Despite the continued forecast of clearing skys, it’s worse when we wake up then it was yesterday. Fortunately, breakfast is as comforting as everything else in Zrinka House, and momma bear introduces us to each plate on the buffet individually… house made yogurt with plenty of toppings, homemade blueberry muffins (why the room smelled so good last night), and a dozen other treats made right here. We pull two piping hot mugs of coffee and Barbara makes us to-order eggs. Zrinka drops a plate of meats and cheeses next to a basket of house made bread and explains this is to make trail lunches for today and to take whatever else we wanted from the buffet. Wow, she really thinks of everything. When hiking in Montana, we happily paid $15 each for box lunches that weren’t half as good. We wrap everything in ziplock bags and put them with our other supplies in our (thankfully) dried out backpack.
Our poor pack won’t stay dry for long. The weather toggles between pouring rain, which our gear is designed to handle, to soaking mist, which no technology can defend. No matter, we’re hiking Trail K today, the longest loop covering the entire circumference of the park, passing literally hundreds of waterfalls. Estimated time 6 to 8 hours. The first leg is a repeat of yesterday, The Great Falls and on to Station P2. We make better time than yesterday because we’re ahead of the tour groups and take a quick stop to use the facilities. There, instead of getting on the ferry, we find a well-marked but narrow dirt footpath just a foot from the lake on the left and another foot from dense vegetation on the right.
It’s level alongside the water and easy going
except for the massive puddles which we navigate around whenever possible. We make it about halfway around the first
cove and, looking back several hundred yards over the water we see a medium-large
dog, think small yellow lab, walking off leash with another group of
hikers. I mention to Mandy that I saw
the dog wandering around the concession when we were at the station and though
it was odd that people would bring their dog on a hike here. Not fifteen minutes later, Mandy is startled
(ok, jumped out of her skin) when she hears an animal creep up behind
her. Turns out, it’s the same dog, giving
a big shake to get the water out of his fur.
The dog is friendly, but we don’t know what to make of him. Within 5 minutes he is legitimately hiking
with us, running ahead then waiting, skittering up the hill above the path then
coming back up on us from behind, sniffing around blind corners before we approach. We name him, what else, Ranger, and he
hikes with us for a full hour and a half, leading us successfully through
several forks in the trail and we come to trust his sense of direction. We have a few theories: 1) he’s a truffle
hunting dog, and we’re completely missing the golden ring when he stops, sniffs
intently and digs, 2) he’s here protecting us from bears, 3) he’s our scout leader
making sure we don’t get lost, and 4) he’s angling for us to buy him a hot dog
(which we will do happily). Alas at the next
waypoint, while we head even further up into the mountain, he takes his
leave of us, but not before posing for a few pictures. Bye, Ranger (sniff, sniff), we’ll miss you.
Damned smart dog. The
next leg of the hike is all the elevation gain, all at once. Not sure I would have done it for a hot dog, either. We wind and climb to the highest point in the
park, but the rain has the visibility near zero up here. We make a sharp hairpin turn and were on our
way back down, and the various falls and landscapes come back into view. It’s amazing that each waterfall seems to
have its own personality, its own ecosystem, distinctly different from the one
just a few dozen meters away. Some are
the classic over-the-rocks type. Others
seem to gush up from inside the ground, while still others seem to pour over soft
vegetation, taking on a furry Muppet thing. Here's far too many pictures of waterfalls to help explain…
Were soaked and cold by the time we hit Station P1 and can
duck into the cantina to eat our sandwiches in the first dry spot we’ve seen in
hours. Very satisfying, but the cold
settles into our bones. A short shuttle
and one last leg, and we’ve logged 10 soggy miles by the time we’re back at the
car.
We slosh our dripping butts back into the inn, a place far
too nice for our dirty hiking shoes. We
ask Barbara for some paper towels to wipe them off, but she quickly retorts “I
will clean them for you”. No matter your
crime against society, handling my stinky boots is a cruel and unusual punishment,
but we’re too tired to protest. Barbera also
makes us hot tea, then hot showers warm the soul and lull us into a nap. We wake to the sounds of people gathered,
chatting happily during wine hour downstairs.
Suckers for chatting happily during wine hour, we get dressed and join
in. We run into Marybeth from our raid
of the liquor cabinet last night. She’s
sitting with her husband Rob and talking with another couple, Kirstin &
Andrew. By the time Zrinka pours us some
wine, we’re engrossed in the conversation, sharing our experiences in the park,
in Croatia and travel in general. Both
couples travel extensively and are interesting and fun, and we laugh and joke
and chat for an hour. None of us have eaten,
so we all decide to get dinner at House Tina, the barbecue place right across
the little meadow that our hostess so highly recommended.
All three couples, Marybeth and Rob from Calgary, Kirstin
and Andrew from The Bay Area, and us from Philly, assumed barbecue meant “BBQ”,
that sauce laden regional American version that you’re probably thinking of
right now. The Croatian version is, well,
different. In this interpretation, It’s
literally some dude, cooking meat over wood on a brick grill built right next
to the swimming pool.
The six of us are seated at a long table for 12, and we’re talking
and laughing as loud as if we were a table of 20. The first bottle of local red wine is empty
before we even order and a second comes right on its heels. The menu is simple but promising. We get two orders of the mixed (meat) grill and
one whole fish, tonight a Sea Bream, which I’m elected to filet at the table. The food is scrumptious and we get even more
animated as the third cork is popped, multiple conversations going on at once
and I’m involved in at least two at any given moment like a good family holiday
meal. The dishes are cleared and we’re
showing no signs of stopping, having so much fun that Lily, a British woman a
few tables over just wanders over, introduces herself and joins in. Tapping Rob on the shoulder, I get the nod
for the next bottle and we discuss ordering dessert. The dessert page, full page of the menu, has
two lines: the title: DESSERT in scripty letters, and House Cake €4
is slightly smaller scripty letters.
Lily’s husband joins us, more conversation, more jokes, more laughs, and
between Mandy and I we don’t even remember if we scored the House Cake
or not. The eight of us are the only
people left in the place, save for the two brave staffers tasked with sitting
around keeping us happy, so we ask for the check, a whopping €150, including a
nice tip, which we happily split among the three couples.
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