We have had the Flega Lakes in our minds for years, ever since we first saw their dreamy photographs. Later, our good friend, the Forestry Officer of Grevena, Yannis Tzatzanis, had excited our imagination with his stories. Nestled in the subalpine highlands of Flega, at altitudes of 1940 and 1960 meters, inaccessible to the hundreds of motorized visitors of Valia Kalda, the Flega Lakes looked like twin fairies, jealously hiding their charms and beauties and revealing them only to the bold and initiated.

In the years that followed, the road brought us many times to the wider area of the lakes. But not once did we decide to move for a rendezvous with them. Fortified in our motorized bliss, always in a hurry and bust, we were content to gaze from afar at the hidden lair of the lakes, guessing at their charming presence and then walking away, postponing for the next time…

A DECISIVE ENTICEMENT

– The Flega Lakes are the mountaineering highlight for the nature-loving visitor to Valia Kalda, says Babis Nianios one morning. You , who have certainly been there, I believe you agree.

– We’ll let you down, I reply. We only know the lakes from photographs and stories.

Out of politeness, our good friend does not comment on my reply. Instead we hear him say enthusiastically:

– But then it is a good opportunity to get to know them with me.

The beginning of August. Already for several days we have been systematically exploring the entire southwestern mountain range of Grevena. As our base we have the hospitable guesthouse “Mikrolivado”, in the homonymous settlement and as our guide the hiker and nature lover Babis Nianios. Together with him we discover unknown corners in ravines, gorges and rivers, highlands and windswept peaks. Every day we add more and more to our knowledge of the wondrous natural environment of Grevena. But the Flega Lakes still remain enigmatic and occult. Perhaps Babis’s invitation comes at the best time…

ON THE ROAD TO THE LAKES

The departure time from the guesthouse is set for 7am, before the sun rises and the heat of the day breaks out. However, in practice this proves impractical. How to leave the good company and the starry sky and go to bed before midnight? And then, how to force yourself to sleep in seconds? Besides, the anticipation of impending action and the pull of the unknown have for a long time taken over our thoughts with a sweet agitation, similar to what we used to feel at school on the eve of long excursions. So the next morning our readiness for departure is not activated before half-past eight.

– We will, of course, follow the classic route, says Babis with certainty. To Valia Kalda by car, ascend from Arkoudorema to the lakes and then descend by the same route.

– On the map, however, I notice two more possible approaches, I tell Babis, one from Salatura of Milia and the other from the highlands of the Aoos Springs Lake. Wouldn’t it be better to start from Salatura of Milia and then descend to Arkoudorema? I believe that with this circular route we would be constantly faced with new landscapes and would gain a more complete picture of the wider route.

– As you wish, our friend kindly says. I’m just telling you, I’ve never attempted the route from Salatura of Milia.

– A chance to get to know it then, I reply with a laugh. After all, it’s very characteristic marking on the map.

Unfortunately I was unaware at the time – or rather I did not foresee – that sometimes in Greece the correspondence between reality and the map is not absolute…

Pericles and Yannis from Thessaloniki, nature lovers from years and regular guests of the guesthouse, join our happy company. We depart with two cars from Mikrolivado, leave Krania on our left, cross the beautiful settlement of Milia and, 20 km after the guesthouse, we go up the dirt road on the right. After a nice and wooded area of 7 km we reach the neck of Salatura of Milia. Here, at an altitude of about 1,650 metres, between the robos and pastures, we find ourselves in front of a three-way road, where the signs are completely absent. We consult the detailed map of “Anavasi” (Pindos – Valia Kalda, 1:50,000) and find that a branch of the road to the E (right) descends again towards Milia, while another, initially to the W and later to the NW, ends up in the interior of Valia Kalda. At a characteristic bend in this road, about 500 metres further on, it appears that the path to our destination begins.

There is not the slightest sign at the starting point, but the tracks on the limestone ground and the clear indication of the route on the map give us the certainty that our path is following the correct orientation. We leave a gentle gully on our right and, 100 metres further on, we come across a well with little water under a small rhombus. After a few minutes, the rudimentary traces of the trail reappear and we are quite puzzled whether we should follow a course in a general direction to the W – which is, after all, our final destination – or deviate first to the SW by climbing vertically up Mavrovouni and then correct our course by walking along the visible ridge. The first view prevails on the grounds that we would gain considerable distance.

We are already at an altitude of 1,650 metres and we know that the difference in altitude between us and our destination does not exceed 300 metres, which is theoretically minimal on a mountaineering route. This is correct, provided, however, that the route is clearly marked. Unfortunately, we are very quickly forced to improvise and follow a route according to our own judgement and the conditions of the terrain. As a consequence, we have to climb up and down continuous slopes, some of which are steep and difficult. Now and then the traces of a goat track appear and then we recover. But the optimism proves to be temporary, very quickly the tracks degenerate under tall grasses or on side paths that lead nowhere.

After 45 persistent minutes we reach the top of a neck at an altitude of 1800 meters. A pleasant cool breeze tempers the heat of the day and dries our sweat. We sit on the trunks of large rhomboids and let our eyes wander over the horizon. Far to the north we can see the smooth outcrops of the peaks of Vasilitsa, while much closer to us rise the bare cone of Avgo, Pyrostia and the solid forested surfaces of Valia Kalda, with their successive folds. A little further to the west, in the distance, the imposing bulk of Smolika stands out in the mist. All around us, hundreds of impressive rosebushes with centuries of life, true monuments of nature, rise above the ground.

For many of them, their long march through time has been violently interrupted – thunderstruck by the starbursts of the mountain’s terrible storms, they lie subdued on the ground or still stubbornly standing in the sky, half-blackened, green, without a trace of life, unmistakable witnesses to the solitude of nature.

Refreshed after the short stop, we continue our way along the northern slopes of Mavrovouni, sometimes finding and sometimes losing the rudimentary path, on terrain quite loose and slippery. Unfortunately, due to the adverse soil conditions, we are forced to descend considerably, which means that we then have to gain this lost altitude. There follows a formidable uphill that leads us to a second neck, which has exactly the same altitude as the first. We take a few much-needed breaths and immediately cross a smooth plateau, strewn throughout with countless remnants of lightning-charred robots. Some of these once proud trees are of enormous dimensions, the diameter of their trunks exceeding 3 metres. And it is really very sad to our eyes to see these trees, which have grown vigorously over the centuries and at some unsuspected moment have been violently destroyed by the same nature that was once so loving towards them.

About two hours after our departure we meet a young shepherd, whose flock, at this hot hour of the day, is trying to find a little coolness in the “stable,” on the shady surface under the branches of a giant robin. Despite his not at all despicable physical dimensions, the young shepherd – ordinary as he is – travels long distances daily on the mountain with his flock; our unexpected presence in this wilderness is for him a pleasant respite from his endless hours of solitude. He gives us some valuable information for the continuation of our march and wishes us a good journey, always resting the weight of his body on his glue, in that characteristic way that shepherds are accustomed to.

With renewed optimism, we continue on our way, already in the west the peak of Flega dominates, at an altitude of 2157 meters. For some time we traverse the E and NE slopes of the peak, among robos and abundant boxwoods, on the most rugged trail we have yet encountered. At this midday hour, despite the high altitude, the heat is intense. For a few minutes we seek cool shelter in the shade of a huge rhombus, admiring the magnificent ruggedness of the landscape all around us and, below, the hidden folds of Valia Kalda below. Immediately afterwards, quite unexpectedly, we find ourselves in front of a small plateau, at an altitude of about 1900 metres. The land is soft and moist, the grass tall and evergreen. In a moment we find the reason for this sudden change of terrain. A small spring of ethereal, crystalline water gushes up from the rocks and forms a stream, which disappears among the grass. At this altitude its flow is impossible, but with a little patience we fill the canteens and with ineffable happiness we quench our thirst. Babis, who leads the way, waves to us from the top of his neck with enthusiasm. We climb vertically up the steep ascent and in less than 10 minutes we feel the same enthusiasm. A few dozen metres below our feet, unseen literally until the last moment, two successive cavities of dark green still ground emerge. The fatigue and discomfort of the nearly three-hour march disappear in seconds. The whole group gathers at the edge of the neck and admires from above the two ponds and peaceful landscape that nature has created all around them on these steep slopes below the top of Mount Flega, at an altitude of about 2000 meters.

NEW SUFFERINGS AFTER THE CALM

We descend the steep slope from the neck and within minutes we are at the highest of the two lakes; although it is mid-August, a stream still flows down the slope and supplies the ponds with crystal clear water. At one point it forms a tap with a weak flow. We bend down and drink this uncontaminated product of nature, a few hundred meters below the top of the Flega.

– It’s not common to see so much water in lakes at this time of year, comments Babis. The prolonged rains and heavy snowfalls of the last two years have filled the aquifers and water still flows from the springs, even at these altitudes.

As we get closer, the ponds reveal all their details. With an altitude difference of about 15 metres between them, they have been created on two successive flat areas, nestled in a hollow plateau, the only one on the steep northern slopes of the Flega peak. The southern and western hollow slopes of the plateau are stony and bare of vegetation, in contrast to the eastern and northern slopes, which are wooded with rhododendrons, some of which are over-mature. The highest pond, irregularly oval in shape, is about 80-90 m long and has a maximum width of no more than 40 m. A small groove starting from the northern edge of the highest pond acts as an overflow channel and channels the excess water into the lower pond, which in the same way discharges it into a small gully formed further down. The water level is thus kept constant and the total area of the lakes remains constant. The depth is small, not more than half a metre, and, because the bottom is flat with no visible depressions in the ground, the depth is almost identical over almost the entire area of the two lakes. Because of this minimal depth and the continuous flow, the water is transparent and allows a detailed observation of the bottom, which is covered with a thick layer of mud.

This composition of the seabed is quickly demonstrated in practice. One of the party takes off his shoes and attempts two or three steps. Immediately the transparency disappears, the molecules of fine mud are hurled to the surface, creating a brownish-yellow cloud, similar to the dust that swirls around after the explosion. In two or three minutes the silt settles, the bottom regains its calm and the water becomes transparent again. But the best surprise that lakes have in store for us are their aquatic inhabitants, the newts. Just a few centimetres long and with a hydrodynamic body shape reminiscent of a torpedo, they move slowly, in tandem with the bottom or gracefully propel themselves through the water and rise to the surface, using both pairs of legs like sea turtles and assisting their movements with slight twitches of their long tails. Some of them are so close to the shore that we can watch their behaviour in the clear water in great detail. Their sailing is calm, with no jerky tail movements or fluctuations in speed that indicate panic. In this lonely and remote kingdom on the Flega Lakes, no enemy seems to be encroaching on their lives.

The lower lake has exactly the same characteristics as the first, but its dimensions vary slightly, being longer and slightly narrower. The weather is still splendid and , despite some clouds that have begun to develop, the ambient temperature is very pleasant. We choose a spot with a nice view and let the time pass in peace. Now and then light breezes of wind come down the slope and imperceptibly wrinkle the surfaces of the two lakes. No noise disturbs the overall serenity, even our conversations are few and far between. Time seems to have stopped all around us, but we are nonetheless awaiting our return to Arkoudorema (“Bear Creek”). Relaxed as we are in the afternoon sun, we gaze in horror at the steep slope we must climb above the lakes to retrace the path, which heads west for a while and then immediately descends north, perpendicular to the flow of the Bear Creek. I wonder if there might be a way to avoid this calvary and with a little effort meet the trail below the lakes; it would be an ideal development, relieving us of the effort of the climb and greatly shortening our return.

With these optimistic thoughts we set out under the lower lake in search. Very quickly it turns out, that the innocent – seemingly – terrain is in fact a treacherous and dangerous wilderness, since the countless potholes and rocks are literally unseen under the grass. Every step we take is a trap, many times we stumble and fall.

Once the torture of the ground ends, we enter a mixed forest of robos and beech trees. Various small clearings between the trees constantly feed our hopes of finding a way out. A futile effort. All our efforts end in the face of terrible landslides, dangerous cliffs or jungle impenetrable by the dense bushes and trees. The slopes of the terrain are terrible, it is a hostile place, not at all like the peaceful landscape around the lakes. Yet we persevere. Divided into groups, we stubbornly search for the magical access to the Arkoudorema trail. Relieved from the heat, thirst and fatigue, we find temporary shelter with Anna in the shade of a large rock. There, among the stones and grasses, we uncover a huge bush with ripe strawberries, the raspberries we know, those wonderful red raspberries with such a special aroma and taste. We gather as many as we can and eat them with bulimia, happy for this unexpected gift, the unique favour of this wild nature towards us.

One by one the groups return, all are disappointed and overwhelmed, all are disappointed and overwhelmed, all contemplate in awe what awaits us first to the lakes and then immediately to the trail above them. Breathlessness, heat and sweat, afternoon sun across from us, rocks and unseen puddles. We reach the lakes and all fall down, all down, to the cool spring. Then we gaze at the new reality, the terrible, inhospitable slope, which takes our breath away at every step. High up on the neck, a human figure beckons us encouragingly. It’s George, a shepherd from Perivoli.

– What do you want these miserable things for?, he asks, wondering. There’s the path below us.

It’s not exactly a path, nor is there any signposting. It’s more of a free descent of the rough slope, a new strain on the legs. But the view of the peaceful valley, with its pastures and George’s barn, is enough to restore our optimism and stamina.

At exactly 6 pm we take our first steps on the Arkoudorema trail. We are greeted by an unexpected coolness, the sun is almost hidden under the beech, pine and rhododendron trees.

The trail is initially rough and rocky, in two or three places the signage is not very obvious. But quickly everything is simplified, the ground becomes smooth. It is of course a constant descent, the knees start to hurt. However, no one seems to consider such details, the nature of the forest is wonderful all around us. This idyllic picture, however, gradually changes. Scattered at first but much more often further down, giant black walruses constantly emerge with the lower part of their trunks blackened. It is not long before we find ourselves in a part of the forest where almost no tree is left green. It is a nightmarish image, bringing to mind the great fire that broke out a few years ago in Valia Kalda and burned down thousands of these monuments of nature, the legendary black walnut trees.

We are moving away like fugitives.

Just below the destructive work of the subhuman arsonists, we meet the work of some other people who love and protect nature. It is a humble faucet, carved into wood, which from the depths of the mountain gives way to a little water, clear and crystal clear. The water is so cold that, before I drink it, I hold it in my hands as long as I can, in case I might warm it.

But another sound of water, louder and muffled, distracts us after a while. It’s the famous Arkoudorema, which even in August, still runs vibrantly through one of the most beautiful parts of Valia Kalda. Here is the end of our almost all-day trip. We cross over the wooden bridge and go to meet Babis’s son, Vassilis, who is waiting for us in the car.

THE CROSSING OF ARKOUDOREMA

We return to Thessaloniki tired but deeply satisfied for this first introduction to the Lakes.

– But you have suffered unfairly, says our friend Kyriakos Papageorgiou from Volos on the phone. If you had started from the highlands of the Aoos Springs Lake you would have been less tired and in addition you would have had a top view of the lake. Another route also worth taking is the crossing of the Arkoudorema, from the centre of Valia Kalda to Vovousa. One summer, several years ago, it left me with the best memories.

I trace on the map what Kyriakos mentions and an ambitious plan faintly crosses my mind. In early October I ask him:

– And why don’t we attempt a unified route, starting at Aoosa Springs Lake and ending at Vovousa?

– It’s a long route, my friend replies, especially at this time of year when the daylight hours are noticeably shorter. If it were summer, I would happily agree.

– But I have already spoken to my young son, Theologos, who is excited at the prospect of the adventure.

In the face of my insistence, Cyriacus bends. So on October 10, exactly two months later, we are back in Mikrolivado and enjoy the touching hospitality and the exquisite cuisine of our good friends, Babis, Vassilis and Maris. But the romantic summer nights, with the fireflies and the pleasant coolness, are past.

It was preceded by three days of rain and the first snow in the mountains. The cold is penetrating, but the night sky sends us optimistic messages for the next day, with the magnificent full moon, which traces a super-bright path between the tops of the black forest trees.

AT THE SUMMIT OF FLEGA

10 minutes before 6:00, Babis knocks lightly on the door of our room. In a matter of minutes we are ready, my 13 year-old son demonstrates admirable discipline. Fireplace lit, hot coffee, light breakfast and off we go. Outside freezing cold, the earth is covered in frost. The sky is crystal clear and the night is bright, the moon hasn’t set yet.

We take the – now well-paved – road to Krania and immediately afterwards we ascend the new but winding, very narrow and quite dangerous road to Metsovo.

Already the first light is faintly appearing on the ridges of the mountains, the imposing silhouettes of the black horses are becoming increasingly clear. The day is dawning, in the open pastures above Milia the darkness is receding. It is a sublime hour, a few minutes’ interval between light and darkness, with colours vivid in the east and dark in the west. It is not long before the climactic moment arrives, when the two heavenly bodies, the representatives of day and night, face each other in the two opposite points of the sky. We fix our gaze to the west, to the moon, watching its last moments before it fades and disappears. Immediately afterwards the sun emerges triumphantly, undisputed ruler of the day.

At a distance of 25.8 km. exactly from the guesthouse “Mikrolivado” we leave the asphalt road and turn right – without any indicative sign – towards the wide plateau of the lake. A wyvern crosses the road in a hurry and rushes off to disappear into the plain. The little theologian cries out in excitement; it is the first time he has ever seen a fox in its natural habitat.

Immediately afterwards a cute squirrel pops out. It covers the flat ground with a few hops and, at the first pine trunk it encounters, climbs with incredible ease and disappears high up on top. The first parts of the lake’s water surface, created after the construction of the Aoos dam on its western bank, make their appearance. Its calm waters shimmer beautifully in the morning light and , with the interspersed bits of land, resemble a panorama of Norwegian fjords.

31.4 km just past the guesthouse we finally leave the nice gravel, gravel-paved, lake ring road and head right uphill towards the mountains. We keep gaining altitude, we enter the zone of huge, over-aged robins. After each bend the lake reveals more and more of its surface to us, aspects that were unseen when we were on the same level as it. All around it, hillsides and peaks blush in the first morning light, giving us images of rare beauty. The clarity of the atmosphere, which after the rains of the previous days, is also a decisive factor in this. The road surface, however, ceases to be inviting and becomes too rough for conventional cars.

5 km after the turn off the gravel road from the lake and 36.5 km just after the guesthouse, we stop. We are in front of the mountain shelter, at an altitude of about 1,850 meters. The moment of action, so eagerly awaited, has arrived. It’s 8:35 sharp. However, the first contact with the mountain environment, at this time of day and at this altitude, is repulsive. An icy north wind hits us in the face and brings tears to our eyes. The temperature should be around 3-4 degrees below zero. Besides, the water in every cavity of the ground is frozen. I think of the warm gloves and woolen cap I have left in Thessaloniki and I berate myself for my unpreparedness. Next to me, Theologos is shivering from the cold, but endures it in silence. I try to comfort him, telling him that after a few minutes of walking we will be warm.

About 500 meters above the shelter stretches “Toka Mutsara”, an alpine meadow of stunning beauty, with flat grassy surfaces and gentle hillsides. Here, on July 20, 2002, on the feast of Prophet Ilias, the 62nd Peloponnesian Mountaineering Gathering took place, with overnight stays in tents and the participation of hundreds of mountaineers from all over Greece.

– It was a celebration of mountain friends, Kyriakos tells us, who of course had not failed to participate.

We, however, continue our march, initially heading north, which after a while turns to the NW. The first few minutes, at least for me, are torturous. Overweight by a few kilos and barely trained lately, I feel the north wind cutting off my breath, my nose and eyes constantly running. The sun is of course getting higher, but its rays have yet to have any warming effect. The only pleasant thing is the exquisite nature and the atmosphere that still remains clear. We cross alpine meadows with sparse rhomboids, frozen waters and remnants of snow. Our route is free since there is no marked trail, but the good signposting, which the 62nd Gathering took care to carry out last year, is always present.

We reach the peak of Kapetan Klidis, at an altitude of 2,036m. Already the peak of Flega, our first destination, dominates in front of us to the NW at a minimal distance. The temperature has risen considerably, sweating has begun from the constant march, the jackets are folded and take their place in the bag. A constant companion to the southern lowlands, a true visual delight, is the stunning view of the lake. Kyriakos was not wrong when he insisted that this was the most spectacular route in Mavrovouni.

– You haven’t seen anything yet, Kyriakos tells me. The spectacle you will see from the top of Flega, you won’t believe it.

At 10:15am exactly, with several stops for photography, we climb the last few meters to the top of Mavrovouni. We are greeted by a chilly north wind, forcing us to take our jackets out of our bags again. But what our eyes see is inconceivable, beyond any possibility of description.

With a permanent ally in the rare clarity of the atmosphere, we let our eyes wander to the very limits of vision, to the furthest points of the horizon and meet the highest and most famous peaks of the Greek mountains.

– In all the years I have been climbing the mountains, this is probably the second or third time that the atmosphere has shown me such favour, Kyriakos says enthusiastically. The only peaks missing from this 360-degree extravaganza are the peaks of Crete, the Peloponnese, some in Sterea and Rodopi.

Perhaps it would be tedious for you, my dear friends, to list in detail and with their exact orientation or the image they give us, all the – generally sharp-angled – peaks that surround us. I should not, however, omit Olympus, Kissavos, the snowy Kaimaktsallan, Gramos and Smolikas, Gamila, Tomaros, the successive Agrafiotika peaks, Kakarditsa, Tzoumerka and Lakkos, as well as all the intermediate and nearer ones, Vermio, Pieria, Vourino, Siniatsiko, Basilitsa, Avgo, Mistikeli and so many others, more or less famous.

The Lake of Aoos Springs in the south is no less spectacular. All of its folds can be seen with maximum clarity. Much closer to us to the north, the tiny Flega Lakes emerge, with their graceful contours.

Braving the strong wind, Theologos rushes to climb the bollard installed by the Geographical Service of the Army on the top of Mavrovouni. I don’t know what he is feeling at that moment as he gazes out into infinity, but I doubt he misses his toys and friends. At least so far he hasn’t expressed any such nostalgia.

– I would very happily stay here the entire rest of the day, I hear Kyriakos say. But time is running out, we must hurry, we still have a long way to go.

With no trail signage we descend from the summit heading NW towards the distinctive “Bear’s Nape”. After about 10 minutes – always unmarked – we change direction to the N and descend a steep and rough slope, leaving the Flega Lakes, now unseen, to the E.

And of course, if one is already at the top and heading towards the lakes, one has no problem spotting them, as one never loses sight of them. But the same is not the case with the one going up from Arkoudorema. For, quite simply, at the exit from the forest, that is, where the marked and signposted path ends, there is not the slightest indication of the direction to follow to the lakes. But even for him, who wants to continue from the top of Flega to Arkoudorema, there are no signs in time and in obvious places, showing him the course he should follow. It is unacceptable that the imaginary course should be marked on maps and that there should be no correspondence on the ground. This is an essential omission which should give the competent authorities (Forestry, Municipalities, Mountaineering Associations) serious cause for concern if they are seriously interested in the development of mountain tourism in the region and want to prove in practice that they respect their visitors. Besides, the cost of signposting is minimal, only basic sensitivity is required.

In less than half an hour we reach from the top the characteristic meadows, which in successive levels extend before the forest. Two months ago, this was the site of George’s makeshift livestock facilities. Today, after the animals have descended to the lowlands, all that remains are some traces of them. But the recent rains have created some beautiful ponds, whose crystal clear waters reflect the surrounding trees and the blue sky. Who knows, maybe next month everything will be all white, covered in snow. The landscape is idyllic, springs gushing from everywhere, forming streams of crystal clear water. All these streams are gathered in micro-streams, which continue their unimpeded flow to the Arkoudorema, which in turn flows into the great Aoos.

Alpine newts (“tritons”) move gracefully across the ponds. Theologos watches them with great interest, and, though he has no previous corresponding familiarity, asks me if he can catch one. My answer is in the affirmative. He wastes no time. He dips his hands into the pond, catches two newts and plays them in the palm of his hand for a while until he releases them back into their cold environment.

Custodian of precious time, Kyriakos again gives the signal for departure. As of two months ago, so now we enter the marked, at last, path of the Bear Creek. There have been two changes since then. The innumerable streams interspersed between our feet and the brilliant autumn colors that have decorated the beech trees. It is so nice to see the same place in the course of the seasons of the year!

At the wooden tap we allow ourselves the luxury of a pause. We share Maro’s prasopita and refuel with the icy, delicious water.

At 10 minutes to 2:10 sharp, we are above Arkoudorema, at the wooden sign directing us west to Vovousa, our final destination.

– It feels like we’ve arrived, I tell Theologos. From here on, an easygoing walk by the stream awaits us.

– Of course, it’s not quite like that, Kyriakos mutters beside me. There are some difficult spots.

– I don’t have any problem, my son adds, and I’m sure he means it.

The march begins with the best of omens on the E6 international mountaineering trail, which follows the flow of the stream with gentle slopes, under the shadow of the towering black pear trees of Valia Kalda. In the distance voices can be heard, the first human presence after so many hours. A huge group of men and women, more than 30 people, crosses us.

– But where were they all?, I ask Kyriakos.

– You’ll see in a moment, he replies.

Before five minutes have passed, the trail comes to a dead end, or rather continues to the stream bed and stops.

– This is as far as they’ve come, my friend tells me.

He points his finger at the opposite bank and shows me the familiar diamond-shaped mark on a rock.

– You mean, we have to get there?

– Unfortunately, we have no choice if we want to continue. When I was here it was summer, Arkoudorema had very little water, you could walk across it.

I immediately think of Arkoudorema as I had seen it two months before. A peaceful, idyllic stream, begging you to splash in its calm waters. It was nothing like the roaring, angry October stream we had before us.

Equipped with a synthetic climbing stick of excellent quality, Kyriakos leapt lightly over the stones and crossed over. We pass him our valuable photographic equipment and backpacks and, using the stick he throws us, we also manage to cross safely. Light and fit, Theologos passes with admirable ease.

– I hope we don’t have another encounter like this with the Bear Creek, I say, relieved.

– Perhaps there are one or two more spots, my friend replies.

For a while we continue on the trail and suddenly, the yellow and black diamond-shaped markers turn red. I make to continue in that direction but Kyriakos points to our familiar sign, on the opposite bank of the stream.

– I’m going to disappoint you, he says. These red signs stop a little further downstream, at the so-called “Waterfalls”. Unfortunately, ours to Vovusa are across.

So another crossing of the stream, this time relatively easier. But time is running out, we must hurry. For more than an hour we continue on the left (south) bank of Arkoudorema, a smooth and pleasant route, under lovely blackgrass and with plenty of mushrooms. Bless our good fortune and enjoy the magic of the forest, I have almost forgotten about Arkoudorema. Suddenly, completely unannounced, the trail ends in front of an impassable cliff. This time I don’t need to ask Kyriakos, I can easily locate the spot on the opposite bank of the stream. But here things are tricky, the bed is narrow and downhill, the flow is rushing, the access stones barely stick out above the water and their curved surface does not inspire any confidence. Even Kyriakos sits on the bank, puzzled, trying anxiously to locate the least dangerous access point. He makes to dip his stick into the bed but the momentum of the water carries it away. Finally he stabilizes it almost diagonally, makes the first jump on the rounded surface of a rock, swings dangerously for half a second but finally regains his balance, continues on to safer rocks and crosses over. We are left with Theologos to observe his daring course and assess our own chances. They are zero. The slightest wrong move could cost us a fall into the water with unforeseen consequences. I suddenly feel like I’m at a dead end, the responsibility for my 13-year-old son is great. And then, I noticed for the first time a massive rock just below Kyriakos’ passage. It juts out about a foot from the water and is round, dry and perfectly solid. If we could in one leap hook ourselves off it, the rest of the way would be easy.

I reach the edge of the bank and measure the distance between me and the rock. Then I turn to Theologos:

– Do you think you can, without momentum, make a leap to the rock and cling to it?

The boy examines the distance and nods his head in the affirmative.

On the opposite side Kyriakos tries to dissuade us, but our decisions have been made. He again relieves us of our burdens and stands behind the rock just in case. I jump first and hold on tightly to the stick he is leaning on. Theologos hooks himself with a cat’s leap onto the rock without the slightest help. In the safety of the opposite bank we take a few breaths of relief.

– This was our last contact with the water, my friend says. From now on, only a land route awaits us.

But this route was to be, on the whole, rough, difficult and, in places, dangerous. Apart from some smooth terrain, we were constantly climbing up and down steep slopes, which were breathtaking on the uphill section and hard on the downhill section. At one point we traverse a dangerous area, where the trail has been completely obliterated by large landslides.

At another point, by a misleading and absurd sign – it is inexplicable who put it up and for what reason – we lose the trail for some time and find it again after an arduous effort.

But there are also pleasant surprises. Just when my water supply has reached its limit, I unexpectedly come across a huge dark-coloured rock alongside the trail, gushing crystal water from every crevice. I place my canteen underneath and wait patiently until it fills up, not caring that the others are out of sight.

Already, however, we are descending, we are in front of another bed, very different from Arkoudorema. It is the broad bed of the Aoos, which calmly and stately crosses the meadows. The fatigue is now great from the constant ups and downs, the smooth ground is accepted with great relief.

Shortly after six-thirty the light has fallen considerably and we are still some distance from Vovousa. We are in danger of being overtaken by night in the forest. Suddenly a column of smoke rises into the sky from the opposite bank of Aoos. It’s from the chimneys of the big guesthouse “Katafygio” (“Shelter”). Immediately afterwards a bridge appears, fixed with wire ropes, connecting the two banks of the river.

We have the possibility to be across and welcome the night on the road from Vovousa to Ioannina. We do not lose a minute. We cross the boardwalk deck of the bridge, reach the wide, safe road and immediately regret it. The road surface is recently sprayed with tar, which, along with the gravel, sticks hopelessly to our boots.

The lights are on in Vovousa. At 7:20 we enter the first houses in the village, 10 hours and 45 minutes to the day since our morning departure. We spread our fatigue for some time in Angelos’ nice tavern. Our old friend remembers us immediately and buys us a tsipouraki. Late in the evening we took the long forest road back to Mikrolivado. The moon, still full, sends us hidden glimpses through the black foliage…