Adventures in Bohemia
And Germany/First of a series
There are four of us hiking in the north Fichtel Mountains in Germany, just across its eastern border with the Czech Republic. The time is late May, and the spring has been very, very dry here, but the woods are a deep green of conifers – well-managed spruce, fir and pine. Our path is a logging trail, littered with slash, lumpy and awkward to walk on while shouldering full packs. At 25 degrees C (77 degrees F), it’s hot in the sun but cool under the tall trees.
My companions are all Czechs. Vladimír (Dik) Lambl, Petr Václavík and Libor Vacek have taken annual hike/canoe trips across the Czech Republic for several years; they have graciously invited me along. The Czechs call it tramping (trampování) and have a long-held passion for backpacking.
Our destination after a couple of days is the Ohře River in Bohemia, the ancestral home of my father’s people. We started the trip in the far western Czech Republic, at the city of Aš, and our route takes us into Germany and back in a 23-mile loop, unless we get lost. A hiking routine is familiar to the three Czechs, although this route is new, and for me, it ticks off a goal on my life list of canoeing adventures.
The Czechs, although landlocked, love their water sports almost as much as tramping, often rowing and paddling well above their weight in the Summer Olympics, for example. Coincidentally, a canoe World Cup race is being held in Prague while we are on the trail. But we will not race once we reach the Ohře. In the small community of Kynšperk nad Ohře, translated as Königsberg in German (“kings’ mountain”), we will connect with a canoe livery company that will provide us with boats, life jackets, paddles and barrels to keep our gear dry. My canoe, shared with Dik, will need the barrels.
The plan after a strenuous two-day hike is for an easy couple of days downstream on the Ohře, which is the fourth-longest river in the country and considered among the wildest, if not in terms of rapids but certainly in terms of scenery. We cannot take too long on any of the hike/canoe legs because, unlike me, the other fellows are men-at-work and have real jobs to get back to.
Dik is a wiry fellow in his early 60s, although he appears younger. Always smiling, he owns a dry-cleaning and ironing business. Petr, who looks like he played linebacker in the NFL, is in his early 40s and is a transmission mechanic and supervisor for Škoda, the vehicle manufacturer. He owns four motorcycles. Libor, my connection to the squad, is a videographer for CNN-Prague, plays excellent guitar, and is a sprightly, cheerful 38. I’ve got 30 years on him. Libor’s English is good; Dik’s is OK and Petr is working on it, much like me and my Czech.
Libor and I met in Minnesota when he and a CNN-Prague reporter were in the United States covering the 2024 election. We discovered a shared interest in canoeing; upon parting, he said: “We’ll have to paddle together in the Czech Republic.” Sure, I said, thinking this was in the manner of most Minnesota invitations, sincerely given but never realized.
Two months later, he texted me with the dates of the trip. “Are you in?”
“I’m in.”
Except I wasn’t. Six days before we were scheduled to leave, my father died. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, as he was 94, but he would have enjoyed the story of my trip through his family’s long-ago homeland, including their old village of Bechyné.
A year passed. My wife and I bought tickets for a 17-day vacation to Prague to see old friends; Libor texted a couple of weeks later with his group’s 2026 adventure dates. Remarkably, those days were within our trip. “Are you in?” he said.
“I’m in.”
First of a series.