SCOUTING AND DIVING — THE WANDA DIVING CLUB (PART 2/2)

A diving camp on Szeroki Ostrów Island — Olsztyn: a brief stay and a few memories of the city — A nighttime march from Pisz to Szeroki Ostrów — The falling flag on July 22, 1979: an omen of the beginning of the end of Communist Poland — A cartoon by Szymon Kobyliński in Polityka — A neglected Masurian cemetery — An unexpectedly deep sleep — Questioning the Katyń Massacre — More than 50 years of "Wanda"

This is part two. You can read part one HERE.

Naturally, I remember my "diving years" very fondly, and I am extremely happy that I had the opportunity to experience this rather uncommon hobby. In July 1979, I spent several weeks at a training camp on Szeroki Ostrów Island on Lake Śniardwy. Although this was technically a Scouting club, there was no requirement whatsoever to belong to the Polish Scouting Association (ZHP), and simply being a member of the club did not automatically make me a Scout.

Scouting Cross

There actually was a Scout sailing camp on the island, probably organized by the Warsaw Youth Palace, consisting of "real" Scouts wearing official Scout uniforms. We only had to wear blue shirts with a Scout cord. Their camp was located several hundred yards (meters) away from ours. Every day we walked there for our meals, and from time to time we joined them around the campfire for evening gatherings.

I still have a dozen or so photographs from the diving camp on Szeroki Ostrów Island, including color ones. It was the first time in my life that I bought color film. Unfortunately, the colors turned out rather poor—I have no idea whether that was my fault or the fault of the photo lab. In any case, I still prefer black-and-white photographs, even in the age of digital photography!

We traveled from Warsaw to Olsztyn by train. While waiting for our connecting train, we walked around the city and even stopped at an EMPiK (International Press and Book Club), where we attended a rather interesting talk about Poland's importance in the world. During the communist era, EMPiK was much more than a bookstore. It served as one of the few places where people could browse foreign newspapers and magazines, buy books and records, attend lectures, and gain limited access to Western culture.

Olsztyn's coat of arms is a figure of Saint James the Greater, the Apostle, in white robes on a blue field. The saint holds a pilgrim's staff and a shell, traditional attributes of the Camino de Santiago.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I had been to Olsztyn at least once before, in August 1977, and on several occasions went fishing in nearby lakes.

One day while fishing, we met an older, friendly gentleman who had also come to the lake, and we struck up a conversation. He told us that after the joint German-Soviet invasion of Poland in 1939, he found himself in territory occupied by the Soviet Union and ended up serving in the Red Army, eventually attaining the rank of captain.

After the "liberation," he came to Olsztyn, where he witnessed events that he described to us. I have remembered several of his stories remarkably well.

• When the Red Army entered Olsztyn, the city itself had suffered relatively little war damage. Soviet soldiers, realizing that Olsztyn would become part of postwar Poland, were reportedly jealous that such a beautiful city would belong to Poland. According to him, they walked through the streets throwing grenades into buildings that had survived the war, starting numerous fires. (I recommend a short article "Spooky in the city! The Soviets brought hell to the inhabitants of Warmia and Mazury in 1945. They do not deserve our gratitude, let alone a monument in the center of Olsztyn" by Dr. Karol Nawrocki, then president of the Institute of National Remembrance and the 7th president of Poland since 2025).

• Soviet soldiers also enjoyed fishing—but they did not need fishing rods. They simply threw grenades into lakes and collected the stunned fish floating to the surface.

• Many newly arrived Polish settlers were allowed to occupy the finest houses, and some families reportedly took possession of several properties. He claimed that many of those houses remain in the hands of their descendants to this day. As a captain in the Red Army, he himself could have received the finest house in town, complete with the most modern furnishings available.

• I no longer remember exactly why, but he eventually joined the armed anti-communist underground resistance. After some time, he ceased his activities and took advantage of an amnesty by voluntarily surrendering to the authorities. He spent some time in prison but was eventually released. Because of his political past, however, he remained under the watchful eye of the Security Office (Urząd Bezpieczeństwa, commonly known as the UB) for the rest of his life and never had an easy existence.

The UB (Security Office) was Communist Poland's political secret police in the years following World War II. It was responsible for suppressing political opposition, conducting surveillance, imprisoning dissidents, and persecuting members of the anti-communist resistance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I remember several episodes from our stay on Szeroki Ostrów that I would like to mention.

*

            We traveled from Olsztyn to Pisz by train. Because of delays, we arrived only after midnight. The truck that was supposed to pick us up at the station and take us to the campsite had waited for several hours but had left less than an hour before our arrival.

So, whether we liked it or not, we marched about 8½ miles (14 km) through the night carrying heavy backpacks, finally reaching the island at dawn, where our tents had already been pitched. Exhausted, we quickly went to sleep.

Our campground was located roughly opposite today's (2026) campground, on the other side of the road, in a small forest clearing very close to the water (53°43'57.9"N 21°44'38.0"E / 53.732750, 21.743889). The central gathering area was covered by a parachute canopy. A primitive little dock for mooring boats had also been built.

Our camp, "under the parachute"

I should also add that the island was connected to the mainland by a drivable causeway constructed around 1943 by forced laborers from the camp at Zdory. Before that, transportation to the island had been provided by a small ferry. Technically speaking, from that point onward it became a peninsula.

*

            It was the last full year of the rule of Edward Gierek (nicknamed by some "Edward the Debtor" because Poland's enormous foreign loans were becoming an increasingly heavy burden on the country's economy) and his colleague, Prime Minister Piotr Jaroszewicz. Store shelves were becoming increasingly empty, and Poland's economic situation continued to deteriorate.

We lived in military tents, and every day there was a flag-raising ceremony during morning assembly. Being chosen to raise the flag was considered an honor. I was given that privilege myself—already on the very first day—in recognition of my brave nighttime march.

On that memorable day—July 22, 1979 (the National Day of the Rebirth of Poland, the most important state holiday in Communist Poland between 1944 and 1989, commemorating the Soviet-backed PKWN Manifesto issued in 1944)—which also happened to mark the 35th anniversary of Communist Poland, one of the campers began raising the national flag.

As the white-and-red flag slowly reached the very top of the flagpole, it suddenly came loose and fluttered all the way back down to the ground!

We talked about that incident many times afterward, treating it as an ominous sign—and, as it turned out, we were not wrong. Just one year later, the nationwide strikes began, the “Solidarity” movement was born shortly afterward, Gierek was driven into political exile, condemned by his own Communist Party, and even expelled from it.

Even so, he received nothing more than a proverbial slap on the wrist, whereas he deserved a solid kick—and not just one—just like the rest of his communist gangster gang. Ten years later, communism itself came to an end in Poland.

*

In the issue of Polityka—a major socio-political weekly published in Warsaw that served as one of the official publications of the Central Committee of the Polish United Workers' Party—released for the National Day of the Rebirth of Poland, the front page, as usual, featured a cartoon by the well-known illustrator, caricaturist, and satirist Szymon Kobyliński.

Although he illustrated a communist magazine, Kobyliński himself never had any affection for the communists. In an interview published in Trybuna on September 2–3, 1991, he said:

"In 1947, after the rigged elections under Bierut (President of Poland at the time) the cannons were roaring, and I swore then that I would be giving those commies hell for the rest of my life. And indeed—I was never on their side in the sense of approving of them..."

The cartoon showed a grandfather, a father, and a son.

The father says to his son:

"Grandpa is as old as independent Poland, I'm as old as People's Poland, and you're nine years old."

Everyone immediately understood the allusion—Edward Gierek had been in power since 1970, almost exactly nine years.

*

            Near the road on Szeroki Ostrów Island, close to our campsite, there was an old, neglected, overgrown cemetery with Gothic inscriptions on the gravestones that were almost impossible to read. One of the camp participants decided to clean it up a little and even fenced it off with a barrier made of tree branches because, as he put it:

"I wouldn't want anyone littering and walking over my remains."

Only relatively recently did I learn that it had been a Protestant cemetery and that the people buried there had been the island's original inhabitants. According to the website www.mazury24.eu:

"At the turn of 1944/1945, Szeroki Ostrów consisted of six homesteads owned by: Michael Adamy, Auguste Dudda, Kayka, Max Prystawik, and August Sbresny."

Most of them were Masurians, descendants of settlers from Mazovia who spoke a local dialect and were subjected to strong Germanization. They often referred to themselves as Masuren (Masurians). Their culture combined Polish roots with Prussian state organization. Most were farmers and fishermen, closely connected with the natural environment of Masuria. After 1945, the majority either left the region voluntarily or were expelled.

*

            One of the tents served as a storage area for our diving equipment, and every night someone had to sleep there alone to "guard" it. One night it was my turn.

I was actually pleased because, in my regular tent, the adjacent cot belonged to a musician. Every morning the sentry woke him up, and while still half asleep he would grab his trumpet and play reveille—straight into my ear! So I was undoubtedly always the first person forced out of bed.

But returning to that solitary night—I can only say that I have NEVER slept so deeply in my entire life.

I fell asleep almost instantly, and in the morning they had great difficulty waking me up. For quite a while I remained half-conscious. Had anyone wanted to steal the diving equipment that night, they could have done so without the slightest difficulty. They could even have taken the tent and carried away my cot—with me still lying on it!

To this day I still wonder what caused it. Was there some underground water vein beneath me or some other geological phenomenon? Or was it simply a coincidence...

*

One evening we were talking about various subjects. Someone mentioned Stanisław Grzesiuk's book Five Years in a Concentration Camp (Pięć Lat Kacetu), and our conversation turned to the war, concentration camps, and eventually the Katyń Massacre.

Discussion at our camp

Here I would like to add that, in Poland, I never met anyone in a private conversation who questioned who had committed this massacre. The question of "who did it?" practically didn't exist because everyone knew who the real perpetrators were: The Soviet NKVD.

We began discussing the massacre and exchanging various pieces of information.

One of the club and camp leaders was with us—a very pleasant, well-educated, intelligent, and genuinely likeable man who was a fairly senior scout (Instructor or Scoutmaster) as well as a teacher. He listened silently to our discussion and eventually interrupted:

             — Are you sure that the Katyń massacre was not committed by the Germans?

I have to admit that such a question was completely out of place.

An awkward silence followed, and that was the end of our discussion.

He was the only Pole I have ever encountered who questioned the perpetrators of the massacre during a "private" conversation.

It was disappointing because I never expected anything like that from him. Unfortunately, as I have observed many times in life, intelligence and education do not always go hand in hand with an open mind or with the ability to think independently, critically analyze facts, and draw one's own conclusions regardless of officially imposed interpretations and ideology.

Even our teachers at school either avoided the subject altogether or subtly suggested that the perpetrators had come from the East as one possible theory—but they NEVER bluntly claimed that the Germans had committed the crime. In fact, even the secret police officers with whom I had a "friendly" meeting expressed the assumption that this crime was not committed by the Germans (although, of course, they could have done it for strategic purposes).

I also read that the reason why the four-volume Universal Encyclopedia of PWN, published during the 1970s, contained no entry for "Katyń" was that its editors refused to write a false account of the massacre. Instead, they chose the neutral solution of omitting the entry entirely—which, in itself, gave thoughtful readers plenty to think about regarding this act of genocide.

Throughout the existence of Communist Poland, official propaganda blamed the Katyn Massacre on Nazi Germany. It was only shortly before the collapse of communism that the Soviet authorities officially acknowledged that the massacre had been carried out by the NKVD, the Soviet secret police, which murdered thousands of Polish officers in 1940.

In Canada, however, I encountered immigrants from the Soviet Union, and some of them still insisted that the Germans had committed the massacre, stubbornly adhering to the official Soviet version of history.

But in their case one should probably feel sorry for them. Perhaps it's simply in their genes and DNA, and because of that they have suffered the most (and continue to suffer the most) under the very system they effectively support. Unfortunately, there is no cure for national masochism and an ingrained mentality of submission.

My grandfather, Jerzy Kismanowski (1894-1940)

I would also like to add that Katyń has a very personal meaning for me. My grandfather (my mother's father), Jerzy Kismanowski, was murdered there, and for many decades my mother and grandmother had to live surrounded by this enormous lie. On top of that, they were persecuted by the communist authorities (and I myself was also affected by it, albeit to a lesser extent, in 1981).

I think the gentleman on the right was a scuba diving instructor

Turning back to the club itself, it has remained active ever since 1975, continuously organizing numerous training courses and expeditions.

Its founder, Piotr Kowalski, only recently, in 2025, stepped down as president after 50 (yes, fifty!) years, passing the baton (or rather 🤿 the snorkel 😁) to someone younger.

I truly admire that kind of passion, dedication, and commitment, and I wish both him and the club every success over the next 50 years!

And finally, something amusing.

One of my friends, after seeing the club's badge, suggested that I should add the letter "L" to its name. It would then become the WANDAL Underwater Club!

(This is a bilingual pun. "Wanda" is the club's name, while "wandal" means "vandal" in Polish.)

*****

Blogi są również dostępne w języku polskim/blogs are also available in the Polish language

*****

More from the author

This entry is part of a broader collection of personal research and historical documentation across multiple blogs:

👉 Travel and nature archive/blog/: https://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/

SCOUTING AND DIVING — THE WANDA DIVING CLUB (PART 1/2)

Scouting — HKP Wanda — A diving course — Diving in Poland and Canada — Sailing — Aviation — Canoeing in Canada

I was never actually a Scout, only a Cub Scout—in 1969, during the first grade of elementary school, and for no longer than one month. I have no idea why, because Scouting at our school was very active. However, I do not recall any of my closest friends belonging to it, which was probably the main reason why I did not continue my membership in the organization. Fortunately, there was no coercion or particular pressure to join.

"Harcerstwo," the Polish Scouting movement, played an important educational and social role during the communist era (1945–1989). Although the organization was influenced by the communist authorities, membership was not formally compulsory.

Piotr K., the club's president & founder and I, Dziekanowskie Lake near Warsaw, June, 1979

In 1978, I enrolled in a diving course organized by the Wanda Scouting Underwater Club (HKP Wanda). Training sessions took place at the indoor swimming pool of the Legia Sports Club in Warsaw. We also went diving in ponds and small lakes around Warsaw.

Diving in Dziekanowskie Lake near Warsaw in June, 1979, with Jarek Ł. I wonder where is my hair today?

I enjoyed diving, but I never became truly passionate about it—perhaps because Polish lakes tended to be rather murky and cold, and to see anything interesting, one had to descend deeper, often using flashlights. More experienced divers spoke about vehicles lying on the bottom (when the Germans retreated across frozen lakes during World War II, the ice sometimes collapsed under the weight of military equipment and the vehicles disappeared beneath the water), and even about sunken military aircraft.

Snorkeling in Cuba in January, 2010. 

I much preferred snorkeling in the Caribbean. At depths of only three to six feet (one or two meters), one could admire beautiful coral reefs—I even took a number of photographs—and at depths of 30 or 60 feet (10 or 20 meters), the underwater scenery must have been even more spectacular. Even then, however, I did not become interested in scuba diving, although obtaining certification there was incomparably easier than in Poland. In fact, some people openly claimed that, in practice, one simply bought the certificate...

On the other hand, I met a man who owned his own equipment and dived both in Ontario and in the Caribbean without any certification whatsoever because, as he claimed, nobody had ever asked him for one—and he knew both the theory and practice extremely well. Well, that's another way of doing it...

In Canada—more specifically in Ontario—the village of Tobermory (45°15'28.3"N 81°39'49.5"W / 45.257861, -81.663750), located at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula, about 300 km (186 miles) northwest of Toronto, attracts diving enthusiasts from around the world.

Tobermory, Ontario - Mecca for scuba divers!

The waters surrounding the tip of the Bruce Peninsula are famous for their exceptional freshwater diving opportunities and remarkably clear water. Underwater visibility often ranges from 40 to 80 feet (12 to 24 meters), rivaling some of the best tropical dive sites. The area boasts more than 20 exceptionally well-preserved shipwrecks located within Fathom Five National Marine Park, at depths ranging from about 10 feet (3 meters) to more than 150 feet (45 meters), making them suitable for divers of all experience levels. Fathom Five National Marine Park was Canada's first national marine conservation area and is considered one of the premier freshwater diving destinations in North America.

😁

FUN FACT: The road ends in the town of Tobermory, where a ferry runs several times a day to Manitoulin Island (the world's largest freshwater island).

In 2016, a young woman driving late at night in heavy rain and fog was following her GPS directions. She mistook a boat ramp for a continuation of the road and drove straight into the freezing waters of Georgian Bay. She managed to escape the car and swim 30 meters to shore in water temperatures of just 4°C. Drenched and freezing, she reached a nearby hotel to call for help.

Dziekanowskie Lake, June, 1979

After immigrating to Canada, I seriously considered joining a diving club and taking a scuba course, but I was discouraged by the large amount of equipment one has to own and transport. Besides, I was much more interested in simpler activities that did not require major financial investments or specialized gear. As well, I preferred being ON the water, not UNDER it!

I also seriously considered joining a sailing club and even visited two such clubs on the shores of Lake Ontario in the mid-1980s. Sailing here, however, differs greatly from sailing in Poland. On the open waters of Lake Ontario, sailing strikes me as rather monotonous, whereas on the waters of beautiful Georgian Bay (45°21'32.2"N 80°54'57.8"W / 45.358944, -80.916056), which is part of Lake Huron, it can be dangerous because of the thousands of islands and rocks. Consequently, sailboats are seen there relatively infrequently, while motorboats dominate.

Georgian Bay, Ontario, Baeverstone Bay, around Philip Edward Island, 2010. Typical Canadian Shield scenery: beautiful, but very dangerous for motorboat and especially yachts.

The stunning, picturesque shorelines, formed by the rocks typical of the Canadian Shield, are in practice difficult to access for larger yachts. Even the most experienced boaters occasionally have accidents there, striking submerged rocks or shorelines—something I have personally witnessed twice, as well as seeing the aftermath of such collisions involving motorboats.

One must also take into account the cost of purchasing and maintaining a sailboat. While talking with sailors, I was somewhat shocked by the total expenses associated with transportation, winter storage in marinas, and insurance. One of my clients bought a yacht, and equipping it with electronics, batteries, GPS, solar panels, and various other gadgets cost him a great deal of money, time, and effort—yet he spent less than a month on the water each summer.

Ocean sailing, on the other hand, never appealed to me at all, even though I had opportunities to sail both in the Caribbean and along the eastern coast of the United States.

Philip Edward Island, 2010. The scenery is stunning... yet I can't imagine sailing here! But canoe is just perfect.

I should also add that for a while I seriously considered obtaining... a pilot's license! I even took two introductory flights, during which the instructor naturally allowed me to take the controls and enthusiastically encouraged me to sign up for a course.

Fortunately, I quickly abandoned the idea. After looking through the textbooks, I concluded that I really did not feel like absorbing enormous amounts of diverse information, especially since I realized that I would be flying on my own only very rarely. And although I have flown several times as a passenger in small floatplanes, I generally try to avoid that means of transportation.

Bon Echo Provincial Park in Ontario, where our first attempts at canoeing failed miserably in 1991. Since then I have visited this park well over 20 times, often canoeing along the imposing Mazinaw Rock and admiring 260 Native pictographs on the rock, which are 300-1000 years old.

In 1991, while camping with a friend in Bon Echo Provincial Park in Ontario, we rented a canoe for the first time. Unfortunately, it turned out to be so incredibly tippy that, despite numerous attempts, we could not even get into it—much to the amusement of the tourists watching us. Instead of the canoe, we were given an old rowboat, which proved to be much more stable.

Probably only a canoe allows to safely explore this beautiful area up close! This photo was taken from Solomon Island facing towards Philip Edward Island

In 1995, I enrolled in a weekend canoeing course offered by a club on Lake Ontario in Toronto, and a few months later, in August 1995, I took part in my first week-long canoe-camping trip along the absolutely magnificent French River and Georgian Bay in Ontario. It was one of the most beautiful trips of my life. That year, three more canoe trips followed in the United States: we canoed on the Current River in Missouri, in the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia and the northern part of Florida, and finally in Florida’s Everglades and the Gulf of Mexico. I got really hooked on canoeing!

My traveling companion and co-owner on our maiden voyage in our new canoe around Philip Edward Island in northern Georgian Bay. It was a once-in-a-lifetime journey! We're now at the rock Catherine has dubbed "The Kissing Rock" because it reminds her of Hershey's Kisses. We've paddled this route several times over the years and always stopped by it.

From that point on, canoeing became an integral part of my vacations. In 2010, I bought my own canoe (or rather, jointly with my travel companion), which has allowed us to undertake more than 100 trips, reach countless beautiful places, camp in unique and difficult-to-access locations, and even discover underwater shipwrecks on several occasions.

Indeed, I often wonder how on earth this tiny boat can reach so many places, often in the open waters of vast lakes...

I have often been amazed that such a small, light, simple, and almost primitive craft makes it possible to explore the most beautiful and barely accessible places—tiny bays, narrows, rocky islets, side channels, narrow passages, and very shallow waters. And when there is not enough water, one can still continue by pushing the canoe across sandbars, shallows, or reeds or, in the worst-case scenario, carrying it on one's shoulders. Moreover, one can quickly reach shore, pitch a tent, pull the canoe onto the rocks, and sit by a campfire admiring unforgettable scenery without having to worry about much else.

Part of Philip Edward Island, Google satellite photo

The western part of Philip Edward Island.

As the map and the satellite image above show, the waters surrounding the island are dotted with countless islands, tiny rocky islets, sheltered bays, and narrow channels. In reality, however, neither the map nor the satellite image can fully convey the complexity of this landscape. They reveal only a small portion of the maze of rocky reefs and islets that characterizes this part of Georgian Bay.

Some of these rocks lie just below the surface of the water and are almost impossible to see. Even while travelling by canoe, we struck them with the bottom of our canoe on numerous occasions. Although I constantly relied on my GPS receiver, I still found myself losing my way in this remarkable labyrinth. Before GPS navigation became widely available, even the most experienced boaters could spend a great deal of time searching for the correct route.

For this reason, sailors who venture into these waters must keep well away from the rocky shorelines and hazardous shallows. Ironically, those are also the most beautiful parts of this extraordinary landscape. A canoe, kayak, or small boat is by far the best way to explore these intricate passages safely and to appreciate their unique beauty and spectacular scenery.

It is also worth noting that much of the eastern shoreline of Georgian Bay has a similarly rugged character.

Returning to our first unfortunate canoeing experience in 1991—before buying my own canoe, we often took longer trips in rented canoes. From time to time, we ended up with extremely tippy and unstable craft—to the point that every significant movement had to be performed with great caution. Quite often, we were forced to sit on the floor of the canoe in order to lower our center of gravity and avoid a possible capsize.

Grundy Lake Supply Post, August 2010. With our new canoe, which we bought a few minutes ago! After 16 years, it's still serving us well. And so is the car, although of course it's much older. By the way... the business that sold us the canoe still exists, but a kilometer to the east, and the place in the photograph is currently vacant: Highway 400 will soon pass through here, replacing old road 69. By the way, the canoe is our common property and we have always wondered how we would divide it in case of an argument: would we cut it in half horizontally or vertically?

Today, I can state definitively that our current canoe is absolutely perfect: spacious (17 feet / 5.2 meters), very stable, fast, and light (under 60 pounds / 27 kg)—so perfect that I would give it a rating of 10 out of 10 stars!

In fact, during more than 15 years of paddling, we have never capsized even once, although there have been several occasions when we received quite a scare as waves washed over the gunwales.

So, in 1991 at Bon Echo Provincial Park, we simply happened to get an exceptionally tippy canoe—probably the least suitable type for beginners.

From the standpoint of the benefit/cost ratio, I believe that owning and paddling a canoe offers an extraordinarily high return—immeasurably higher than diving or sailing (at least for me).

Perhaps the best proof of this is my numerous bilingual travel blogs devoted, among other things, to canoe trips: http://ontario-nature.blogspot.ca/.

P.S.
This blog was supposed to be mostly about diving, but it ended up being about canoeing... You can immediately see what my true passion is!

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PART TWO

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In the next installment:

• Diving camp on Szeroki Ostrów Island

• Olsztyn: a brief stay and some memories of the city

• A nighttime march from Pisz to Szeroki Ostrów

• The falling flag on July 22, 1979—a sign of the beginning of the end of Communist Poland

• A cartoon by Szymon Kobyliński published in Polityka magazine

• An abandoned Masurian cemetery

• An unexpectedly deep sleep

• Questioning the Katyń Massacre

• More than 50 years of Wanda

*****

Blogi są również dostępne w języku polskim/blogs are also available in the Polish language

*****

More from the author

This entry is part of a broader collection of personal research and historical documentation across multiple blogs:

👉 Travel and nature archive/blog/: https://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/

Eliza Grochowiecka — Singer of “Andrzej i Eliza” and a “Schoolmate”

During that same January event at Warsaw’s Congress Hall (Sala Kongresowa) on January 4, 1975, Eliza Grochowiecka (born 1950) was also performing. She was best known as one half of the popular Polish vocal duo “Andrzej i Eliza”, which she formed with her husband, Andrzej Rybiński. The group was active between 1971 and 1981 and enjoyed considerable popularity in Poland during the 1970s, a time when domestic pop and light rock music played an important role in everyday life behind the Iron Curtain. To this day, I still remember many of their hit songs.

She left Poland after 1981 and has been living, I believe, in Germany since then.

Eliza Grochowiecka

Interestingly, I only recently discovered that she was a graduate of the Stefan Żeromski Secondary School Number 40 (XL Liceum Ogólnokształcące im. Stefana Żeromskiego) in Warsaw — one of the well-known high schools in the city. At the time of that concert, I could not have imagined that just two and a half years later I would attend the very same school, and that more than six years later I, too, would become one of its graduates. However, I do not remember our teachers ever mentioning her.

COMING SOON… 

In the second half of July, 2026, I will publish the first of a two-part blog post entitled "Scouting and Diving — The Wanda Diving Club".

It is the story of scuba diving, sailing, and canoeing, together with memories of my scuba diving course at Warsaw's Wanda Diving Club and several weeks spent at a diving camp on Szeroki Ostrów Island in Lake Śniardwy in July 1979, exactly during the 35th anniversary of Communist Poland. I will also describe how, after moving to Canada, my passion for water sports took a different direction, eventually leading me to multi-day canoe expeditions on Ontario's lakes and rivers.

I warmly invite you to join me on this journey!

*****

Blogi są również dostępne w języku polskim/blogs are also available in the Polish language

*****

More from the author

This entry is part of a broader collection of personal research and historical documentation across multiple blogs:

👉 Travel and nature archive/blog/: https://ontario-nature.blogspot.com/

TURBACZ IN THE GORCE MOUNTAINS & THE 1973 PLANE CRASH

 I visited Turbacz (49°32'34.4"N 20°06'40.9"E / 49.542874, 20.111352) three times and, if memory serves me correctly, each time I climbed and descended using a different trail.

At the summit of Turbacz (1,310 m / 4,298 ft above sea level) — the highest peak of the Gorce Mountains in southern Poland — stood a fairly large mountain shelter (schronisko). Such shelters are an important part of Polish mountain culture, offering hikers food, accommodation, and refuge from the often unpredictable weather of the Carpathians.

During our hikes we frequently stopped at small shepherds’ huts known as bacówki. There we drank cold żętyca — a traditional whey-based drink made during the production of sheep’s cheese — and bought oscypek, the famous smoked sheep’s-milk cheese associated with the Polish highlanders (górale). For us, these were almost obligatory elements of any mountain excursion, along with conversations with the local people.

On one occasion, a highlander living in such a hut asked us where we had come from.

    — From Warsaw, we replied.
    — A few days ago there was an older lady here, also from Warsaw — perhaps you know her?

This was not the first time we encountered such a question. Some people had spent their entire lives in villages or small towns where nearly everyone knew one another by name and where, if they did not, asking a neighbour was enough. It was difficult for them to imagine the reality of a large city, where hundreds of thousands of people remain complete strangers to one another.

Turbacz is also connected in my memory with a dramatic story told to me by my aunt, an enthusiastic mountain hiker who explored the Beskid trails just as passionately as we did.

She happened to be on Turbacz on May 25, 1973.

The weather that day was particularly unpleasant. Thick fog limited visibility and many hikers decided to wait it out inside the mountain shelter.

My aunt was eating a meal in the shelter dining room when suddenly the door burst open and a local highlander woman ran in shouting that a plane had crashed! While passing near the crash site, she had heard the wounded pilot calling for help.

The aircraft turned out to be a Let L-200 Morava, a twin-engine medical aircraft transporting a sick child and the child’s mother to hospital.

A rescue operation began immediately. A helicopter attempted to land on Turbacz but was unable to do so because of the dense fog. As I remember the story, the injured were transported from the crash site by horse-drawn wagons to a nearby town — a reminder of how difficult rescue operations in the mountains could still be in those days.

Tragically, the woman did not survive the crash. The pilot suffered very serious injuries, while the child escaped the disaster with relatively minor harm.

At the memorial erected at the crash site

Several years later, while descending Turbacz along one of the trails, I stopped at a small memorial erected at the crash site. It had been constructed from fragments of the wrecked aircraft itself.

I still remember that moment vividly. Standing in the middle of a peaceful forest, surrounded by silence and mountain scenery, it was difficult to believe that such a dramatic tragedy had once unfolded there.

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This entry is part of a broader collection of personal research and historical documentation across multiple blogs:

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