Across the dark forests of Black Mountain

Itinerary:

• From Mikóháza we start towards the mountain on Akácfa Street following the P◼ mark.
• At an intersection, we turn onto the right branch of the P mark (Petőfi, then Hegyalja Street).
• The P mark leads up to the Fekete-rét (Black Meadow).
• From the rest area, we take a detour to the Fekete-hegy (Black Mountain) summit on the P▲ mark, then return the same way.
• We continue on the P mark, following it to the Cserép-tó saddle.
• We turn left onto the K mark.
• At a fork, we turn left onto the K◼ mark, which leads to the center of Rudabányácska.

Detailed description of the route:

On the land of Bózsva

We start our hike from the bus stop along the street leading towards the mountain, with the P◼ markings showing the way on the first section. The village is essentially divided by the Bózsva - a stream that seems small but actually collects and transports a vast area of water from the northeastern edge of the Central Zemplén towards the Bodrog (through Ronyva). Its water flow reflects the rhythm and sometimes the whims of mountain weather: after snowmelt or prolonged rainy periods it can flood significantly, not to mention the sudden flash floods caused by intense storms. The Hegyköz is a basin shaped by streams, embraced by ridges on three sides, so the Bózsva sometimes posed a threat to villages, pastures, and lands. Additionally, the slow, meandering water's floodplain was difficult to utilize, hence significant regulation was made in the 1970s. Its wildlife naturally suffered from the intervention, but fortunately, the stream is now reclaiming what is its own and slowly former inhabitants are returning.

A land not suited for ground squirrels

We leave the football field and the village opens up a bit. The complex terrain of Hegyköz is reflected in the unique settlement and landscape structure: while the higher ridges are dominated by forests, the wide basin has had its vast forests removed by humans who established economic areas next to villages. The mountain area painted a mosaic, colorful picture for centuries: under the empire of trees, lush grassy pastures at the foothills, meadows for winter fodder below, small-scale arable fields near streams, and vineyards and orchards requiring more frequent supervision around houses alternated. This diverse landscape structure offered habitat for a wider spectrum of wildlife until the era of large agricultural fields arrived, which brought habitat narrowing. Animal husbandry declined, leading to the gradual recolonization of abandoned pastures and orchards by forests. For example, consider the ground squirrels, small rodents living in low grass meadows and grazed lawns. Their presence is important for large birds of prey that feed on them: among these is the rare imperial eagle, which nearly disappeared from Hungary in the 20th century. According to the nature trail's information boards, efforts are now being made to reconstruct the 16th-17th century landscape structure; it is certain that in the morning a herd cruising through the street might cross our path, and with the increase in rodent numbers, the imperial eagle also inhabits Black Mountain again.

The paved hobbit village

Earlier at an intersection, the P mark arrives; we continue along its right branch. We reach a valley throat where, at the edge of the idyllic, cool forest environment, strange hobbit house-like triangular cellars poke up from the ground. In front of them, a spacious paved agora was created. These folk-style cellars were carved into volcanic eruption deposits, the tuff, where wine made from the vines of the Palack Hill behind them or fruit brandy distilled from forest and garden fruits was stored. Today, primarily wines from the Tokaj-Hegyalja wine region age here, even though Mikóháza does not belong to the historical area, since the much shadier location and wetter climate here do not allow the winemaking processes common further south. There are altogether 95 cellars in the village, mostly built at the end of the 19th century, but quite a few over 300 years old can be found. Another curiosity is that when World War II reached the area, the village's residents were offered shelter here. We will meet the other part of the cellar row soon along the forest edge.

The world of Black Mountain

On the right, we leave the Pálinkaház and the small event space created beside it, then follow a landscaped walkway along the Huta stream to the cellar row at the village edge. The neat buildings already line up at the forest foyer, and along with them the paved walkway ends - we immerse ourselves into the wilderness, and our tiring journey towards Black Mountain begins. The valley grips us within a few meters, and as we advance deeper, the terrain shows its wilder face: on the right, the Huta stream bed bearing the memory of a former glass factory accompanies us, the winding valley is almost enclosed by its high walls. Later, many ditches find their way to the water erosion - now intermittent streams struggle with great elevation differences in short distances, consequently accelerating and carving deeply into the easily erodible tuff covering the mountain foothill.

Looking at the map, it is noticeable that the Black Mountain block rises from its surroundings like a regular cone, its summit spreading evenly like a sharp umbrella. The hard dacite building the mountain was formed at the subvolcanic level, meaning its magma never reached the surface but cooled and solidified beneath it - however, millions of years of erosion have uncovered the softer (tuffaceous) layers beneath. Around it, on the lower terrain, a dense, steep-sided valley network forms, its branches radiating like rays. This is no coincidence: our mountain was once an independent volcanic edifice (eruption center), and its current waterways have inherited the paths of ancient predecessors buried in the eroded volcanic cone. Since the area has been sinking for a long time (approximately 1 mm per year), the Bózsva stuck close to the northern and eastern foothills of Black Mountain. Therefore, the mountain group’s streams are forced to break their way in short distances (between Mikóháza and the summit there is a 450 m elevation difference in 3 kilometers!), and the great descent results in intensive valley formation - the result is a rugged terrain that we can feel a bit in every climb during our hike.

As we push forward and climb, not only our feet feel the variety of the landscape, but the forest also shows a particularly colorful kaleidoscope. A reversed zonation is characteristic: in the scarcely lit, closed valleys, cool, humid air settles, thus beeches dominate, while on the southern, sun-exposed slopes and bright ridges, hornbeam-oak forests extend up to the summit region. It is striking that many dead trees lie on the ground, with new growth sprouting in place of fallen trunks, painting a natural and sheltered picture of the woodland.

The mountain’s mammal and bird fauna is thus extremely rich; the already mentioned imperial eagle nests here again, even though this particularly sensitive species feels comfortable in undisturbed, old forests. It generally builds its nest on the tallest tree, near the edge of the wooded area, as this allows easier landing and vigilance of its surroundings (hence its high sensitivity to human disturbance). Among many other rare species, the black stork and the Ural owl have also found habitat here, and wolves and lynxes also occasionally roam here from the central parts of the mountain range.

Heading to the summit!

Hikers are served by beautifully built rest areas. Shortly after the first one, light penetrates the ground, and we reach the oak ridge rest area located in a small saddle. From the dilapidated pavilion, a narrow view opens to the neighboring ridge, framed by a planted pine forest, and the hiking path sharply turns west. We traverse a beautiful, straight beech forest, and within minutes turn onto the previously followed upper section of the Málnás Valley. In front of us stands the most exhausting challenge of our hike, as the forest and the ascent become wilder in sync once we leave behind a narrow strip of new growth. Spindly pines sometimes supported only by their peers contribute their part to the dark, windless wilderness. A small mossy stone sea on the slope indicates that we have now stepped from the tuff to the harder dacite. A big push on the root-entangled, somewhat eroded path slowly narrowing into a trail, finally stumbling over thick trunks lying on the ground, we reach the young dense forest. Shortly after, canopy covers our head again, finally reaching the forested clearing of Black Meadow.

Beneath the trees towers a massive stone-based rain shelter, next to it are a rest area and a fire pit (but there are benches and a table under the roof as well). Anyone wishing to taste the atmosphere of the Black Mountain wilderness will find this probably the ideal camping spot - of course, only if sufficient water is brought along, since it is only found much lower in the valley heads. Let’s tackle the last ascent and storm the summit!

Through old, varied, wind-swept beech forest, we steadily climb on the P▲ mark. The ground is dotted with a loose stone sea shattered by Ice Age frosts - the scene around the summit is worthy of what we have seen so far, perhaps even surpassing it. There is every chance to spot the wild sheep (mouflons), which prefer rocky places and were first introduced in Hungary in 1901 to nearby Füzérradvány, though the rocket-shaped lookout tower will certainly draw our attention. The 577-meter-high Black Mountain has two peaks; the smaller one holds a landscape-fitting structure meant to lure hikers from the village.

From the upper terrace, the trees allow a panoramic view in only one direction: over the Hegyköz basin. The ridges ripple with the Central Zemplén and the Milic group with the white walls of Füzéri Castle, and in the background (continuing the Tokaj Mountains), the Szalánci Mountains bulge. The wooded ridges above Vilyvitány paint a hilly picture only, behind them the volcanic ridges of Vihorlát turn blue. The weather station has been here since 2001, its collapsed predecessor stood on the neighboring, southern summit. Since it is far from a shocking category, the view rather complements than crowns the experience that the beauty of the route and the noticeably high altitude reward together. After enjoying the summit atmosphere, descend the same path back to Black Meadow!

Under the tents

From the clearing, it is worth exploring the mound behind the rain shelter, as from its eastern side a small view opens toward the peaks of the Sátoros Mountains. After resting from the earlier hiking fatigue, let’s start the descent soon, as a long way still awaits. The P mark meanders through a beautiful oak forest among thick trunks on the southern extension of the Oak Ridge; in fact, we walk along a narrow little ridge. We cross a saddle point, then climb gently, now partly in the shade of beeches, to the saddle of Nagy-Hallgató. The rollercoaster ride does not end: this time the path slopes downwards, and we traverse for a long time along an abandoned tire track in a cleared slope. Above the growing vegetation, you can look west, thus for a moment we can feel in what a huge mountain massif we hike. Within minutes, we reach a junction where a forester’s wooden memorial cross stands next to a bench and table offering a resting place.

From here, changing to the National Blue Trail K mark, we hike left on a wide logging road. We bypass a wide valley head whose sides bear large clearcuts piercing the forest, thus our gaze may even wander to the characteristic (namesake) silhouette of the Sátoros Mountains group. Although our famous geographer Jenő Cholnoky hypothesized in the early 20th century from their shape that these heights are remnants of a volcano like Vesuvius and this theory has since been refuted. In the area related to Black Mountain, magma intruded into rhyolitic tuff and did not reach the surface but merely lifted it. Over the approximately 9 million years since then, erosion (mainly waterways) has uncovered these hard, resistant dacite bodies from the ground, which now tower over their lowered surroundings. Their shape is so unique and common in the area that between the two World Wars, the whole region was named the Sátor Mountains - however, the name did not stick.

On the other side of the valley head, the forest calls us again. Soon, we turn left onto a narrower tire track. Following a terrain densely cut with ditches and hollows, we are forced to a gentle but continuous undulation. Hornbeams, beeches, oaks alternate, and a small clearing finally lets us realize how close we have come to the Sátoros Mountains, which we had only observed from afar. Here we turn left into a deep path, at whose bottom the foothill terrain flattens out.

We reach the connection of the K◼ mark, where turning left, we head to Rudabányácska. The easily ditched tuffaceous layer is cut by many gulleys, as if it had grown toes behind our back on Som Hill. At the end of a short descent, we turn right and in minutes reach the neat buildings of the Smaragd Valley Rest Park.

We can celebrate the end of our hike at the restaurant, but the reservoirs dammed from the Magas stream also offer idyllic resting places: above the water surface towers the huge Magas Mountain’s impressive green pyramid-shaped peak. We find the bus stop in the center of Rudabányácska, the former ore (more precisely silver and gold) mining village - if we follow the sign and the single street, we can reach our goal in about 15 minutes.