I sweeten the journey with a stop at the bakery in Oldřichov, swapping the loose change in my wallet for a few excellent pastries and a morning coffee. It’s a kind of kick-start – for my body and my senses. I take in the fresh taste and smell and sense that today will be one of those days when I lose myself in the landscape and have a quiet chat with it. We reach the right spot, I park the car and we start climbing into the hills. The dog runs happily in circles, rolls in the snow – and maybe even laughs. His doggy soul is in seventh heaven. I know he’s happy, and that’s good, very good.
From afar I greet a familiar rock tower, this time crowned with a cap of snow. We walk up to it and I remember last year, when a friend and I stood on its summit. It was October, and the day was cold and windy. We stood up there and the views were amazing! They filled my mind with joy, and at that moment I wished I had wings to soar over that colourful valley. Orange rowans glowed across the land, larches announced their presence in the sea of forest with yellow, beech leaves in several shades of gold and crimson were impossible to miss, and the beautiful maples – those jewels among trees – stood out above all. And among these colours were still more and more shades, a whole palette of other trees. And then one day the time comes when the sharp Jizera wind blows the fallen leaves into rock crevices, between the rocks and under the overhangs, and snow begins to fall from the sky. A quilt of snow mercifully covers the landscape and lends everything a peculiar nostalgia. Some years the snow quite literally buries everything.
Quietly, under my breath, I thank the tower once more for last year’s experience – it hears me anyway – and we carry on. We come to a stream that is almost frozen over, but in a few places the water still tumbles over the stones and falls into mysterious-looking pools, as if they were the eyes of this small but untamed brook. Some are clear and filled with light, others deep, a little brooding, and their gaze lures me to come closer and watch how water and ice create wonderful abstract shapes. From the banks hang frozen grasses, and the stalks that touch the surface are coated in ice, looking as if a confectioner had poured white icing over them.
The sun lights our way onwards. It reflects in the snow crystals, making them look like tiny diamonds scattered over the path and all around. I, too, once hid my own diamond in the Jizera Mountains. When I was a little boy, about six at the time, I saw The Treasure of the Silver Lake and wished very much to have a hidden treasure in the mountains as well. I found a polished piece of coloured glass, and my grandma, grandpa and I set off to hide it as treasure by a waterfall. They both promised never to tell anyone where my diamond was hidden, and I know full well they still keep that great secret safe to this day. On our trips and rambles together – and there were plenty! – it was these two who, from when I was tiny, taught me to listen to nature, to understand it and to be in tune with its ways. And Grandma also told me to notice details more than in detail, and not just in nature. My treasure has surely been carried off by the ravages of time, or at least by floodwater during summer storms or the spring thaw, but my diamond in the form of memories and everything Grandma and Grandpa taught me can never be washed away by time or water. I keep it for life, deep in my soul, in my heart – that’s the real treasure.
On the way I stop by some mighty beeches. In summer I like to lie beneath them, just gazing up into their crowns and listening to them rustle. Other times I lay my hands on the massive trunk, close my eyes and let my thoughts flow. I know that trees are great aesthetes, because each of them longs to grow straight, and that old trees have their rights too. And when cruel thirst comes in summer, trees start to scream, but we can’t hear them, because it happens in the ultrasound range. And I know one more thing – that trees have their secrets too.
We reach the rocky viewpoint just in time. An artist called Frost has created his most stunning works here. The sun’s rays haven’t yet touched the granite giant, so I can study all the ornaments, curves and decorations he has made. The surrounding landscape is already flooded with sunlight, and to me it’s like the water of life. A huge surge of energy arrives and I drink it in in deep gulps. It’s like an explosion. I want to run, jump, shout, clap. It’s a magnificent spectacle! It’s joy at this beautiful moment. It’s a wonderful sight and a unique experience.
I look out over the land a little longer, holding the dog in my arms, and everything inside me slowly fades out. Without hurrying, we carry on along the white trail up to the wooded hilltops, far from the bustle of the world... Everywhere is calm. A strange silence. And around us only snowy forests and a white landscape. On the way we rest by a little Jizera Mountains cross, where in summer a spruce sprig often lies and which someone ahead of us has already freed of hoarfrost. A few hours later we return the same way past the rocky viewpoint, but it’s no longer the same place, no longer the same feelings and experiences. The sun is slowly sinking below the horizon, saturating the landscape with many colours – from yellow through orange to burgundy. This play of colours and shadows awakens completely different impressions in me. No explosion, no energy – on the contrary, reflection sets in. In my mind I talk to my beloved mountains and confide in them.
And they listen and do not judge.
