Getting to the trailhead
No signs. Loose schedules. Minimal English. Eastern European bus stations are controlled chaos, and Podgorica’s was no exception. After approaching drivers one by one, we finally boarded a mini-bus bound for Plav. For four hours we wound through mountainous terrain, watching lush valleys and crystal lakes roll past, wondering what challenges and surprises the trail itself had in store.
In Plav, we walked to a generous Montenegrin cafe who served us burgers despite our non-existent Serbian. Our accommodation for the night was parked RVs at Lake Plav, the cheapest option we could find. The owner was a lovely older man who spoke no English but showed us around with warm hospitality.
That evening, over €1.20 cappuccinos at a local shisha bar, we caught up with friends whose bus from Shkoder had been delayed. Later, we carb-loaded on pasta and pizza before the trails ahead. The night was cold; we’d left several windows open in the van and the blankets were thin. The 9-degree temperature had no trouble penetrating our sheets but the anticipation kept us warm. Tomorrow, we’d begin our trek through the Peaks of the Balkans trail over six days, carrying everything we needed in 20kg packs.
Day 1: Plav to Vusanje
The morning began a little slower than anticipated. The restaurant we’d picked for breakfast was open at 7 am but wouldn’t take food orders until 8 am – only coffee. Several false opening hours on Google Maps sent us walking in circles before we returned to wait. We nursed coffee as the cold morning gradually disappeared. The kitchen delays meant our group of seven didn’t finish breakfast until 9 am, but the staff were incredibly hospitable, as was a nearby resident who explained he’d lived in New York for over two decades before being deported.
After quick sunscreen applications and final backpack adjustments, we headed for Plav’s central roundabout. The night before, I’d downloaded GPS tracks from Wikiloc to my Garmin. These tracks were other hikers’ routes that would serve as breadcrumb trails. Despite extensive research, Brian and I still had uncertainty about the exact distances and routes each day.
We started along bitumen roads toward the lake’s outskirts, soon reaching a crossroads; left showed a “Peaks of the Balkans” sign, but my GPS said continue straight. We trusted technology. Eventually, the road curved left and we began our first ascent. We wound through mountains on dirt roads, passing the National Park Rangers booth. Surprisingly, no one was there. Three euros saved, or so we thought.
I made two directional mistakes that morning, forcing us to backtrack. The Garmin proved its worth, as without it, we’d have been truly lost. After walking through forests for hours, we emerged into stunning open meadows filled with hundreds of pink and purple plants. Their flowers blew in the wind, filling the air and path ahead with a flowery mist.
Then came a wildlife encounter. Ahead on the trail, two wild brumbies rolled around and played like dogs – an incredible sight. But the male noticed our presence and went into defensive mode. He strode deliberately along the path toward us, chest puffed high, stomping his hoof to make his presence known. We slowly backed away. Suddenly he turned and charged directly at Stubbcy, who had to sprint back toward the rest of us. We held our breath as the horse eventually returned to his partner and continued on his journey as if nothing had happened.
Using this adrenaline rush as fuel, we pushed toward the summit for lunch. The peak loomed above us, seemingly hundreds of meters higher. Then came the steepest ascent of the day – gradual at first, then punishing under our 20kg packs. The terrain increased dramatically – almost requiring scrambling under the weight of our packs. With frequent rest stops, we climbed at a pedestrian pace until finally reaching the top. The view made every burning muscle worthwhile; scenic views of Plav, its glistening lake, and the surrounding mountains stretching to the horizon.
After lunch on the summit, a German couple showed us where to find wild blueberries. Though small, they were delicious, and we discovered them at many spots along the trail. We found another summit further along with perhaps an even better view, and then began a long, arduous descent toward Vusanje.
In the distance, we spotted shepherds with their sheep making their way through the valley, bells echoing off the mountainsides. As we descended, we stumbled right into their path – suddenly finding ourselves surrounded by hundreds of sheep negotiating the rocky terrain around us, their bells creating a symphony of sound.
We continued winding down switchbacks in the exposed sun. Eventually, we approached a man sitting in the back of his sedan- a park ranger. We each coughed up the €3 National Park entry fee that we thought we’d escaped earlier.
The ranger told us we were five minutes from town. My watch disagreed. The optimism faded as we continued on and on past the five-minute mark. We eventually reached Vusanje township, but our accommodation was another 2km away. With Stubbcy’s Komoot navigation, we found a shortcut and soon reached our alpine-style chalets.
Our hosts greeted us graciously – an Albanian man visiting from New York stood alongside his nephew who managed the property. The nephew offered to have his mother prepare a traditional dinner, and we accepted without hesitation. As we settled in, the older gentleman shared an eye-opening history lesson. He explained that they regard themselves as Albanian despite falling on the Montenegrin side of the border. Historically they’d been part of Albania, but unjust border changes had altered their geography while their identity remained unchanged.
After showers and rest, dinner arrived; chicken soup with bread and salad, followed by chicken legs and flavoured rice. This amazing feast had a few of us reflecting on our West Highland Way trek in Scotland. This time we had real beds and incredible local food instead of camping. This reflection evoked a strong sense of gratitude, a feeling that helped nurse us into a light sleep despite the weary legs.
Daily total: 24.28km in 8 hours and 37 minutes
Day 2: Vusanje to Theth
We rose gingerly after a restless sleep, anticipating a shorter, easier day. In retrospect, we couldn’t have been more wrong.
After breakfast, we departed, initially thinking backtracking was necessary. But Stubbcy’s Komoot showed a shortcut skirting a farm’s outskirts before ascending into the forest. After climbing for a while, we reached what appeared to be a dead end until we spotted an old tree trunk bridge. It looked sturdy enough, but our 20kg packs added concern, and we couldn’t see the valley bottom below. I feel like your decision making skills warm up as the day progresses so it took us at least 15 minutes to decide whether the risk was worth the reward. One by one we crossed after Brian, sliding one foot carefully in front of the other. The bridge flexed slightly but stood the test of time.
We reached our official starting point – marked by a shaded waterfall with fresh, cold air flying up toward us. We began walking along the gentle valley footpath. Within several kilometres we detoured to view the Blue Eye; a clear, light blue body of water so transparent you could see the bottom almost 70 meters down. Though some hesitated, FOMO eventually won everyone over. One by one we all leapt off the rocks into icy water that felt like it was at least 4 degrees. Uncomfortable but worthwhile for the refreshment.
As we dried off, a lovely local woman approached, offering us tiny green apples punching with sour flavour and nuts that proved hard to crack. The hit of dopamine from the cold dip, combined with the generosity of this stranger, had us feeling optimistic and hopeful for the day ahead.
We continued winding through the stunning valley for several kilometres before I made a navigational mistake that proved detrimental. Instead of continuing toward the Montenegro-Albania border, we turned left and climbed up a dirt road for at least 3-4km, following “Peaks of the Balkans” spray paint that gradually petered out.
Once we stopped for lunch, G’s offline Strava map revealed our mistake. After a long discussion, Brian, Gummy, and I decided to continue forward while the others backtracked. Perhaps it was sunk cost fallacy, but we felt there must be another route through the mountains ahead. With the risk of dated landmines in the back of our minds, we pushed forward until the path was simply heading too far in a NE direction, rather than our desired SW. No words needed to be shared. Although it was the rational decision, this didn’t help disapate the sick gut feeling. Feeling dejected, we retraced our steps. Our distance already read 15km with over 15km remaining once we returned to our earlier crossroads – sobering, given today was supposed to total around 21km.
We soldiered on, meandering through a stunning valley before beginning the sharpest ascent of the day. The climb was steep, winding along switchbacks through the forest. We reached the summit then began an equally demanding descent, passing old bunkers and turret stations. Unlike Mount Teide, where history revealed itself only through ancient rock formations and volcanic landscapes, this trail carried the weight of more recent memory, Albania’s communist era. We undertook another challenging ascent over loose rock before reaching a false summit and spotting the real summit in the distance. We felt incredibly demoralised, especially as Gummy, Brian, and I had run out of water. Darkness was falling upon the valley and we could no longer turn around to the prior town. Adding further assault to injury, we had no camping gear and no option but to press on forward.
From the final summit, we could spot Theth in the distance – far away and significantly below our altitude. As the sun faded, we put our head torches on and began descending the scree on our steepest descent yet. Our 20kg packs combined with exhausted steps meant we slipped frequently. It took all our remaining focus to maintain balance as we switchbacked down for what felt like hours. The idea of staring at the ground felt most appropriate as Theth wasn’t appearing any nearer in the distance.
Following dirt roads, we spotted our first civilisation, a small cafe. We changed our SIM region to Albania and discovered the others had reached this cafe and taken a taxi to our accommodation just 30 minutes prior. We stopped for fresh alpine water and Coca-Cola before deciding to continue the final 6km rather than opt for a taxi. Although we were still over an hour from our accommodation, the thought of stopping this close to the end was more painful.
Just after 10 pm, we arrived. The kitchen had graciously stayed open to provide us with dinner. For many people, a 13 hour day on the trail sounds like hell but we couldn’t have been more elated. We’d achieved a new record distance in one day, despite countless setbacks. It’s these days that we love the most about hiking.
Daily total: 34.08km in 13 hours and 31 minutes
Day 3: Rest day in Theth
After a slightly better sleep, I woke sore but feeling better than anticipated. To be honest, how could I have felt bad? This rest day couldn’t have been timed more impeccably. Our accommodation had an incredible view of Theth – one of the best views I’ve experienced in Europe. From any bed, we could overlook the valley and the sweeping mountains surrounding us.
We moved at our own pace – making calls home, journaling, stretching. Around midday, we walked into town for supplies and pizza. The balcony was perfect for our hand-washed hiking clothes. Though I couldn’t scrub all the marks out, they smelled much better.
That evening we learned Uno Teams before dinner, then fell asleep early, excited about tomorrow’s journey to Valbone. Although, the forecast showed 40mm of rain and thunderstorms.
Day 4: Theth to Valbone
With storms looming, we ate breakfast quickly and hit the trail early. Though we only stayed two nights, Theth made an incredible impact. The view from our accommodation was magnificent – I could have stayed for weeks.
Research indicated that the Theth to Valbone route is the busiest on the Peaks of the Balkans. We constantly encountered hikers, including a surprising number of Australians. It’s difficult to explain but the feeling of mateship simply lifts you. Through mossy forests we climbed, passing an injured woman being transported by horse, stopping at a mountain cafe as rain clouds gathered.
At the summit, marked by an Albanian flag flying in the wind, we scrambled to an even higher peak with panoramic views. Then the rain began. We’d picked the worst spot to be with a steep, exposed descent lying ahead of us. We moved fast, jogging down the narrow path. As mud formed and sheer cliffs surrounded us, we transported ourselves to the same mental space as yesterday evening. Focus on each step attentively, one by one.
Within thirty minutes we’d reached a small cafe and huddled under its shelter as the storm’s eye passed directly overhead. As we rested, heart rates lowered and so did body temperatures. The warmth of our Turkish coffees were the only thing fighting the frozen onset. But personal stories of our wild descent kept the group in high spirits. Two dogs decided to join us when we ventured back into the rain, tagging along before eventually joining other travellers.
We negotiated another rocky descent before the final straightforward stretch into Valbone. Although the gradient had petered out, my legs were feeling thrashed on the bitumen road. The sight of dry hikers passing by in taxis provided some much needed motivation to finish the day. Despite our drenched state, the staff graciously showed us our rooms immediately – helping us get warm far sooner.
Over dinner, we told our hosts Kreshnik and his wife our plan for tomorrow; Valbone to Doberdol in one day. Kreshnik stared in disbelief – most people split this into two days. After further research on Google we couldn’t find any information concerning this point-to-point journey. He half-joked that we should take a taxi. Despite his doubts, they kindly agreed to prepare lunch packs for our 6 am departure. We decided to take the low route which was a little less scenic to ensure we’d reach Doberdol before dark.
Daily total: 19.09km in 6 hours and 38 minutes
Day 5: Valbone to Doberdol
It felt like I blinked and the sun had risen. The 5 am alarm was punishing. Most clothes were still damp despite hanging all night. Everything went into a knapsack strapped to my pack’s front.
Kreshnik met us in the kitchen at 6 am, helping pack our lunch bags. Light rain fell as we set off, our rain jackets still wet from yesterday. We ate our first lunch pack as breakfast, walking past old war bunkers, spotting the eroded historic mule track scarring the mountainside above. Despite the adverse weather, we couldn’t help but see the silver lining; most of our group had finished their journey, yet we had the opportunity to push deeper into the Accursed Mountains.
After missing our first turn, we found a sign warning of brown bears. As we entered, the forest immediately grew thick and wild. Brian heard a sound first – faint noises in the brush. Then I heard unmistakable growling directly above us on the path. Brown bears are rare in these mountains, but this trail is one of the most common sighting areas. We made noise – clapping, banging trekking poles – and pushed forward. We never saw the bear, but remained vigilant for hours.
The terrain was steep and angled, difficult to traverse with wet ground and heavy packs. We passed a mountain hydro plant, before reaching the nearly deserted township of Čerem far earlier than expected. A young man tried to convince us to stay at his guesthouse and we could see why, the town looked abandoned.
We pushed on from Čerem, entering one of the most arduous ascents in our journey. The heat of the day had hit its peak and the earlier days had begun to catch up with us. You know it’s tough going when we don’t speak to each other for a while. Fittingly, a perfectly placed cafe awaited us above Čerem. That Coca-Cola might have been the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Along the afternoon’s dirt roads, we spotted fresh bear prints in mud, confirming our close encounter. Lower down, cows blocked the trail – most moved aside, but one stubborn beast walked ahead of us for ages until Gummy’s pole-banging spooked it into a run.
As we neared Doberdol, a young girl ran out to greet us, speaking better English than almost anyone we’d met on the trail. She offered us watermelon which was extremely refreshing in the afternoon heat. The final ascent and descent brought us into one of Albania’s most remote towns, complete with massive snow ploughs indicating fierce winters.
Our guesthouse sat just below 2,000 meters, noticeably cooler than our past stops. The aging hot water system meant we could only shower one at a time. We spent the evening with two German men – a mechanic and a federal police officer who’d driven from Germany to bike-pack through the Balkans. Over a home-cooked traditional dinner at a long communal table with travellers from across Europe, we shared stories. That night, cocooned in thick blankets, I reflected on how this trail connected not just places, but people. With the finish line in sight, it felt easier to smell the roses and take my mind off the trail itself.
Daily total: 28.58km in 8 hours and 30 minutes
Day 6: Doberdol to Plav
The temperature dropped to 2 degrees overnight. Our damp clothes went back into sacks once again.
Over breakfast with our German friends, we exchanged final stories. Our hosts packed extra food for the trail, and we headed out shortly after 7:30 am. Immediately, we hit the steepest starting climb of the entire trek. Fortunately, five days of hiking had built our resilience.
Thirty minutes later we reached the summit marking the convergence of Albania, Montenegro, and Kosovo – three peaks meeting at a single point. A friendly dog waited at the top for pets from passing hikers. We watched our trail companions from the guesthouse head deeper into Kosovo while we turned north toward Plav, following a ridge line that rose and fell over small peaks.
Crossing a paddock toward a distant dirt road, we noticed a man walking purposefully toward us. As he got closer, we spotted the gun holster. Border Patrol. In minimal English, he requested our permits. Fortunately, we’d arranged proper documentation through Zbulo before the hike. After checking our passports and permits, he sent us on our way with a smile and we watched him wander off to pick blueberries from the surrounding bushes.
The day was full of hikers, more than we’d expected. We stopped in forest shade for lunch, making sandwiches and raiding nearby blueberry bushes. Today’s route also led us past flavourful raspberries.
Following an exposed hillside descent, we reached a fast-flowing river and splashed cold water on our faces. Within 3km of Plav, the town and its lake came into view below. Despite sore joints, we practically jogged down. In no time, we were back at the same starting point, Plav’s central roundabout.
After kebabs and one final Coca-Cola, we checked into an apartment in the city centre. Our host welcomed us with traditional coffee and snacks, then heroically volunteered to wash all our hiking clothes. We treated ourselves to a traditional dinner, soaking in Plav’s evening ambience.
Daily total: 21.37km in 6 hours and 10 minutes
The People between the Peaks
Six days. Three countries. Countless mountains, valleys, and unforgettable moments. We’d completed our section of the Peaks of the Balkans trail.
The trail tested us with navigational errors, charging brumbies, close encounters with bears, thunderstorms, and relentless terrain that pushed our bodies to their limits. But it also gifted us with stunning flower meadows, crystal blue springs, wild horses rolling like puppies, and summit views that made every burning muscle worthwhile.
As I fell asleep that final night in Plav, warm and clean for the first time in a week, I realised the trail’s greatest gift wasn’t just the stunning landscapes or physical accomplishment – it was the people. The Balkan families who welcomed us like their own, sharing their meals and stories without hesitation. The fellow hikers we met along the way and in mountain guesthouses, bound together by the unique understanding that only comes from hiking through some of Europe’s most remote mountains. That feeling of connection – strangers becoming friends over shared exhaustion and wonder – reminded me that the best journeys aren’t measured in kilometres conquered, but in the moments of genuine human warmth.
