Blood, Sweat and Tears

Mount Kinabalu, Malaysia

I'm not sure where I first heard this quote but it's a good description of our ascent of Mount Kinabalu. Now this was something I had really been looking forward to. A proper mountain! Low's Peak, the one that can conveniently be climbed on foot and without special equipment or skills, an impressive 4095 meters tall and thus for me the highest point of this journey. A quick introduction to those who don't want to read the Wikipedia entry:
Mount Kinabalu, Malaysia's highest mountain, stands in Kinabalu National Park in Sabah State of Malaysian Borneo. It has five peaks, the highest of which is the afore mentioned Low's Peak which with 4095 meters. The ascent covers an altitude difference of a bit less than 2200 meters and a distance of about 8.7 kilometers one way. Most people spend two days on the ascent. On the first day you climb to the mid point at Laban Rata where there's a guesthouse and you can rest your weary bones. Very (very!) early the next morning you set off for the second half to catch the sunrise (if you're lucky) from the peak and then descend back to the base camp. Sounds easy enough, right? We heard there have even been people who attempted this in a single day. We were also told what they looked like afterwards. Not a pretty sight, I imagine. Because this mountain is hard (hence the heading of this entry). It is not for the weak and timid. Not for the faint of heart - literally because the air gets thin at that altitude. Nor for the weak of leg - the path is rough, rocky and quite steep; if there are steps they can be as high as your knee. To think that I was disappointed that a car would already take us to an altitude of almost 2000 meters! Us, that's me and a couple that I met at the hostel: Mattias from Sweden and Kirsty from Australia. We would be sharing the guide (and later also the toil) and thus at least some of the expenses. Mount Kinabalu is also an expensive mountain - RM 100 just for the climbing permit. Ouch! The pain started in my wallet but was quickly diverted to my legs.
I'll give you the highlights.
It all started with a briefing (for which only us three were actually punctual). Take heart, we were told, the oldest person to successfully reach the peak was 96 years old (crazy Japanese!) while the youngest was a mere four years old (Malaysians no less mad). We were all average and shouldn't have any trouble. "I'm not too old for this shit!"
We started out at nine o'clock from the base camp loaded with energy food (peanuts!), warm clothing and water. Our greatest worry was the weather, which can be highly unpredictable around the mountain. It had been overcast and rainy when we arrived. If this continued there would be no view from the peak, neither scenery nor sunrise. Also if it rained heavily our guide might not even let us continue the ascent for safety reasons. And there was no way to wait a day because all guesthouses were booked out in advance. When we set off there was a patch of blue sky around the peak, so I sent a prayer to heaven that this would be a good sign.
Mattias and Kirsty had bought a pair of sturdy walking sticks to lean on. Five Ringgit they charged for each! Nonetheless, Kirsty liked her stick. I decided to go without; I had done mountains before and never needed a stick. I was also being stingy. But changed my mind when we found a almost six-feet long, straight stick by the road side. Not a stick but a proper staff! That was just too cool to resist: to be equipped like Gandalf himself. And it did attract a lot of attention. A staff +10 to awesomeness (an insider joke if you're a role player). At some point along the way I even picked up a rock that fit quite neatly into the little fork at the upper end. It became a regular prophet's staff and was declared +15 to awesomeness. It was also a source of endless entertainment - imagine the pick-up line "hey, lady, do you want to take a look at my awesome staff?" or just the door with a sign "staff only". It did actually seem really funny at the time.
That first day we spent around six hours climbing up to Laban Rata. Even though it was already quite cool up here the clouds had scattered and the sun burnt down mercilessly. I've rarely ever been that drenched in sweat. Now I was also glad I had brought a second T-shirt, so I'd be able to change later. I think our speed was quite average. The only ones that regularly overtook us were the porters that carried supplies up to the guesthouse. Our guide said they do this trip up to three times a day earning around RM 8 per kilo they carry. I noted a fair number of women among them. Some carried huge loads but the muscles on their legs were impressive to say the least. You can even hire them at the same price to carry your bags for you. Some, notably girls, had done that and several porters carried bundles of some six or seven backpacks strapped together. I wouldn't feel right doing that - it's my bag, I packed it, so it's my load to carry. Anything else would feel like cheating.
The sunset from Laban Rate was a gorgeous preview of what might still be to come the next morning. It also showed how chilly it got up here at night. Mattias and I agreed it was a bit like a cool spring day back home. But were not used to it anymore after four months or more in Southeast Asia. I can only say I was glad for the luxury of a hot shower that evening. Once I lay down on my bed I must have been out like a lamp.
Only to wake up again at 2:30 (am!) to commence the final ascent. It had been raining earlier (I had slept through it) but now the weather was dry and even clear in places. In the dark we joined a train of people who toiled up this much rockier, steeper part of the mountain. It didn't take long to find out who was tough enough and who wasn't. Groups of people were resting where ever there was space next to the path hardly a few hundred meters from Laban Rata. One (I believe Singaporean) girl had broken down in tears and several other members of her group were trying to comfort her, telling her she should take it slow. Several people even turned back and gave up. We forged ahead, climbing clear of vegetation and onto bare rock which in the limited light of our head lamps seemed to end or drop away into blackness. Maybe it was good we couldn't see how high we were. In places we had to hold on to a rope to climb up very steep surfaces.
Eventually, the sky in the east turned grey. There were clouds above and below but the air was clear, so we should be able to see for many miles. I tried to encourage the others to greater speed. I was terribly frightened we would miss what we had worked so hard to see. At the same time, I didn't want to go ahead alone - we had set off together, so we'd finish it together. I didn't want to become like the French guys at the Leaping Tiger Gorge. But as it turned out there was no need to worry. Our guide (whose name I had forgotten again) had timed our departure well. We arrived at the 8.5 km marker just as the sun began to rise. I wish I had it in me to capture the sight with some poetic words. We only had a clear view of the sun for a short time but it seemed to set the cloud carpets on fire. Even my photos don't capture it because they came out way too red. It was breathtaking. If the views of the previous day hadn't made all the sweat and pain worthwhile this finally did it. In the light of the new day the wooded mountains and hills of Borneo stretched out beneath us and in the northeast and northwest we caught glimpses of the ocean. And the sun was also welcome for another reason: sun meant warmth. The wind chill made your fingers numb up here.
I don't exactly know when we began the descent but the sun was already quite high. Now began what I always think is the most painful part of climbing a mountain: getting back down. I believe humans are not built for walking down long slopes. The prospect of 8.7 km of this was not encouraging. A Singaporean girl we had met on the peak together with her friend, Elaine and Sylvester, had a particularly difficult time. Her toes kept bumping into the front of her shoes and turned out to be badly bruised - bruises that were still healing when I met her again a week later in Singapore. Their guide supported her and even carried her part of the way. I know I would have been to proud to accept any help but I did need many more breaks on the way down than on the way up. So, my memory of the way down is a blur of staring at the ground so as not to fall and looking for landmarks that would tell me we had made progress. I wonder if anybody (except the guides) felt any different? To think I wanted to start at sea level! Well, now I know better, don't I?
When we reached the base camp again we basically fell into the chairs at the restaurant. We still didn't know when and how to get back to Kota Kinabalu bit it didn't matter - there were chairs and food. We had made it. And we lived to tell. Here we also learned that only 35 out of 50 climbers had made it to the peak that morning. The group of school boys from KL we had passed repeatedly had given up 200 meters from the peak. So had two big, strong-looking Finnish guys. Which only goes to show that it's a climb much tougher than it seems. But I'm still mystified: how can you come within reach of your goal and then give up? I for one am proud of my peak photo. I paid a price in sweat and pain (and several hundred Ringgit) but would I do it again? Hell, yeah!