Montenegro’s nature is truly grandiose. Traveling inland from Budva we stop at Lake Skadar and take a boat journey into the National Park. According to the guide books it offers a sanctuary to a great many species of birds, but since birds cannot read they seem unaware of this offer – there aren’t hardly any around. Still, it’s a pleasant break from driving, it’s sunny and warm and we’re alone on the boat with a great big platter of fried dough balls served with local med, honey, for lunch; life could be worse.

The journey into the interior skirts Podgorica, the capital, but we make straight for the mountains. The road snakes its way along the Moraća river, and mid afternoon we arrive at the mouth of the Mrtvica canyon, where we’ll do our first proper hike. The road leading inside it is so narrow that we miss it at first, and the drive along the side of the canyon to the trailhead is a harrowing experience, better suited for a 4×4 or perhaps a mountain goat.

The only reason we finally find the trailhead is because an old local man flags us down and points it out. He also says there’s a risk our car will be broken into as we have Croatian plates – clearly Montenegrins don’t love their neighbours neither!

Miss A is a little shook by this statement – she is a keen photographer and doesn’t want her equipment stolen, so subsequently takes everything with her in her backpack. I don’t own any fancy kit, so leave everything in the car*. And then we’re off, racing dusk up a most wonderfully overgrown ravine, where the trees aren’t just bearded but positively shaggy, and the waterfalls bounce and bound over boulders the size of buildings in the chasm below.

The next day, fortified by local shepherd fare, we venture even longer and higher into the mountains. Biogradska Gora is another National Park of stunning beauty – reminiscent of New Hampshire, with trees in every shade of russet, caramel, bronze and amber. Possibly because she is literally from that neck of the woods, or because she has picked up my cold, or because the map we’re using is sketchy in the extreme and doesn’t allow for proper navigation, Miss A is less than impressed with our quest to find the Mountain Eyes (the local name for glacial lakes that dot the region), and keeps up a litany of “Are we there yets” and “This is the worst trail evers” throughout the hike. It reminds me of my children, which I guess is good, and even I have to admit that the lake we eventually discover is underwhelming as a reward for four solid hours of walking. Still, it is a very pleasant park.

There are lovely cabins on offer near the visitor’s centre, but we want something better, so we use TripAdvisor to find alternative lodgings. The joke is on us; bad internet and too much haste sees us pick a place that’s called Riverside Lodge, or somesuch. I guess it’s a better name than Motorwayside Shack, but the latter would have been more correct. Suffice to say we leave as early as we can the next morning.

We drive into the morning mist and follow the lovely Tara river into the heart of the mountains. Autumn makes the deciduous trees glitter like jewels, and black pine trees cling to the serrated edges of the canyon, making it feel like a Japanese watercolor come alive.

The best way to experience its beauty is from the river itself, however, so that’s what we do. Rafting companies offer everything from two hour trips to two full days, the latter of which will take you all the way to the Bosnian border. Given time constraints and what we’ve seen so far of border crossings in the region we opt for the former, and spend a blissful morning being ferried down river by the currents (and never mind that the company fleeced us, charging for entrance tickets to the national park that turned out to be a week old…).

The last area we explore is Durmitor, another National Park of outstanding beauty. It’s of a different kind to what we’ve seen so far. Above the tree line entirely, the mountains here are clad in nought but pale golden grass. It’s a stark landscape, deserted and unforgiving, but very appealing nonetheless, not least when we stumble upon a herd of semi-wild horses. Whether it’s luck or what little I have gleaned of horsemanship, it’s a good feeling when two of them finally approach me and sniff me out under the watchful eye of the herd lookout.

And that marks the end of our journey, almost. There’s a long drive back to Dubrovnik, via orthodox cloisters nestled like swallows’ nests on rocky outcrops**, and through a somber Bosnia – we don’t stop here, but somehow the mood of the country is still clearly different – and back into Croatia under cover of darkness.

I already want to go back. There are secret canyons to be explored, trails to be walked, ridges to be soared, and all of it as yet unspoiled. It comes with my highest recommendations.

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*I do start compiling a list of all the things I wish I had – GoPro, drone, iPhone X et cetera – in case the car does get broken into. My birthday is coming up, after all, and if Montenegro is about anything it’s about playing the system to your advantage!

**Montenegrins are very devout – there are long lines to kiss the remains of the local saint, and the cloister courtyard is full of pilgrims who stay here for days in the sweltering sun in the hope of benefitting fully from the presence of Divinity. Whether it’s present or not I wouldn’t like to say, but the presence (and smell) of humanity is quite overwhelming.