Ultrarunner's notes

 The hell of Little Fatra .... it is late afternoon, I am descending from Malý Kriváň to Sedlo Priehyb. The Hoštáks wrote that they would be here, like every year, and asked whether to bring me anything special. At the time, I couldn't think of anything special, but now I imagine myself being served a chilled sparkling Coke from a portable cooler full of ice and then I pour the ice down my T-shirt and cover my head with it. But no one is here, neither the Hoštáks, nor the cooler with ice. There is only hot, still air, a trail winding along a grassy slope and a knee timber, the line of Stratenec, White rocks and Suchý in front of me, the mighty ridge of Malý Kriváň behind me. The traverse trail from the saddle below Suchý, which was once used, is untrodden, indistinct and overgrown with grass like ancient memories. Fortunately, I saved some of my water (if saving water was even possible in that stuffy weather), I didn't fully rely on someone saving my life in Sedlo Priehyb (I re...