The Mountain Tourist Badge

I began hiking in the mountains a very, very long time ago — back in the 1960s. To this day I still remember rafting through the Dunajec River Gorge and climbing Trzy Korony (“Three Crowns”), one of the best-known peaks in the Pieniny Mountains of southern Poland. I was only a small child then, and other tourists were surprised that such a little fellow managed the climb.

In those days, during the communist era in Poland (the PRL period), family holidays were often organized in a modest and practical way. We usually stayed “na kwaterach” — at private rooms rented by local families — and from there made day trips into the surrounding hills and mountains.

While staying in the spa town of Muszyna, we climbed Pusta Wielka (1,061 m), where there stood a wooden triangulation tower that later collapsed. When we reached the summit, my father surprised us by producing a bar of chocolate. That may sound ordinary today, but in Poland of those years chocolate was not something taken for granted, so it felt like a true reward.

When we stayed in Rabka, we often hiked up nearby Grzebień Hill (677 m), whose bands of forest looked like the teeth of a comb (and thus the name, Comb Hill), and Bania (612 m). One day we even climbed Luboń Wielki (1,022 m) — in winter. At the top stood a mountain hut and a radio-television transmission station. We came back after dark, which was no small challenge.

Over time, these short outings turned into multi-week mountain expeditions. For many years I hiked intensively through the Polish Carpathians carrying a backpack that sometimes weighed as much as 30 kilograms (66 pounds), much of it food and supplies-it was the reality of life in Poland then. We travelled from summit to summit, from mountain hut to mountain hut, and from town to town.

Hiking in the Beskid Mountains, 1977

We spent nights either in mountain shelters (a.k.a. mountain lodges, hostels, huts or chalets), mountain refuges or in private homes in villages and small towns — and people often refused payment. On mountain pastures we sometimes stopped in shepherds’ huts called bacówki, where a fire burned in the middle and cheeses hung from the rafters, slowly smoking into the famous Highlander cheese known as oscypek. We bought that cheese together with żętyca (also called zyntyca), a traditional whey drink produced during cheesemaking.

Even then I kept something like travel journals. I carefully recorded our routes, described each trip, pasted in postcards, and collected stamps from mountain huts. Sadly, all those notebooks disappeared because of one family member.

Quite early on, I became interested in combining pleasure with purpose — by earning the Mountain Tourist Badge (Górska Odznaka Turystyczna, or GOT), awarded by PTTK, the Polish Tourist and Sightseeing Society. I bought the official rulebook and badge booklet, which listed how many points were awarded for particular hiking routes. The number of points depended on distance, elevation gain, difficulty, direction of travel, and other factors.

To prove that you had completed a route, you had to keep a hiking logbook and collect official stamps from mountain huts, town offices, shops, or other places along the trail. Once you had enough points, you submitted your application and attended a verification meeting.

Usually this was a friendly conversation with an experienced PTTK volunteer (przodownik PTTK) who knew the mountain trails well. I still remember the name of the exceptionally kind gentleman who “examined” me: Tadeusz Gurbiel.

Tadeusz Gurbiel

Years later I looked him up and discovered that he had lived an extraordinary life. Tadeusz Gurbiel “Góra” (1908–1993) had been a soldier of the Polish Home Army during the Second World War and a participant in the 1944 Warsaw Uprising against the German occupation. He fought in fierce battles in the Wola district, then in the Old Town, and later escaped through Warsaw’s sewers to the city centre with other insurgents — one of the most dramatic episodes of the uprising. For bravery he was awarded the Cross of Valour. After the fall of the uprising he became a German prisoner of war and did not return to Poland until 1947.

Tadeusz Gurbiel's memorial plaque in Warsaw’s PTTK Pantheon.

After the war he devoted himself to mountain tourism and became one of the respected figures of PTTK. He held several important positions in Warsaw’s mountain tourism commissions, but what matters most to me is that he spent years verifying hikers’ logbooks and approving earned GOT badges. In other words, this war veteran and former POW was the man who confirmed the achievements of young hikers like me. After his death he was honoured with a memorial plaque in Warsaw’s PTTK Pantheon.

By 1977 — or perhaps even 1976 — when I was only fourteen or fifteen years old, I had managed to earn four GOT levels: Popular, Bronze, Silver, and Gold.

I should add that for many years I have felt little attraction to medals, decorations, or official honours. Perhaps that is partly a reaction to communist countries, where politicians, military officers (especially Soviet), miners, and various officials were often covered in awards like Christmas trees, which tended to cheapen their meaning.

Yet I value these four modest hiking badges very highly, because I truly earned them myself. No one granted them to me by bureaucratic decree. They symbolize youth, effort, independence, unforgettable journeys, and wonderful memories.

They also left me with many metal hiking badges and souvenirs, whose photographs I hope to post here in future entries, together with descriptions of old routes and mountain adventures.

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Finally, one telling story. A schoolmate of mine also hiked in the mountains, but he had not yet earned the Gold GOT badge and was clearly jealous of mine. He questioned me about how and when I had earned the badges — not because he wanted to learn interesting routes, but because he hoped to undermine my achievements.

Around the same time, our class was preparing a school trip project (which was never realized), and my role was to design several mountain hiking routes. After my presentation I was surprised by his angry reaction and personal attack. He could not tolerate someone else speaking in an area he considered his private domain.

I thought about those incidents for a long time, with both surprise and sympathy. Eventually I understood that such behaviour often comes from insecurity and low self-esteem — something that became evident in other situations later. Fortunately, in the following years our relationship returned to normal, and those episodes faded into the past.

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My collection of metal badges, pins, photographs and other memorabilia

Like many children, I collected all sorts of things when I was young. During the communist era in Poland (the PRL period, 1945–1989), even very simple everyday items could become treasures for children and teenagers. Bottle caps, matchboxes, comic strips found inside chewing gum wrappers, foreign beer cans and soft drink bottles, cigarette packages, and postage stamps often found their way into the collections of my friends and classmates.

I was no different. I gathered many such items myself. I still remember, for example, a plastic cigarette package made by Philip Morris, which at the time was considered a particularly desirable “artifact” among young collectors. Even an empty beer can from abroad could be something special in those days, when imported products were uncommon and difficult to obtain in Poland.

Warsaw, 159 General Karol Świerczewski Avenue.
The photograph shows the display mat with my pins and badges hanging in my room.
This photo was taken in my apartment on May 13, 1981, as we were celebrating the written mathematics matura exam (secondary school leaving examination) that had taken place earlier that morning. An hour or two later, we learned about the assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II in St. Peter’s Square at the Vatican.

I also collected postage stamps. I even had a subscription and received new issues every quarter — postmarked copies, which were less expensive than mint stamps. I still own one stamp album containing many pre-war stamps as well.

I probably received this badge from my friend's father at the Poznań Fair.

Over time, I became especially interested in collecting metal pins and badges. My main source was the Poznań International Fair, a major trade fair in Poland that attracted exhibitors from many countries. My father went there every year and brought back new badges for me. On one occasion our whole family went together, and I was in seventh heaven! Interestingly, I met my friend's father, who lived in the same building, on the same floor, and who held a high position at the headquarters of the "Unitra" electronics company in the Polish People's Republic, and he gave me a handful of pins!

Original admission ticket to the Poznań International Fair from June 1974  

Later, during hiking trips in the Polish mountains, I bought more badges at mountain huts and tourist lodges. When the Solidarity movement emerged in 1980, I tried to obtain as many pins connected with that historic movement as possible. Friends and schoolmates, knowing about my hobby, also brought me badges from time to time. Eventually, all of them were pinned onto a display board that hung in my room for many years.

Many years after I emigrated to Canada, only part of the collection made its way back to me. I mounted those badges on a new board and added several more collected in Canada. The display still hangs in my office today.

For years it served as a wonderful conversation starter. Clients would often notice it, and many interesting discussions began because of one small metal pin. More than once, instead of focusing strictly on business matters, I spent time talking with people about travel, history, Poland, Canada, or shared memories sparked by something on that board. I remember those conversations fondly — sometimes interrupted by my secretary reminding me that other clients were already waiting.

I have always believed that life should not be only about work. Whenever time allowed, I enjoyed sharing my interests — both those rooted in Poland and those developed later in Canada, which I describe in my travel blog: http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/

My room in the apartment in Warsaw, on 159 Świerczewskiego Street (currently Al. "Solidarności"). My mother with our awesome and extremely friendly parakeet. The mat with my pins is on the left. Behind, on the door, there is a very original poster featuring a ghost. The photo was taken in the second half of the 1970s.

In future posts I will share photographs of these badges and pins, along with descriptions, reflections, and the stories behind them. Other interesting objects may also appear here from time to time — and sometimes simply memories.

This blog is also available in English, although I realize that some topics may be especially meaningful to readers familiar with Poland and everyday life during those years. 
However, if this text is of interest to international readers, I'll be happy to answer their questions whenever possible. Sometimes my replies to comments may be delayed: when I travel, I usually rarely use my cell phone (which I only started using in 2022), don't have access to my account, or don't have internet access at all because there is often no cell coverage in the areas where I travel.

Finally, I should mention that some historical information included here will come from Wikipedia and other online sources.

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Bronisław Malinowski — Olympic gold medalist

Part V: International track and field meet (Poland-Canada-United Kingdom) in Warsaw, Poland, June 30, 1974

The most valuable autograph I obtained that day was, without question, the signature of Bronisław Malinowski (1951–1981), an outstanding Polish middle- and long-distance runner who specialized in the 3000-metre steeplechase. He won the silver medal at the 1976 Montreal Olympics and went on to claim gold at the 1980 Moscow Games in the same event.

Bronisław Malinowski
The note says, "Third place, 5,000 meters"

I remember very clearly how I managed to obtain his autograph. After the competition, already outside the stadium, I spotted Malinowski standing in line at a soda water stand—what was then commonly known in Poland as a saturator. To my surprise, he drank several glasses of water one after another. I found this somewhat puzzling—were athletes not provided with drinks after their events? In any case, it presented a perfect opportunity, and I was able to approach him and obtain his autograph without difficulty.

This is perhaps a good moment to explain what these saturators were, as they were a distinctive feature of everyday life in communist-era Poland and may be unfamiliar to non-Polish readers. These were mobile street stands, typically mounted on two-wheeled carts, equipped with a tank of pressurized carbon dioxide, water containers, and glass jars containing flavored syrups—most commonly raspberry and lemon. The vendor would dispense carbonated water, either plain or mixed with syrup, into reusable glass tumblers. Large umbrellas often provided shade for the operator.

Saturator. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Such stands were extremely popular in Warsaw and other cities. At the time, a glass of plain soda water cost 30 groszy, while one with syrup cost one złoty. After each use, the glass was only briefly rinsed—without detergent—which, unsurprisingly, raised serious hygiene concerns. As a result, people jokingly referred to this drink as “gruźliczanka” (roughly, “tuberculosis water”), reflecting a widespread skepticism about cleanliness.

Self-service soda machines.
Source: Wikipedia Commons

There were also self-service soda machines. One would insert a coin, press a button, and receive a drink. I remember two such machines standing for some time at the northeast corner of Świerczewskiego and Żelazna streets in Warsaw, next to a district office building. Unfortunately, they were often out of order or missing glasses. Some users discovered that instead of inserting a coin, a well-placed punch could sometimes trigger the mechanism—and, remarkably, this method occasionally worked.

Self-serve saturator in the Soviet Union in 1987
Source:  “A Day in the Life of the Soviet Union”, photo by Paul Chesley

These types of machines were also produced in the Soviet Union and widely used there. In the well-known photographic album “A Day in the Life of the Soviet Union”—a collection of images taken by leading international photojournalists on a single day, May 15, 1987—there is a photograph by Paul Chesley showing several girls standing by such machines. The accompanying caption explains that Soviet vending machines dispensed soda or juice but did not provide disposable cups; instead, users were expected to rinse and reuse a shared glass. Bringing one’s own glass was reportedly considered “uncultured,” meaning a breach of unwritten social etiquette.

In Poland, I do not recall this being seen as particularly improper, but at the same time, I do not remember anyone actually bringing their own glass.

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Returning to Bronisław Malinowski—his life ended tragically. He died in a car accident on September 27, 1981, on a bridge in the city of Grudziądz. I remember that day vividly. A television program—possibly a sports broadcast—was on, hosted by Tomasz Hopfer. At one point, he received a phone call, and shortly afterward, he announced the shocking news to viewers.

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There is one more deeply personal memory connected with that day at the stadium. Some time later, at a Ruch kiosk (a typical state-run newsstand in Poland), I came across a postcard featuring Malinowski and needless to say, bought it. It included a portrait, an action shot of him clearing a steeplechase barrier, and a printed reproduction of his signature.

Something prompted me to take a closer look—and suddenly I had a moment of revelation.

Postcard with Bronisław Malinowski as well as my father and myself

The photograph had been taken by Janusz Szewiński, the husband of the legendary sprinter and multiple Olympic medalist Irena Szewińska—at the very same Skra stadium, during the very same event I had attended.

My father and myself

But that was not all. On the left side of the image, I was able to recognize… myself and my father. When I showed the postcard to my mother, she identified us almost immediately. Although our figures are somewhat blurred, I clearly remember where we had been sitting—directly opposite the water jump. Even more striking, a vendor selling snacks or small items can be seen nearby, along with his entire setup—I remember him well.

And so that single day, seemingly ordinary at the time, turned out to be filled with remarkable coincidences and memories that have only grown more meaningful with the passing years.

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Henryk Lesiuk — Polish long-distance runner

Part IV: International track and field meet (Poland-Canada-United Kingdom) in Warsaw, Poland, June 30, 1974

The next autograph belongs to Henryk Lesiuk. According to my note at the time, he was simply described as a “runner” who “on June 30, 1974, took first place in the steeplechase.” Under his signature, he himself added: “3000 (steeplechase) — 8:29.0,” indicating his result that day.

Henryk Lesiuk

Only many years later, thanks to easy access to information—especially through sources such as Wikipedia—was I able to learn much more about him. Henryk Lesiuk (born 1948) was a Polish track and field athlete, a long-distance runner specializing in the 3000-meter steeplechase, one of the most demanding running events, combining endurance with the technical skill required to clear barriers and the water jump.

He represented clubs such as Wisła Puławy and Legia Warsaw. It is worth noting that in the PRL era, sports clubs were often affiliated with specific state institutions—such as the military or large industrial enterprises—which formed an important part of the sports system at the time. Lesiuk was a three-time medalist at the Polish national championships in this event: he won gold in 1975, silver in 1971, and bronze in 1974.

His personal best in the 3000-meter steeplechase was 8:26.6, achieved on June 29, 1975—just one year after our meeting at the Skra stadium. This means that the time recorded on my autograph was only slightly slower than his lifetime best, which gives this small memento an added significance.

Today, I see this signature not merely as an autograph, but as a small fragment of history—both of Polish athletics and of my own childhood, lived in a very different world.

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Yvonne Saunders-Mondesire — Canadian track and field athlete

Part III: International track and field meet (Poland-Canada-United Kingdom) in Warsaw, Poland, June 30, 1974

I quite clearly remember the moment when I approached this female athlete to ask for her autograph—she was one of the very few women present at the meet that day. That athlete was Yvonne Saunders-Mondesire (born 1951), a remarkably versatile competitor who took part in a wide range of events, including the pentathlon, long jump, high jump, and the 400- and 800-metre races. Wow!

Yvonne Saunders-Mondesire
The note I made at the time reads: “Runner — on June 29, 1974, she won first place in the 400 meters with a time of 51.19.” Remarkably, just several days before — on June 22, 1974, at the very same venue — Irena Szewińska set a new world record in the 400 meters, clocking 49.9 seconds and becoming the first woman ever to break the 50-second barrier. Dean Bauck mentioned this in his email to me (he was lucky to witness this achievement), which I included in a post two blog entries ago.
Incidentally, on October 6, 1985 in Canberra, Australia, Marita Koch from East Germany (GDR) set the 400 m world record of 47.60 seconds, which amazingly still remains one of the oldest records in track and field. Of course, some people have some doubts as to the fairness of her achievement...

Her athletic career was particularly interesting because she represented three different countries on the international stage: Jamaica, Canada, and England. Such changes in national representation, while less common today, did occur in that era due to personal circumstances, migration, or eligibility rules.

In 1971, she won two medals for Jamaica at the Pan American Games. A few years later, in 1974, she became Canadian champion in the 400 metres at the Commonwealth Games—an important multi-sport event bringing together athletes from across the former British Empire.

She competed in the Summer Olympics twice: in 1972 for Jamaica and in 1976 for Canada, making her an athlete with significant international experience, even if her name is not widely recognized today. She now lives in the United States.

Interestingly, her surname—Saunders—sounded familiar to me. And for good reason. Her younger brother, Mark Saunders, served as Chief of Police in Toronto from 2015 to 2020. It is a small but fascinating connection between the world of international athletics in the 1970s and contemporary Canadian public life.

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Kenneth “Ken” Wenman — Canadian pole vaulter and Lyle Sanderson, Canadian coach

Part II: International track and field meet (Poland-Canada-United Kingdom) in Warsaw, Poland, June 30, 1974

Kenneth “Ken” Wenman (born 1955) is a Canadian track and field athlete who specialized in the pole vault. His personal best of 5.33 metres was a very solid result for the mid-1970s, a period when pole vaulting techniques and equipment were still evolving rapidly.

Kenneth „Ken” Wenman

He represented Canada at the 1976 Summer Olympics in Montreal, competing in the men’s pole vault. In the qualifying round, he successfully cleared 4.80 m and 5.00 m, but failed all three attempts at 5.10 m. With a best height of 5.00 m, he placed ninth in his group and 22nd overall, which was not enough to advance to the final. It is worth noting that the level of competition was exceptionally high—the gold medal was won by Poland’s Tadeusz Ślusarski with a jump of 5.50 m.

Lyle Sanderson

The second autograph I obtained that day remains something of a mystery. It belongs to an unidentified athlete, most likely a foreign competitor. The name appears to read something like “Zyk Sanderoy,” although I cannot be certain of this interpretation. Beneath the signature is the word “Kanada”—interestingly spelled with a “K,” as it would be in several Central and Eastern European languages, rather than the English “C.”

Despite repeated attempts over the years and extensive searches using modern online resources, I have not been able to determine the identity of this athlete. It is quite possible that he was a lesser-known competitor who participated in only a limited number of international events and therefore left little trace in official records.

UPDATE

Literally just a few dozen minutes after publishing the above post in Polish, Notaria left a comment suggesting that the unidentified autograph might belong to Lyle Sanderson — and she was absolutely spot on!

My sincere thanks to Notaria for her detective-like insight and creative, out-of-the-box thinking. I had been searching exclusively among athletes, while, as it turned out, the signature belonged to a distinguished coach.

Lyle Sanderson

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Lyle Sanderson (1938–2018) was a legendary Canadian track and field and cross-country coach, educator, and mentor closely associated with the University of Saskatchewan and its Huskie Athletics program. Originally from Piapot, he first joined the university as a student-athlete in 1960 and became head coach in 1965, serving for 39 years.

He was one of the most successful coaches in Canadian university sports history, leading the Huskies to 33 conference titles and 10 national championships, including their first national title in 1968. He received many honours for coaching excellence and lifetime achievement.

Sanderson also represented Canada internationally 54 times at major events, including the Olympic Games, Commonwealth Games, Pan-American Games, FISU Games, and World Championships. He was known as a pioneer in coach education and athlete development, conducting clinics worldwide and helping shape youth athletics programs internationally.

He was inducted into several halls of fame, including the Canadian Track and Field Hall of Fame. Through the Sanderson Foundation, he supported student-athletes with scholarships and training assistance. He died in Mexico in 2018 at the age of 79, leaving a lasting legacy in Canadian athletics.

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