I constantly found reasons to put off this dream “until later.” And now that “later” has finally arrived.
At the beginning of winter, I climbed Hoverla and Petros, but the weather at that time did not allow me to see the true grandeur of the winter mountains. I was left with a feeling of incompleteness.
It was as if the mountains were saying, “You will return.” And I did return — immediately after that trip, I signed up for Pip Ivan. The winter mountains are a completely different world.
They do not forgive carelessness. They require preparation, strength, and discipline. I prepared thoroughly, both physically and mentally. For me, it was not just a trip, but a test of myself.
And, looking ahead, I will say that this test became one of the most valuable in my life. On the first day, there was instruction, equipment, and introductions.
There was a shared tension and anticipation in the air. In the evening, we were already sitting together at the table — still almost strangers, but with the same sparkle in our eyes.
Everyone had their own story, their own reason for being there.
The morning of the day of departure greeted us with frost and thick fog. The forest trail led uphill, and we silently gained altitude, step by step.
Our breathing became deeper, our hearts beat faster, but inside there was a strange feeling of calm: you are where you should be.
Above the forest, the fog began to slowly recede. The sun cautiously broke through the clouds, as if checking whether we deserved such beauty.
And when we reached the top of Smotrych, the world suddenly opened up. Sun. A light breeze. Hot tea from a thermos. The first smiles and photos. And that special feeling — “we did it.”
And that's when we saw the Brocken specter. Our shadow on the clouds, framed by a halo of light. It was mystical. Unreal.
It was as if the mountains had momentarily lifted the veil on something secret.
Next was the descent into the saddle and again fog, limited visibility, maximum concentration. Our steps became more cautious.
The intervals between us were minimal. At moments like these, you realize how important the team is.
As we climbed the ridge, the sun finally defeated the fog. And a breathtaking view opened up before us.
Endless, snow-covered, living mountains. The sky was deep, dark blue, a color I had never seen before in my life.
Visibility stretched from Marmaros to Syvul.
At the top of Pip Ivan, I didn't want to talk loudly. I just wanted to stand there, breathe in the cold air, and look around. There was no wind at all.
The sun painted the slopes gold. Inside, there was silence and, at the same time, an explosion of emotions.
During the descent, the pace slowed down—not because of fatigue, but because of a reluctance to say goodbye to this moment. I wanted to hold it back. To engrave it in my memory. To remember every detail.
The mood was elevated, almost euphoric. But the team leaders did not allow us to relax completely. And that is what gave us a sense of security. In the winter mountains, there are no trifles.
A separate note about the team leaders who were nearby. Their confidence, experience, and calmness were felt in every decision, in every radio command.
At certain moments, their tone of voice was enough to understand that you were in safe hands.
The morning in the shelter after the climb was special. There was no tension. There were smiles. There was a “burning” dawn, but with a different inner state — you were already part of this story.
The road home was long, but the memories warmed me better than any tea. I felt lightness in my thoughts and clarity in my heart.
Every step reminded me that fatigue and routine can be left below, and at the top there is only silence, light, and your true self.
This trip was not just a climb, but a small reboot of the soul. And even now, in everyday life, I feel the cold and the sun of the winter mountains inside me.
Go to the mountains. They change you.