A determined fox guards the Babina Glava trail in Lovcen National Park/Rita Beamish

Fear shot me up the soft, leaf-covered track– a path just wide enough for a modest car to squeeze through -- in Montenegro’s Lovcen National Park.

I panted along, fueled by the admittedly wacky notion that illegal loggers were chasing me. In fact, I had  stumbled upon a logging trio and their small truck and trailer in the middle of the trail, and they’d reacted badly when I unthinkingly raised my phone for a photo. A snaggletooth moved threateningly toward me, yelling “This my land!” and brandishing a hefty stick. Her two male companions, wielding the saw, turned to size me up.

“Tourist,” I stammered, backing away under their glare. No banjos played, but I now saw myself running from a pale Montenegrin version of “Deliverance.” 

Initially, the whine of their saw had broken the forest stillness a couple of hours into my hike in this leafy corner of Eastern Europe. Less travelled than its neighbor Croatia but on the same craggy Adriatic coast, Montenegro had seemed an intriguing destination for my 22-year-old daughter, Kira, and me to explore for a couple of weeks. Connecticut-sized, sleepy and scenic, Montenegro spreads over hilly countryside that links small towns and villages, with a low-rise capital, Podgorica, home to some 177,000 people, and five national parks. Public transit networks are weak; and getting to the stunning Bay of Kotor had required a six-hour bus trip from Budapest into Serbia, followed by a 40-minute flight from Belgrade to the Adriatic coast. Had we started from Croatia, a bus trip apparently could have delivered us to Kotor from the tourist hive of Dubrovnik in two or so hours.

We trod the maze of cobbled streets within Kotor’s ancient walls, taking in curio and antique shops, and restaurant fare that’s a near-universal menu of meats and vegetables, always including one fish and one pasta dish. Climbing to the castle ruin above Kotor, we absorbed breathtaking views of the shimmery bay and Adriatic Sea beyond. Then we were ready to explore some day hikes in nearby Lovcen, which given the limits of time and logistics, was our best chance for a park visit, along with Lake Skadar beyond.      

View of the Bay of Kotor and ancient town of Kotor/Rita Beamish

Not far from Kotor, the Lovcen park is reached via a narrow road that all but corkscrews up a mountain, offering glorious vistas for drivers who dare to glance away from the hairpins. Even for our small rental car, oncoming vehicles required some nerve-wracking navigation, with one driver – preferably the other guy – backing up.

At the tiny wooden shack marking the park entrance, a grizzled attendant ambled out to collect a few dollars, and a few more for a second ticket to the park’s second highest mountaintop, at 3,806 feet. Some 460 stairs led to a stark mausoleum, the tomb of national hero and bishop-prince Petar II Petrovic-Njegos. The park unfolded in a 360-degree view below, its few structures hidden by rocky terrain across low-slung mountains and forest. The view, we were told, encompassed about half the entire country, and we could see Albania on the distant far shore of Lake Skadar.

Early October was alternately sunny, gray, and rainy. Only a handful of visitors appeared during our stay at the chalet-like Hotel Monte Rosa, one of just a couple of lodgings in the park.  

On the day of the illegal loggers, we’d stopped in at the small park visitor center in the teeny community of Ivanova Kortina. We asked about the forested trails nearby and chose the Babina Glava loop despite a dismissive review from the guy at the desk who described a 7-hour, 18-kilometer trail that wasn’t very special and had no good views. Hmmm. We picked it over his recommended 7-kilometer, woodsy Wolf Trail.

A soggy, gray morning turned radiant as the rising sun sent dazzling rays through the soldier-like stands of trees, creating a gauzy luminescence between their slender straight-up trunks. My daughter, recovering from a cold, turned back a few miles in and I continued up.

A soft wide trail climbs through the forest at lower elevation/Rita Beamish

I reached the end of the wide track with no loggers at my heels. By this point, the trail had cleared the trees and now twisted up switchbacks over rocky outcrops and low shrubs. The loggers would not be able to get their car up here, so I slowed my legs and heart rate. I saw that I had come up to a stunning, sweeping vista out to the Adriatic with the towns of Tivat and Budva tucked along the coast far below.  The trail turned parallel to the coast, traversing open rock-and-shrub strewn hilltops. Dark clouds and raindrops scattering on the wind made for a dramatic tableau -- not a soul in sight. After a long stretch, the trail turned away from the sea and downhill. Still far above the woods, the terrain was so rocky and the trail so faint that I could find it thanks only to the ample red arrows painted on rocks.

Eventually, a small farm compound – a humble house and animal pens – emerged where the trail joined a dirt track that would complete my loop. But not before a spooky little fox jumped in the middle of the trail, bent on blocking me. I’d move to one side and the fox would lunge toward me. I’d move the other way. Same thing. We repeated the dance numerous times. I found a large stick and finally eased by while menacingly banging it on the ground between me and the fox.

Once down, I marched straight to the visitor center, 3.5 hours after I’d left (not 7), and informed the guy at the desk that the hike had in fact been breathtaking and probably 9 or fewer miles. I asked, had he ever been up there?  “No,” he admitted. Then why had he dissed the loop? “People from Montenegro don’t like it. It’s too long. They’re not used to that,” he shrugged.

I showed him my photos. The logger photo caught his attention. He and his colleague shook their heads. Logging was forbidden in the park. They perked up when they realized a license plate number was discernable on the car. Apparently I’d done a service for the forest.

When we drove from Lovcen through the small city of Cetinje and headed over to Lake Skadar National Park, we found mostly boat excursions of all varieties rather than any more hiking trails. The lake, the largest in the Balkans, according to Lonely Planet, is known for its extensive bird habitat. A haze hugged the lake when we visited, giving its reeds, lily pads and surrounding bogs a mystical tinge. The lake is a birdwatching and fishing nexus.

The Babina Glava loop trail weaves across the hills above the Adriatic Sea in Montenegro/Rita Beamish