‘Humans are designed to connect outdoors’: community hiking in Slovakia’s High Tatras

The ascent to the 2,367-metre (7,765ft) summit of Kôprovský štít had been a test of endurance and resolve, playing a Kafkaesque game of mountain mirage with us for several hours. Each ridge conquered merely revealed a string of further, seemingly endless ridges, pushing our physical and mental limits. Eight arduous hours and approximately 23 kilometres after we had set off on our ambitious hike through the Vysoké Tatry mountain range, a wave of smiles, some radiant, others admittedly of the more clenched-teeth variety, rippled from person to person. "Yes, team! We did it!" Roman, our high-spirited Slovakian mountain guide, a figure of unwavering energy and local wisdom, stood proudly atop the peak. With a firm, congratulatory clasp of the hand, he greeted each of us as we finally crested the summit, his eyes reflecting the deep satisfaction of a journey completed.

Just 24 hours earlier, we had been a ragtag collection of 11 strangers, making hesitant small talk amidst the sterile anonymity of London’s Luton airport. Our shared destination, the remote wilderness of the Tatras, was the only initial common thread. But here, on this vertiginous mountain top, far above the mundane concerns of sea level, something profound was taking root. Friendships, forged in the crucible of shared toil and the raw beauty of the natural world, were budding. The veneers of urban life, the carefully constructed personas we wear daily, were falling away, replaced by an authentic camaraderie born of vulnerability and mutual support. This, indeed, was the unspoken reason each of us had embarked on this expedition with a bunch of people we didn’t know: the yearning for genuine connections, woven not through superficial pleasantries but through the shared challenge of the climb, and the sheer, overwhelming wonder of making it to this sacred place where rock truly meets sky. It was a tangible experience of "peak performance" in more ways than one, a testament to the human spirit’s capacity for both resilience and connection.

This expedition was a microcosm of a rapidly expanding phenomenon: community hiking. It is experiencing a significant surge in popularity, transforming solitary pursuits into collective adventures. In the past few years, countless groups have sprung up across the globe, uniting tens of thousands of people for outdoor escapades. This growth isn’t random; it reflects a deep-seated human need for connection and nature in an increasingly digital and often isolating world. These groups are incredibly diverse, catering to a wide spectrum of identities and abilities: there are women-only groups, LGBTQ+ collectives, Black, Indigenous and people of colour (BIPOC) communities, as well as groups specifically designed for slow walkers, "soft girls" seeking gentle outdoor experiences, parents with young children, and even dog owners. Our particular four-day trip to Slovakia was meticulously organised by Hiked.up, a vibrant community hiking platform, in expert partnership with the local Slovakian tour operator, Tatra Escapes. Hiked.up itself began during the restrictive days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when childhood friends Matt and Adam, seeking an escape from lockdown stasis, started leading walks around their native Essex. Since then, it has organically evolved into a thousands-strong community, offering expertly curated expeditions not just across the UK but increasingly throughout Europe, demonstrating the universal appeal of their mission.

"The demographic is so vast," Matt shared with me as we carefully picked our way across a challenging boulder field, his voice carrying a note of genuine surprise and pride. "You have young people, older people, some who are super-fit, others who are entirely new to hiking. Most come alone. People join for a myriad of reasons – for mental health benefits, to simply get out and have fun, or specifically to meet new people. What’s truly remarkable is how you connect with individuals you might not expect to talk to in your day-to-day life at our events." This observation highlights the unique social alchemy that occurs in these settings, breaking down conventional social barriers.

Our group was indeed a motley crew, a vibrant mosaic of abilities, ages, and dispositions, hailing from all corners of the UK. The roll call of professions was equally diverse, including a tennis coach, a landscape architect, a maths teacher, a physiotherapist, an art adviser, and a construction site manager. Yet, despite their varied backgrounds, the stories I was told during our journey tracked remarkably similar contours. There was a pervasive sense of ennui at the relentless digitisation of modern life and the confining concrete walls of city living. Beneath this, a palpable yearning for nature, for authentic experiences, and for the chance to connect with like-minded individuals beyond the often superficial, booze-soaked social settings that dominate urban interaction.

Louis, a thoughtful 24-year-old physiotherapist, articulated a belief that community hiking taps into something profoundly fundamental about human nature. "Humans are designed to connect outdoors," he posited, pausing to take in the vastness around us. "This is what we did thousands of years ago; it’s ingrained in our evolutionary blueprint." His perspective resonates with the biophilia hypothesis, suggesting an innate human tendency to connect with nature and other living systems. Emma, a perceptive 32-year-old teacher, viewed hiking groups as a direct, conscious response to the growing urban loneliness and societal atomisation prevalent in many modern cities. "People want to come together without it being solely centred on drinking or going out," she explained. "They’re seeking to connect in a more conscious, meaningful way, finding shared purpose in a healthy, invigorating environment."

I admit to a significant degree of trepidation on the first evening. Sitting outside our charming wooden lodge in the heart of the Slovak Paradise National Park, as the setting sun painted the sky in magnificent strokes of gold and purple, a jangle of nerves and the lingering fatigue of travel had created a somewhat jarring group dynamic. The quieter members of our nascent collective were practically tongue-tied, while the more extroverted personalities bellowed boisterously across plates of creamy bryndzové halušky – the delicious national dish of potato dumplings generously topped with creamy sheep’s cheese and crispy bacon. A genuine concern nagged at me: was this disparate collection of strangers truly going to find a rhythm, let alone a genuine sense of camaraderie, in the coming days?

The following morning, however, began to dissipate those doubts. We tumbled out of the minibus onto the Štrba turistika trail, greeted by a benign sun that promised a glorious day. We followed a winding path along the mountainside, a verdant valley of deep green pine fanning out majestically below. Our other guide, Uri, a gentle giant with a perpetually calm demeanour and a seemingly bottomless supply of small, sweet cherries, suggested we allow a period of silence to settle among us. This, he explained, would allow us to better hear the birdsong, the whisper of the pines, and the subtle, living sounds of the mountain. It was a simple, yet profoundly effective, invitation to mindfulness.

The High Tatras – a magnificent string of snow-dusted, glaciated peaks straddling the Slovak-Polish border – are not only the highest range in the entire Carpathian arc but also among the most dramatic and pristine in Europe. Singular in their compact yet lofty nature, with numerous peaks cresting 2,600 metres, they compress an extraordinary diversity of terrain into a relatively narrow alpine arc. Their unique geological history, shaped by powerful glacial forces, has created sharp, pyramidal peaks, deep U-shaped valleys, and countless crystal-clear tarns. Long shrouded in mysticism and local lore, for centuries few dared to explore their rugged, formidable expanses, believed to be the domain of dragons, ogres, and other mythical beasts. However, over the past 250 years, mountaineering has become firmly embedded in Slovakian national identity, with the Tatras etched on the national coat of arms and eulogised in the stirring national anthem. The far-sighted establishment of Tatranský národný park (TANAP) in Slovakia in 1949 and Tatrzański Park Narodowy in Poland in 1954 – together forming one of the world’s first cross-border protected regions – has been instrumental in keeping this precious land pristine, wild, and largely untouched by commercial exploitation. Strict regulations, such as the prohibition of camping and swimming, while perhaps inconvenient at times (I yearned to cool off in the crystalline alpine streams), are a testament to this foresight, ensuring the enduring ecological integrity of the range.

Before long, we had broken free of the comforting embrace of pine forests and soft earth, met instead with a startling, almost primal expanse of rock and sky. Sun-dappled forest trails and wildflower-strewn meadows were replaced by resilient clutches of dwarf pine and obstinate patches of ice clinging to crevices, all set amid a dramatic tumble of granite outcrops that jut from the earth like the crooked teeth of some ancient, slumbering shark. In this rugged transition, the everyday reality we had carried with us receded imperceptibly into the distance. There was nothing left but the singular, focused placement of each foot on stone, the invigorating kiss of the cool mountain breeze on our skin, and the deafening gallop of one’s own heartbeat, a powerful reminder of being intensely, fully alive.

There is something undeniably transformative about the potent combination of sustained physical exertion and shared adventure. It acts as a powerful solvent, peeling back the layers in which we instinctively shroud ourselves in daily life. It wasn’t long before our group discussions had moved far beyond polite small talk, delving into candid conversations about bowel movements, disappointing orgasms, and the bewildering landscape of modern dating apps. This rapid progression to intimate revelations spoke volumes about the trust and comfort that had quickly blossomed among us. We spent the second day weaving our way along a truly fairytale trail in the Slovak Paradise, navigating a series of precarious wooden ladders, steep iron staircases bolted into rock faces, and precarious fallen log bridges, all through a spectacular gorge enclosed by steep earthen banks and limestone faces from which dark caves winked invitingly. Emerging into bright sunshine and a welcoming mountain refuge, nestled on a sprawling, viridescent meadow, we nursed refreshing pints of Zlatý Bažant, a comfortable, companionable silence settling among us, much like that shared between old, cherished friends.

The journey wasn’t entirely without its minor trials. Tensions, as can be expected in any group pushed to its limits, occasionally flared, particularly when an organisational miscommunication left the entire group without lunch during a challenging nine-hour hike. But, ultimately, that unforeseen trial, rather than fracturing us, bound us even closer together. When water supplies dwindled, tummies grumbled loudly, and boots began to bite mercilessly, it was kindness, generosity, and resilience that ruled the day. Last sips of water were meted out equitably, faster walkers patiently hung back for blister-addled hobblers, and emergency tampons and pee-buddies were offered in abundance. These small acts of care underscored the profound shift from strangers to a supportive unit. Steeling ourselves for yet another ascent of about 2,000 metres, one member of the group erupted in a burst of pure, unadulterated jubilation: "I’ve got fig rolls!" A hearty, collective cheer, born of weary relief and genuine delight, rose up from our perch on the mountainside, a testament to the simple joys that become monumental in the wild.

The climb was gruelling, testing every sinew and ounce of will, and the views were, without question, spectacular. But for most of us, the expedition had been in search of something a little harder to define, a deeper connection that transcended mere sightseeing. Listening to the chorus of gleeful voices echo across the vast, pristine valley, I felt a profound sense of certainty that, in the rugged embrace of the High Tatras, we might just have found it.

The four-day trip to Slovakia was provided by hiked.up and Tatra Escapes and cost £650pp (£600 for a shared room). It included Košice airport transfers, three nights at Ranč Podlesok Relax on a B&B basis, and guides. Follow @hiked.up for details of future expeditions.