Romancing Mount Kinabalu

 

Was it sheer recklessness on my part? Attempting to scale up more than 1000m up a steep mountain when my body was still battling a bad chest infection. And in clear defiance of doctor’s orders.

The day before the flight out, I have already been certified unfit for flying and physical activities. With that simple note from the doctor I could apply for a full refund of the flight ticket and advance payment to the tour operator. So my expenses were recoverable.

But getting a refund from my travel insurance was not in the game plan and certainly not what I had in mind. I have been romancing the mountain for a good part of this year and was not about to surrender this courtship. So throwing caution to the wind, I joined my friends at the airport for the early morning flight out to Kota Kinabalu, capital of Sabah in the island of Borneo. To get up close and personal with the mountain. Mount Kinabalu, to be exact and at a height of 4095m, the highest mountain in South East Asia. It sits high up in my bucket list of things to do, before I die.

We reached KK after a 2 hour flight. I felt queasy throughout the flight and doubts started creeping in my mind. Was I being reckless? I had been sick for a good two weeks, having caught a stubborn virus in Scotland and an extended rest at home might be what I need. But after a warm soupy noodle lunch at a local eatery I felt better. The road trip to Kinabalu Park took another 2 hour drive. We were to spend a night at the park resort. Our climbing group of 5 comprised of my very good friend J and his son and another couple. At a height of about 1800m, the air at the Park was crisp and chilly with the fresh feel of an alpine forest.

But again, I was racked by anxiety and uncertainty if my weakened body can withstand the punishment ahead. The night before even as we were relaxing after a satisfying buffet dinner at the resort restaurant, the frosty air aggravated my coughing. I felt wispy and breathless. My friend J who had initiated this trip, urged me to try out ½ a sleeping pill that he had brought along. On any other day I would not touch this stuff. But my sleep for each night over the last two weeks was punctuated by incessant coughing and I knew that I could not afford another sleepless night. Not before a day of such taxing exertion. So I obediently popped in the half pill without thinking too much. Soon after, the tranquilising effect of the drug began to kick in and I drifted into slumber-land.

After breakfast we got ready for the climb. I arranged for a porter to relieve me of carrying my own personal backpack. The 8 kg bag of stuff I needed to bring up might be too strenuous for my brittle frame to carry up. We had two porters in all, along with a guide. Our two porters turned out to be too pint-sized ladies who look like twin sisters. At less than 5 feet tall each carrying two backpacks, one of which was my own, I could not help feeling somewhat embarrassed. But it was just my biological male ego playing up on me. I had to get real and admit that I was not in the best physical state for this climb in the first place.  These two ladies at around 50 years of age as revealed to us, are as tough as the granite beneath their feet. They climb the mountain for a living, each capable of summiting with loads as much as 20kg on their back. Gender and state of health aside, there is no denying that we city slickers from our bubble world of affluent living are of less hardy stock. Our guide, Bil appears fit and trim with a quiet demeanour and sense of self-confidence that belies his youthful age of 24 years. He had climbed the mountain countless times since he started as a guide 7 years ago.

Our guide, Bil briefing us on the route before we started.

We started the climb from Timpohon Gate, about 5km from the Park office. I started the climb with some uncertainty, not being sure how my body would react to the physical strain. Clambering at a slow and measured pace, the first kilometre felt strenuous but not overly difficult.  I could go on. Much of the uphill path for the first 2-3km was made up of steps, uneven in height but nevertheless facilitated the ascent. Using both my trekking sticks I found that I could heave my body up with my arms allowing my upper body to bear

Our two lady porters, small in stature but tough as nails.

part of the upward exertion instead of relying only on my leg muscles. Still it took close to an hour to cover a single km of trekking. On flat ground at places like MacRitchie reservoir where we had trained often we could cover 6 km in slightly more than an hour. The huge difference is the gradient of the mountain and labouring against the gravity of our body weight.

With my tattered stamina and poor fitness, each step up the mountain was a leap of faith. Still, my months of dreaming of this endeavour was silently unfolding into reality. Scaling the mountain. Taking on the physical challenge, though that was actually secondary.  The all-powerful draw that beckoned me was the pilgrimage into the heart of Nature. 



Stepped pathway up the slope

Most of the path upwards was rocky and uneven

After about 3km up, the path turned rocky.  Carved against the precipitous slopes, the rocks and boulders are random in size and arrangement, artistically sculptured by no less a craftsman as Mother Nature herself. And on both sides of the path, a frenzy of flora and fauna made up the lush and luxuriant forest, beyond which lies more plants, darkness and hidden mysteries. At certain stretches of the ascent, a misty cloud hangs in the air, blurring our view of the landscape but enhancing its timeless beauty. The tranquillity and rustic freshness of the mountain was all consuming. Trekking at this slow pace, unfit as I was, my body had time to slowly acclimatise. I felt none of the altitude sickness that was reported by a number of bloggers who had experienced it. Instead, amid the exhaustion I found the climb exhilarating and even invigorating.  I knew I made the right decision to venture up to join my climbing group. It was worth the risks. Worthy of all the training I had previously put myself thru.

After about 6 hours of climbing, we reached the Laban Rata rest house, perched at 3200m on the mountain slope. All the climbers have to stay a night at this rest-house before taking on the last stretch of the mountain – a trek of about 2.5 km to ascend the final 850m to reach Low’s Peak, the summit of the mountain. With gradients of close to 70 degrees at some stretches, this second segment of the climb will be the ultimate test of the climber’s mental and physical stamina.

Laban Rata - the rest-house at 3200m up the mountain was a welcoming sight

I did a reality check. Assessing my own physical condition I felt that I should not push my luck any further. Not many people would attempt to scale this mountain unless they are in best state of health and fitness. I should not subject myself to further risk. The mountain deserved greater respect.

So along with the lady climber in our group and my friend J, who had suffered severe muscle cramps and had struggled the last two kilometres up to the rest-house, we decided to forego the summit. We had embraced the mountain and intimately savoured both its brutality and beauty. We can always return another day when we are better prepared for the summit challenge.

Sweeping view of the valley from Laban Rata

Once our two other team members descended from the summit and re-joined us, we began our slow descent down the mountain. I decided to carry my own backpack. It seems shameful to be trekking without a load strapped on like all other climbers. But carrying my own pack accorded me the convenience of going at my own pace instead of sticking close to the porter whenever I needed a drink or to retrieve items like my rain-coat should the weather change.

In any case, the climb down was not physically exhausting. But the downward path, along steep precipitous and rocky slopes could mean a treacherous fall or a broken ankle with a single misstep. This is where my trekking stick proved priceless, allowing the metal prod to bear a good part of my body weight to relieve the strain on my ankles and knees.

Our downward trek together was spent mostly in meditative silence and very soon our group separated from each other and I was walking by myself. For long stretches there was not another hiker in sight. Ahead or behind. Except for the constant background cacophony of insects from behind the trees, the soft shuffling of my shoes against the rugged terrain and plodding of the metal-tip of my trekking sticks into the dirt, there was an overwhelming sense of calm and quiet peacefulness.

Not that the downward journey was without dangers of its own. Once or twice I came close to slipping off a rock and twisting my ankle. But for my trekking stick digging in quick enough to bear my body weight, my ankle joint could have suffered more serious impairment. Jenny must have been watching me from above, keeping me out of harm’s way and my fragile health intact.

I like to think so.

If not for my rational mind getting in the way. The grand ideas of heaven and hell. Of pearly gates and eternal lakes of fire. Most religions worth their salt would have these ideas entrenched as major fixtures in their doctrine for faithful believers. I am not so sure about such ideas.

What I am sure of is that we are part of this huge reservoir of terrestrial carbon. When we die we return to be part of this earth and we give rise to new life as once it gave rise to our own birth. Perhaps this explains why, with Jenny’s passing my affinity and passion with nature could only grow stronger. I feel her presence as the wind brushes against my hair and skin. I see her amongst the trees and hear her whispering as the leaves rustle in the breeze. Jenny, my dearest Jenny, departed too soon from my life. My only hope of getting close to you is to commune with nature herself. Tears welling in my eyes were soon trickling down my face along with the perspiration as I trudged my way down the enchanted mountain.

For our group, the downward descent took longer than the journey up.  Our legs were soft like jelly by the time we limped back to Timpohon Gate.  Ravenous after the long trek, we helped ourselves to the buffet spread at the park resort restaurant. This was followed by a 2 hour drive back to the city and civilisation.  We checked into the Promenade Hotel at Kota Kinabalu to reward ourselves with 4-star comfort.

So Mount Kinabalu proved to me a summit too high to scale, not being in the best state of health and fitness. But respectfully, I have to be happy and contented of reaching the 3200m point at Laban Rata, scaling a vertical ascent of about 1300m. How high is that? Perhaps 5.5 times the Westin Stamford, the highest hotel in our country which scrapes the sky at 77 floors. I have tasted the mountain, savoured its charm and left enough of my foot-prints behind.  I will leave the summit as another challenge for another day.