The view from the summit plateau was stunning. Far below, the Adriatic shimmered in a heat haze. I found a sun-warmed rock as a back rest and sat down on the grass to eat my lunch – a pastry filled with cream cheese and a bunch of grapes bought from the amiable shopkeeper at the start of the trail.
When lunch was over, a delicious lethargy crept over me, partly due to the climb but more because of the day's sultry heat. I knew I must not fall asleep. It was a long descent and the buses back to Cavtat were few and far between. I'd been a little naughty to go hill-walking alone on our free day – especially without telling anyone where I was going – so I did not want to be late home for dinner and alarm my fellow Ramblers.
I jerked awake two hours later. Bother; I HAD fallen asleep. I leapt to my feet and began gathering my things when I noticed a strange black line on the horizon. It approached at a colossal speed. Clouds rolled over the sun and a dank mist descended. A gale blew in from the sea and thunder rolled in the distance. There was going to be the mother of all storms.
I tore down the mountain, taking care not to lose the track in the mist and half-light. Then the rain arrived – rain like I had never experienced before. It stung like a million darts, almost battering me to the ground and making it impossible to differentiate the path ahead from all the new rivulets coursing down the hillside. I sat down with my hands over my head and waited for the storm to pass.
I was glumly aware that the thunder and lightning were getting closer. It would not do to be exposed on the mountain when they arrived. They reached me and forks of lightning were striking all round and blue flames dancing along the ridges.
I had to find cover.
Luckily, I remembered spotting a chimney* about here on my way up. I found it again and raced over, then descended a few feet with my feet braced on one rock face and my back on the other. This was much better; I was out of the wind and safe from lightning strikes, but the rain still cascaded over me till I was soaked to the skin.
Surely a storm of this ferocity wouldn't last long?
It did. It was still teeming when darkness fell and the lightning remained directly overhead. Hours passed. It was pitch black without the faintest glimmer of starlight. My situation was a most unhappy one. I was cramped, aching and shivering with cold. It was quite possible I would not last till morning.
At this lowest point, a flash of lightning revealed a small clump of alpine flowers on the opposite wall. The rain was pouring relentlessly over its petals before continuing on down the cleft. Well, if these tiny flowers can survive, so can I. They gave me hope that the storm would pass and morning would come.
I passed the weary hours reciting poetry to myself – everything from nursery rhymes to Shakespeare – then went through all the hymns and psalms I'd known from childhood.
Who knows if I slept? I was so far gone by the time the storm passed that it was a major effort to open my eyes. There were my little flowers, now erect and perky. I could see now that they were mauve alpine crocuses. We had all survived, but they were at home and I had a ways to travel. For starters, I had to get out of this wretched chimney. I forced my leaden limbs to propel me upwards and lay exhausted on the soggy hillside.
My most urgent needs were for food and warmth and now at last I could access my rucksack. My mother always gives me emergency rations – a huge bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk. I wolfed the lot then stripped off my dripping outer garments and donned my waterproofs – still dry in my backpack because the deluge had been so sudden and intense the previous day.
Thus restored, I stumbled off down hill with my legs functioning better by the minute as I warmed up. The sun came out like the storm had never been. I reached the main road just as the shopkeeper was opening his shutters. He took one look at me, took me to his stove and brought a milky coffee. A Cavtat bus was due in half an hour, he said.
I made the unfortunate discovery that all my dinar notes had turned to mush in my pocket. I showed them to the shopkeeper and offered to barter my Swiss Army Knife for the fare home. He agreed and when the bus arrived, gave the driver the requested amount. One never knew what fare to expect on Yugoslav buses; inflation was so severe that the journey home usually cost more than on the way out.
The Ramblers group had indeed been worried by my non-appearance the previous night. The leader guessed that I had gone to the hills, but where? There was no mountain rescue in Yugoslavia at the time and the army did not begin searching for 48 hours.
Bed had never felt so good. As I fell asleep, I thought gratefully of the little crocuses that had helped me survive.
*chimney: a cleft in the rocks that climbers can scramble up or down.