A perfect opportunity that may never come again. Not even my parents lived through a time when even the Tatras stayed locked away in a realm whose sharp features and titanic scale a mountain lover could admire only in pictures. So here I sit over a paper map of the Jeseníky mountains, where thin black felt-tip marks recall the days ten years ago – the days of roaming the hidden corners of my home hills – and I hunt for places that the soles of my boots, busy with the Alps, the Caucasus and the Tien Shan, have never yet touched.

It's time to pick up the unfinished work from the days when I lacked the money, the transport and the experience for trips to the big mountains. Back then, all it took for an adventure was to leave the comfort of the coloured stripe squeezed between two parallel white lines and fight my way through calf-scratching bilberry bushes onto an overgrown path heading into the unknown – perhaps to a hunting lodge built on a stone foundation in a clearing hemmed in by forest, to a mountain spring bubbling out of the ground to soothe a parched tongue, or into the depths of an ever-thicker spruce stand whose drooping branches swallowed my trail completely after two kilometres.

How old could it be?

Who stacked it from big gneiss stones into the steep slope?

And why did they go to so much trouble?

Now that it looks so likely I won't get beneath the glaciated peaks of the high mountains this year at least, my little notebook is filling up with a list of places I have to explore in my own hills. Rock faces whose rough surface has never yet been sprinkled with the sweat of my palms, and which may or may not hold together well enough to be climbable at all. Forest trails and hunters' paths through places where animal tracks still outnumber human ones. And cosy nooks where we'll cook dinner over a burning fuel tablet, crawl into down sleeping bags and open our eyes in the morning just as the sun comes up.

That's my plan.

And until the snow releases the highest parts of the mountains from its grip, I wander the woods – literally behind my house – and find places I had no idea existed. A rock formation marked on the map catches my eye; maybe it's good for climbing, or at least bouldering. So I step off the well-known trail into the forest, catch my bootlaces on fallen branches, scramble up the slope and suddenly I see a side of the Jeseníky Mountains I don't know – a deep valley stretching for several kilometres, hemmed in by steep spruce-and-beech slopes and closed off at its head by the wall of a white ridge. Completely different mountains.

It really is a perfect opportunity to seek out and discover adventure at home – perhaps on a smaller stage, but by no means smaller in scale. That's why, in the lines below, climbers and adventurers Katka Mandulová, Lukáš Jasenský, Richard Štěpánek and Ondra Šnopl take this idea further.

Katka Mandulová

You can get lost even where you've been a hundred times.

You still had an expedition in play to the last seven-thousander of the former Soviet Union, the one you need for the Snow Leopard title. That's probably off for good now, isn't it? Do you have any backup plans for a season behind (most likely) closed borders? Any “expeditions” in the Czech mountains?

We haven't called it off for good yet, but this year's snow-leoparding isn't looking too promising so far. We'll be happy if we can run around outdoors freely. Pik Pobeda can wait. Maybe I'll finally get round to my old dream of only ever going to the swimming lake in Skalák – and climbing, of course. By the way, I feel I've been ahead of my time once again. Last November I prescribed myself some so-called sitting on my backside. I wanted to cut down on hitchhiking and shrink the radius of my weekend trips to less than 1,000 km from Prague. Little did I know that soon we'd all be sitting at home. It's no tragedy, though. We've got plenty of obscure climbing areas around Prague, like Klobouček and Babka. And for a big adventure we can head to Adršpach. They've got the Himalayas there, after all, so we won't get bored. 

Please describe your favourite place in the Czech mountains. Without giving away its name.

I know a crystal spring where the forest is at its deepest… Haven't guessed yet? I feel joy and a certain satisfaction when I run up into the hills straight from my front door. Ideally when the running feels easy and I'm not puffing too much. Even though our little hills forgive nothing. Beech woods, a spring along the way, bilberry bushes – it can be foggy and grim for all I care – and at the top a little wooden chapel pops into view. I remind myself that the righteous live for ever, and I can run home. 

What does adventure mean to you? And can you find it in the Czech mountains too?

Definitely. We've got beautiful sandstone rocks, and leading there is more than adventurous enough. Wriggling up a chimney, balancing on sandy friction slabs, trying a shoulder stand below the second ring bolt, or plucking up the courage to leap from tower to tower to reach the abseil anchor. Or scrabbling up some horror crack on hard Jizera granite, getting a bit frozen and ripping off chunks of skin. That's proper adventure. You can try long-distance ridge runs – you could easily run all the way around the whole country. A Czech Haute Route of sorts. And along the way you can eat wild raspberries, wade through streams and not meet a living soul. Or try running at night without a head torch – that's a pretty unusual experience too: you'll get lost even where you've been a hundred times, and you'll be delighted when you find yourself again.

Lukáš Jasenský

We have a chance to slow down for a while.

You should have been packing right now for the peak of your climbing career – the Makalu expedition. What next? You did sacrifice an awful lot for it – including a permanent job.

We were due to fly out on 5 April, but everything turned 180 degrees at the snap of a finger. Right up to the last minute I believed it might still work out, but then it came. Still, I take it positively, even though I had to come to terms with it – after all, it was a year and a half of preparation, and for the last six months I went all in. I quit my job and put all my time into the expedition. Looking back, I'm glad I took that step, because you can't do these things at half throttle. After we found out for sure that Nepal had cancelled the whole spring season, we wondered whether to go in autumn instead. But the days are shorter and it's colder. The whole team agreed we'd simply postpone it to 2021. I think this expedition will be a turning point for me, kicking off a new chapter of my life. I'd like it not to stay at just one Himalayan expedition. Time will tell. Either way, this situation has shown us clearly that we can't take things for granted. Maybe the world, and above all humanity, will change because of it, and maybe not, but right now we have a chance to slow down for a while and think.

Do you have any backup plans for a season behind (most likely) closed borders? Any “expeditions” in the Czech mountains?

I'm an optimist, so I believe the borders will open up again. But that's still up in the air, so I'm also counting on spending the season in Czechia. In that case the plan is clear. I'd like to spend lots of time on the rocks and do a long-distance run or two. It's all somehow connected with being out in nature. And nature in Czechia really is beautiful and varied.

Please describe your favourite place in the Czech mountains. Without giving away its name.

It's not far from me, so I can pop over in the afternoon after work or towards evening. A forest of conifers and broadleaf trees. Here and there a rock block emerges, but it's mostly footpaths. In spring everything buds and smells wonderful. Wild garlic as far as the eye can see. In summer it's beautifully green, in autumn the colourful leaves rustle and in winter everything sleeps. If I want, I can just go for a walk or a run; if I fancy some height, I climb something. Right now, nature is waking up from its winter sleep. Birds are singing and every now and then some deer run past. It's a balm for the ears and eyes, but above all for the soul.

Ondra Šnopl

Nothing can stop an idea whose time has come.

You love climbing in the Jizera Mountains and you can find a beautiful project even “in the woods behind your house”. Do you already have plans for a season behind (most likely) closed borders?

My biggest and most beautiful project, not just for this season but for every season of my life, is my first child, due in May. And since they do a lot of stretching and exercising in their prenatal life, they're bound to become another lover of rocks and mountains. I believe in heredity.

As for climbing projects, I've got loads of them in my head. The biggest is an attempt to map the boulders and the lesser-known, less-visited crags around Liberec and Jablonec and create an online guide. I enjoy putting small pieces together into a whole, passing everything on and inspiring others. It warms your heart to see other climbers enjoying that kind of initiative. At first it didn't seem realistic enough, but luckily I have handy friends who had a similar idea, so something is starting to take shape. Climbers of Liberec and Jablonec, get excited! Other projects I'm looking forward to are first ascents. My friends and I have several on the go. I love this time spent on the rocks; it's something different from a classic climbing day. Spring will soon put on a T-shirt and trainers, the virus ban will be lifted and the right time will come to finish what we've started. Nothing can stop an idea whose time has come.

Please describe your favourite place in the Czech mountains. Without giving away its name.

There are lots of those places. My grandparents showed them to me. Back then they were much younger and I was a child. I travelled, walked and cycled a great deal with them, and I'm grateful to them for it. About every place I learned interesting things that I still remember today. They always taught me respect and humility towards nature, and that, sadly, is fading from today's society.

But I'll describe one place. It's not far from a rocky viewpoint, yet far enough off to the side to give you peace to sort out your thoughts. If a place like that makes you smile, it's the right place. Here you don't just smile – you feel you could fly with the birds high above the valley. The landscape lies below you as if painted on canvas. The solstice time, meaning June, and the colourful sunny days of October are the most beautiful here. Each season has its own scent. June is fresh, the grass is green, the resin smells and the heat isn't oppressive yet. October is colourful, the dry grass smells different and you're already wearing a jacket, but it's always an oasis for your soul. You sit here for a long time, cut off from everything, telling yourself you've done nothing today, yet a lot has happened inside you. You sit and tell yourself there are a thousand and one reasons to bow before the majesty of the trees. I often come back here, because I love escaping from the world of words into the world of thoughts. Here the sun conjures peace in your soul and the wind tests your resilience.

What does adventure mean to you? And can you find it in the Czech mountains too?

If I had to define adventure, I'd say it's life itself. I want to be in a world that gives me a choice; I want to choose my own paths. One of my paths is climbing. When you see someone with a rucksack and a rope, you can be pretty sure adventure is on its way, and there are countless adventures we can live through if we look for them with our eyes open. And the most beautiful one is the one we share with someone, whether you're in Nepal or in the Giant Mountains. When I climb warm rock, hear a karabiner clink against a ring bolt and hear my friends' voices, I realise that the finest thing among climbers is friendship. Friendship is certainty, friendship is like a protected tree, and friends should come before kings.

Richard Štěpánek

The key is not to confuse adventure with recklessness.

What were your plans for this season? And do you have any plans yet for a season behind (most likely) closed borders?

This year I wanted to cross the former Czechoslovakia on foot again. This edition of the 1000 Miles Adventure is the 10th, a jubilee, so I wanted to take the route the cyclists and kick-scooter riders follow. Walkers, you see, have a route made up of 22 checkpoints they must pass through. Between them they plan their own route, which is about 350 km shorter. I wanted to walk the full 1,600 km, because if everything had worked out, this edition would have earned me a first (a precious one to me). I'd have been the first in the history of the race to complete all three categories (cyclist, kick-scooter rider, walker/runner) in both directions – east to west and west to east. And more so-called civilian challenges and journeys across Czechia are waiting for me – mostly multi-day trips, whether charity-and-motivation ones or journeys with adventure in their DNA. There are plenty of plans, but...

Please describe your favourite place in the Czech mountains. Without giving away its name.

I have to admit I don't have a place I'd call my absolute favourite. It's more places tied to particular memories or stories. But I'll try to describe one.

We're climbing through the forest. Our touring skis glide forward and in the distance a treeless hill rises. We'd dragged things out a bit, so some decided not to go all the way to the top. Only two of us set off. Just below the summit is the source of a river that shares its name with my home region. A year or two had passed since I last filled up with water here, but I wanted to taste that refreshing flavour again. We took our friends' empty bottles and promised to fill them. It's not often you meet an elephant in the Czech mountains. Here you do. Along frozen trails we reached the spring – or rather just the roof of the shelter that covers it. I don't know why I was surprised; it's winter and there's snow everywhere. We didn't go on to the top, even though in the summer months it takes about 10 minutes to get there. 

As a multiple 1000 Miles finisher, there's probably no point asking you whether you've had adventures in the Czech mountains. But do you think you can have a homegrown adventure outside the framework of an extreme race?

For me, definitely. Of course it depends on what each person imagines by adventure. Adventure is directly proportional to the circumstances in which we find ourselves in a given place. The key is not to confuse adventure with recklessness. I've heard it many times – what an adventure it was – when in fact it was sheer foolhardiness that just happened to work out. Adventure can certainly include moving through unfamiliar places in a way and with a level of comfort we're not quite used to. For example: a multi-day hike in a region that's new to us, with everything we need for sleeping, eating and moving. Just deliberately avoid civilisation, sleep out in nature, maybe shift some of your walking into the night, and I'm sure adventure lies ahead. You run out of water, a lace snaps, you get soaked, there's nowhere to lay your head – and there you have it. How many people carry spare laces and various gadgets for sorting out problems? What is a disaster and a reason to go home for one person can be a challenge – and the adventure I mentioned – for another.

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