Slovenia!
As I stood on the roadside at dusk last Sunday evening outside Nova Gorica, Slovenia, it occurred to me that there were a few holes in my plan for a solo raft trip down the Soča river. I had just parted ways with K. after a weekend exploring the capital Ljubljana and other sights in the former Yugoslavian republic. By a combination of trains and a beautiful hike we had made it to the Škocjan caves, one of the largest karst cave systems in the world. We toured the huge caverns, then quaffed a pint of Union lager at a dusty little train depot in the remote outpost of Sežana to wrap up the weekend. Later, K. walked across the border to catch a few more trains, and I headed north to the river.
The problem was, trains don't go there very often, nor do buses, certainly not on Sunday evening. So off I went, walking to the north with everything I needed for a rafting trip—including the boat— in a large pack on my back. I hitchhiked a bunch in my youth, and from time to time in the last few years when the situation necessitated it. Though the golden age of social acceptance is long past and it can be a real pain in the ass, I still love the spontaneous connections that sometimes come from spending time in a stranger's car or letting a stranger into mine.
The pressing issue last Sunday was that I was about to run up against one of my hitching maxims: avoid trying to get a ride at night. It had taken us all day to get to Nova Gorica and by the time I was out of town and posted up at a good spot to get a northerly ride, darkness was quickly descending. Another rule- women don't generally stop, and moms with kids almost never do, nor do people with cars already packed full. Imagine my surprise then, when a car pulled over at dusk, driven by a mom with two toddlers in the back, and at the front seat piled high with a huge sack of potatoes and a dog carrier. One hour later I was having mock sword fights with the boys and sitting down to dinner with the family. Any doubts I had about the trip melted away like the organic butter we slathered on thick hunks of buckwheat bread.
The next morning, fed and rested, I stuck out my thumb once more, heading north to the upper reaches of the Soča River, near its source in Triglav National Park. I never waited more than 10 minutes for a ride and found myself in the lovely village of Bovec before noon. Slovenians learn English from an early age and it seemed everyone I encountered on my journey was warm, friendly and helpful. I picked up a map of the rivers and some useful beta from a local outfitter, Philip at Soča Sports. A plan took shape. I would spend the next couple days hiking and scouting the river, then a couple more rafting some 65 k back towards the south.
It was cloudy and raining, but still beautiful in the forests and fields outside of Bovec as I made my way to a 15th century castle that had been remade into a fort during World War I. The area around Bovec was the frontline between Italy and Austro- Hungary in 1917 and the remnants of war are everywhere. There is even a rapid on the Soča named after the bunkers that line the riverbank.
Eating my simple lunch in the old castle well to avoid the rain, I caught my first glimpse of the Koritnica River, deep in the valley below. I’d been advised not to run it, but its crystalline water and perfect winding granite canyons were beckoning. At the very least I had to hike down and take a look. The section was rated class IV, but all the rapids were scout-able, and the water level was low due to the abysmal snowpack this year. Plus, my pack raft, though small and lightweight, is meant to handle some serious whitewater. Change of plans!
I ran back to town and grabbed all my gear, hiked back to the river and pitched my tent just before a thunderstorm settled in above the canyon. In the morning the storm had cleared to reveal a landscape out of a fairy tale. The Julian Alps were showing themselves, huge snow-capped peaks rising above the river. The water was even more alluring in the morning sunshine, clear and emerald tinted, flowing over smooth stones with native Soča trout darting here and there.
I inflated the raft and pushed off down the river. Picking my way through the narrow slots and channels of a low volume river in early spring, I spun the raft now and then in a full arc to absorb the incredible mountain backdrop. After a couple hours I reached the confluence of the Soča and headed back to Bovec for a quick resupply.
In the afternoon I caught a ride to the upper reaches of the Soča, where it leaves the park and becomes navigable. Some of the bigger rapids are found in this section and next few hours were full of by tight slots and drops and spray glistening in the evening light. Anytime I couldn’t see a drop from my boat I hopped out and scouted. Everything was pretty straightforward and smooth, with the exception of Krsovec rapid, where a lateral wave flipped my boat, giving me a momentary trout’s eye view of the Soča. When dusk arrived I pitched the tent and put on every piece of clothing I’d brought to aid my too thin sleeping bag in fending off the chill of a clear and cold night.
At dawn I reluctantly left the tent and shook frost from boat and paddle. Ahead lay a very full day of boating and scouting, and boating some more. The river meandered away from the road and deeper into the forest. White-throated dippers bobbed comically at the river’s edge, just like their American cousins. A pair of mergansers circled in a quiet eddy. Swallows darted overhead, scooping up gnats.
Slovenia is roughly the size of Massachusetts, and is the third most forested country in Europe, after Sweden and Finland. With less than 2 million people it feels very rural, even wild, especially by central European standards. The soundtrack of my river journey reflected this peace—moving water, songbirds, and the distant peal of church bells.
In the afternoon I walked a canyon of class V and VI rapids and hiked back down to the river for one last big push, to the Soča’s effective end at the hydroelectric dam at Most na Soči. After several miles of flat water, I paddled into town exhausted and in love with Slovenia.
Spring seemed to have sprung in those few short days- the trees were budding and the rolling hills were carpeted in saffron flowers, giving the appearance of thousands of purple and yellow Easter eggs. I visited my new friends once more and swam in a perfect pool below a waterfall.
The next day I lingered at the border, sipping a final pint of Union in the sunshine before walking across the border to Italy and hopping a train to Verona with a silly, giddy smile plastered on my face.
