a concert greeted us. A concert of dancing trees with the wind as the conductor. There were signs of life flickering in a few parked cars, but other than that – emptiness. In the warm, cozy car, a serious internal debate began in my head. The voice of reason screamed: "Dude, go back to bed, it's blowing a gale out there!", but the voice of adventure replied: "You didn't sleep all of Saturday just to chicken out now!" After nearly half an hour of battling thoughts, the voice of adventure won. Hat on, headlamp on, gloves on, and off we went!

Starting the trail in total darkness is an experience in itself. We were surrounded by a blackness so thick that without headlamps, we'd be tripping over our own feet. And that's when I started clapping. You know, as a precaution. Are there bears on Babia Gora? I have no clue, maybe it's stupid. But my inner survivalist decided it's better to look like an idiot and clap than to become someone's dinner (why am I thinking about pork chops again???). Initially, the forest was quiet and calm, but then a crisis hit me. Legs made of jelly, breathing like an amateur marathoner after a sprint, and the thought: "What am I doing here?". Luckily, on Sokolica, we saw other headlamp beams. It immediately felt less lonely. Strength returned, and morale skyrocketed. Unfortunately, so did the wind.

The higher we got, the closer we came to becoming human kites. The wind was blowing so powerfully that to walk straight, you had to walk hard left. Because, well, the wind was blowing from the left. No joke! The final ascent to the summit was a pure comedy and a fight for survival all in one. Seriously, I wondered if I'd be writing this blog post from Earth's orbit, flying somewhere north. We also considered emergency options, like stuffing rocks into our backpacks for ballast.

At the summit, about 45 minutes before sunrise, we found a group of crazies just like us. Everyone was huddled behind the low stone wall, trying to cheat the wind. Some were even napping in sleeping bags. The whole vibe made me feel like I'd just conquered K2 in winter. I, however, was without a sleeping bag and without sleep. I preferred to contemplate the lights twinkling in the distance, probably Kraków (?), and prepare for the show.

And then it began. A theater directed by nature itself. The slowly brightening sky, painted with shades of pink and orange. The gray, sleepy silhouettes of neighboring mountains emerging from the morning mist. It looked just like a land of extinct volcanoes. And finally – the sun. That moment when the first ray breaks through the horizon makes up for everything: the sleepless night, the battle with the wind, and the jelly legs. You're standing on K2... I mean, Babia... and you feel alive.

Heading down around 9 AM, we passed hundreds of people just starting their climb up. We smiled to ourselves. They probably didn't know what they had missed, just like us a week earlier. But now we know. Sometimes it's worth getting carried away. Even if the wind tries to do it first.