It was March. A hike through the rough and slumbering gorge, the Jánošík Holes, was melancholic. In the Medzirozsutce saddle the dense white fog of the Malá Fatra rolled down and enveloped everything in silence. We only sensed Malý Rozsutec mountain, lurking, waiting, somewhere in front of us.
Finally, we found the marked hiking path which leads to its summit.
Returning, we lost ourselves in the forest.
We rambled, sank into the snow, slipped on the ice. We were frozen solid.
Just before darkness touched the ground, we found the path along a stream which led us out of the snowy forest to Terchová village.