Up Mt. Kinabalu- Part 3

The "night" before the climb was agonizing. I put "night" in quotation marks because the plan was to rise at two in the morning for breakfast before beginning our march to the top. I tried to fall sleep at 7 p.m. and took a natural sleep aid to ensure that I did, but missed my window of opportunity. Its effect wore off before I had a chance to doze. I was experiencing constipation- most likely due to the combination of high altitude and four buffet meals in two days. I rolled from side to side with each fart, hoping that the squeak of metal bed frame would cover the sound of any audible released gas. Sami, sleeping in the bunk below, later informed me that my ploy fooled no one- not her, the Irish girl three feet away, or the young Chinese couple at my feet. My ruse did not take the accompanying odor into consideration.

I was uncomfortable. The headstrap of my sleep mask was too loose and tickled my ear. I could feel a slight cold coming on. One nostril was completely dry and stuffed so that I couldn't breathe through it. The other leaked warm salty nose tears down my lips and chin. I hated being on the top bunk and was scared to death of a rollover. I tossed and turned and farted through the night with a bloated stomach and achy legs that I knew were only going to get worse. I twice frequented the men's room and put up one my most pathetic performances ever. I pushed and pushed and grunted and pushed for half an hour and each time came out with something no bigger than a Cheeto puff.

Eventually, I got a few hours of shut-eye, which I think was more than Sami experienced. Someones alarm clock went off at 2 am and we made our way downstairs for yet another buffet breakfast. Before we departed I outfitted myself in a pair of Sami's tights (yes they fit) to go under my hiking pants. I also wore cheesy hiking socks that we received as a Korean "service" at Columbia Outfitters and a giant blue poncho which came in handy more as an extra layer than to shield against non-existent rain.

Men in Tights

At 3 a.m. we slipped on hiking gloves and switched on our headlamps. Many hikers departed before we did and we soon passed them going up a steep set of stairs in the pitch dark. The hiking was more arduous than the day before. It was much steeper and above us headlamps glistened like eerie stars. I soon left Sami and the guide and took off at warp speed- exactly what I said I didn't want to do. I just couldn't stand climbing so slow in the cold behind fat people. I wanted to get out and move. Unbeknown to me at the time, I had all of our water bottles in my backpack, leaving Sami without any.

I took stone steps two at a time and easily passed dozens of climbers. I caught up to the lead group of about seven or eight young twentysomethings as we passed a checkpoint where a man at a desk made sure we were accounted for. The lead crew sat and rested as the guide commented on how early they were. Not wanting to go ahead on my own. I sat down as well with the intention of waiting for Sami, but when others bypassed the rest area and chugged ahead, my competitive juices started flowing. I waited for probably no more than ten minutes before bounding off on my own again.

The terrain past the check point changed quite drastically. It was all granite, no vegetation and no more steps. There was a rope attached to the ground that you could hold onto and I found myself pulling on the rope with my arms instead of using my legs. I passed all of the bouncing headlamps ahead except for two Frenchman who must be part mountain goat.

Soon I could see no more headlamps. It was cold and dark, but with the full moon I would see the tops of famous peaks above- the rhinoceros horn and the donkey's ears. If it wasn't for the rope and the orange lights of a village miles below, I could have sworn I was on another planet.

The volume of my heavy breathing was deafening against the dead calm atmosphere. My head ached from moving so fast and my stomach (still bloated) stretched against the tight belt of my poncho. At one point I stopped to adjust it and ended up just standing there, unable to move, forgetting what it was I was supposed to be doing. I wished my wife was there. I had never felt so alone.

Out of muscle memory I pressed on and passed the 7.5 km mark, then eventually the 8 km. Lowe's Peak- the highest point in Southeast Asia was just up above. I could see the Frenchmen's respective lamps.

The peak came with a whimper, not a bang. I was relieved to reach the top, but it felt strange having nothing to do. I was still at least an hour away from sunrise. I sat on a rock and stared at the unearthly terrain. A few guides reached the top after me and found a spot to lay down. Having made the trip on hundreds of occasions, they knew all of the best spots.

I found a decent rock to sit on and then shrieked in horror as something big and black scurried below. Rats. They moved quickly from person to person in search of dropped food. They must know that 4:00 a.m. every morning is when feeding begins. One even perched itself so close to a guide's

Oh my God! A rat almost touched his ear!

I hate rats and I cannot tell you why. I think it has something to do with the fact that they move around so fast, but I like other rodents with speed. It must be the tail. All I know is that I was shrieking like a girl the entire time at the top.

During one of my shrieks Sami approached with the intent of acting hopping mad. I think that she was more proud of herself for making it to the top than she was angry, so she didn't scold me to bad for taking off with the water. Also, she was laughing at my girlish cries every time I saw a rat. Serves me right for leaving her behind.

Finally day broke and offered us a panoramic that more than lives up to the hype.

 We'd made it, and despite my overall disinterest in hiking, this journey left us with a sense of accomplishment few activities can provide. Now all that was left, was to turn and go back.

Up Mt. Kinabalu- Part 2

We passed through the park entrance gate and walked down a long stretch of steeply laid stairs, which seemed a strange way to start the climb up to the highest peak in Southeast Asia. In less than five minutes, we passed a good sized waterfall poorly hidden behind sparse vines. We stopped for a minute and I took a quick picture. The picture didn't do the waterfall justice, but I was unbothered, figuring there would be many aesthetic treasures in need of documenting higher up. In hindsight, I wish I would have spent more time at the waterfall because there really isn't much to see on the hike up to the lodge- which rests at 6 kilometers, two thirds of the way up.

Nice little waterfall near the entrance (or exit I suppose)

I am sure that if you took great care and wondered outside of the worn path into uncharted terrain, the land around and underneath your feet would be enough to occupy and fascinate the minds of geologists, biologists and botanists for decades. The high altitude and proximity to the equator are prime conditions for a number of plants, insects and birds. I have read that many of the rhododendrons and ferns on Kinabalu can be found in only a few places in the world, and the mountain itself contains no less than eighteen species of rats (I fact I was made all too aware of later on).

On the trail, however, the scenery was limited to the orange rock stairs laid out ahead and the occasional wooden railing. The unique ferns and rhododendrons walled our view like a blurred and freely dabbed impressionistic painting. We were walking through the clouds on an overcast day and gray mist swallowed all that was not green. There were a few viewpoints along the trail, but peering out was like staring into a blank movie screen.

The trail is in very good shape. Anyone can do it, but you will be sore

Pretty gray view, but it would clear up for a little bit that evening

Can't remember if this was the trail or a side path I took a picture of. I think it is the trail.

I used our stop at the waterfall to get to know our guide a bit better. He said that he mikes the climb up to the top one or two times a week. On our way down the next day, we saw many guides hoofing food and supplies up to the lodge. Many guides even carried their passengers overstuffed bags for them- no doubt for a price. Our guide was thin and I looked older, but it is impossible to tell exactly how old. I have heard it said that people in Southeast Asia either look very young or very old, and this I cannot dispute. Despite this, and our guide's overall fitness, we would be carrying our own bags.

At about every half of a kilometer, there is a rest area with either benches or a wooden floored pagoda. There is also a unisex toilet at each stop. Each bathroom is dirty, and I was glad for it. I would have felt it unauthentic had they been sparkly clean with a urinal cake and powdered soap smell. It was bad enough that there were stairs, formed either from rock, wood or (gasp!) cement aiding us along for the majority of the climb. (Let me digress here and explain that I do not particularly enjoy hiking. Sure it is ok if you have time to kill and there is no tv or internet around, but it just isn't something I seek out. Sami wanted to hike Kinabalu because the view from the top at sunrise is spectacular and also because reaching the top would create a sense of accomplishment- nevermind that our guide hoofs it up twice a week, most people never get the opportunity. I embrace the challenge of climbing, but I tend to attack it like a sport- let me get to the top as fast as possible, not only so I can win, but also because then I will no longer have to climb. However, when I do decide to partake in an activity, regardless of the amount of disdain I hold in my soul, I don't like to cut corners. Maybe it is the Catholic in me that feels like I am being judged every second of the day, or maybe I just want to be able to tell the best possible story. Therefore, I was unhappy about the act of hiking, happy about the pain, unhappy about the presence of bathrooms, happy about their ghastly appearance, unhappy about sleeping in a bed at the lodge, happy that the bed was hard. Make sense?)

At the three kilometer mark, we met our first descender. He was a German fellow about our age. He sat down and fed the fat and brown, brave squirrels that picked at his shoe. We asked him how the view was this morning. He gave us the answer we already knew, but submitted a warning- don't summit too early or you will be waiting around for over an hour in the cold. Of course, you do want to get up to the top early enough to get a view, but he was far too early and paid for it.

I wasn't hungry, but I can't resist a drumstick

Further up, I (and yes I am changing "we" to "I" right now because at this point I had intentionally pulled far ahead of Sami and the guide) hiked into the majority of the descending party above. Each one commented that I was the first climber they had seen and asked what time it was that I began in the morning. I began to wonder, "Did we leave too soon?"

Earlier in the summer, Sami and I had hiked a few trails in Korea at Seoraksan National Park. There were a couple of stretches that tested our endurance, and I think it was decent training for Kinabalu. One problem I had was I began to get paranoid about which leg I kept pushing off of. It seemed like I was always using my right leg to make a power push and then lazily following with the left. As a result, I climbed most of the way with my head down and was somewhat surprised when I came upon the yellow lodge.

My first glimpse of the lodge- very happy to be done hiking for the day

 The lodge consisted of a large dining area, kitchen, supply desk and wooden patio on the other side of giant windows. Every now and then the clouds would part and present a spectacular view. I was dead tired and drank a cup of instant coffee we had brought from Korea. The dining room was filled with Chinese climbers in no hurry to get down. Many of them drank Tiger beer from Singapore, but I held back partly because of the price and partly out of fear of altitude sickness. I already felt severely constipated, which I later read is a common occurrence at high altitudes. My belly felt like an overfilled balloon, tightly wrapped in my Lycra undershirt. This didn't stop me from overindulging in mini chicken burgers and fried banana fritters later on at dinner.

Very sleepy

 Dinner later on. I honestly thought I was holding back.

In the meantime, Sami and I went upstairs to nap in our bunk beds. The lodge contained around twenty or so dorms, each with three sets of bunk beds. There was a smaller loge a little further up the trail. All together there were about 100 climbers who would rise at 2:00am the next morning to reach the summit before sunrise. Two hours later, when Sami and I woke, yesterday's Chinese climbers had left and the new crew began to take their place.

Our room. I was on the top bunk pictured.

 After dinner we were treated to a spectacular sunset. Sami and I met a young Irish lad and chatted with him about all types of subjects including the wealth of Malaysia and Brunei and it's natural reserves of aiyle. Upon later inspection, it turns out that "aiyle" is Irish for oil.

View from the balcony.

Most people were back in bed by 7 o'clock in preparation for the early morning. I put in earplugs, slipped my sleep mask over my eyes and braced myself for what I had hoped would be, an easy rest.

Up Mt. Kinabalu- Part 1

We were the only two on a spaciously cramped cargo van bound for Mt. Kinabalu. Three rows of bench seats in the back left zero room for lounging and I sat with knees tucked to chest as our driver, an Indian-Malaysian mustachioed man rattled off rapid fire climb details in a brilliant accent. He gave us the rundown of what to expect: what time meals were (seemingly every half hour), the quality of the water (not good), what altitude sickness feels like (mostly just a headache), where we should meet our guide, what our guide's name was, where we could leave our bags etc. etc. etc.

Outside of Kota Kinabalu, we were let out to walk over a suspension bridge covering a green river lined with vegetation. I am sure the driver explained the importance of the bridge and its relevance to the nearby village, but I had given up listening and just enjoyed the stroll. The jungle lined river reminded me of something out of Conrad's "Heart of Darkness," but this is probably only because I haven't seen too many jungle lined rivers.

During the remainder of the drive up to higher altitude, I was careful to take in the views of the jungle forest. Green as far as I could see with a smattering of beaten up, stilted houses, dogs and chickens in gravel driveways. I wanted to keep those images with me, and be able to recall them years from now driving across a barren desert or walking amongst towering high rise apartments. The sky was gray and still before the rain started to fall. Just spit at first and then a violent downpour. Somehow, the driver was able to navigate through the wet, gray curtain of rain. I took a video of the rain while inside the van. I am sure I will never watch it, but I must have felt moved enough to document the experience.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started and we were let out to browse an outdoor market near the entrance of the state park. I wanted to find dragon fruit, but there was none. Sami wanted me to a buy a hat. I don't really wear hats because I feel like my head is too small, but I bought it anyway as another piece of armor in a potential rain battle.

We got to the complex and received our meal tickets and room key. Our lodge was located about a half mile from the main office, restaurant and souvenir shop. The restaurant wasn't open yet so we walked the wood planked walkway down to the lodge to drop off our bags. Our room featured two sets of metal railed bunk beds. We were pleasantly surprised to find that we had the room to ourselves.

We were the first ones to enter the restaurant when it opened at six. We had our run of the buffet and went directly to work removing lids and scooping heaps of salty carbs like fried rice. chow mein noodles and pasta along with fruit and lots of meat. They even had shrimp with the heads on the way I like them. I felt like a pig, but soon the rest of the climbers- mostly Chinese and Euros dug in just as heartily.

The dining room. As you can see, we were the first to arrive.

No, this wasn't the only plate I ran through. I am a pig when it comes to buffets.

On the walk back the moon shone over the forming rainclouds, illuminating plants and flowers that appeared to come from FernGully. A full moon was scheduled for the early morning of our summit.

The rain came down hard and furious one more time that night as I lay in top bunk reading David McCullough's biography of Harry Truman. The war raged on in a Korea very unlike the one I reside in today and the general was pushing for increased aggression into China. I fell asleep to the sound of rainfall against the window pane and dreamt of a sloppy and soaked battlefield. Our march up the mountain would start early.

In the morning we packed our big bags and left them at the front desk for a small price. We would only be taking small backpacks up to the top. Breakfast was at the same restaurant and consisted mainly of leftovers from the night before. I couldn't resist the fried rice again and also found some baked beans which I put on burnt toast. I scraped most of the black off of it before applying the beans. These food items would contribute heavily to the subsequent constipation and general fartyness I would experience later on up the mountain. For now though, I was content to ascend with a happy mouth.

After breakfast we had a little scare. We thought our driver from the day before had told us to meet our guide, a petite but mountain strong woman, out in front of the main lodge at 7:15. By 7:30 no one was there. Eventually, we found another guide a quiet older gentleman who said that he climbs up to the top once or twice a week. Hearing him say that took the wind out of my sails a bit, but we pressed on anyway. We were ushered into an empty school bus and purchased walking sticks for the equivalent of about a buck. It wasn't very far to the main entrance. We took one last look behind us and then the gate to the park swung open. The day of our climb had finally come.