Mt. Kinabalu

Mount Kinabalu, one of the highest mountains in Southeast Asia, at 4095m (13,495 feet), and 20th in the world according to topographic prominence.  This was the original reason I wanted to visit Borneo.  From KL, we went to Kota Kinabalu, the capital of Sabah, and largest city in Malaysian Borneo (with a population of about  500,000), which is the closest hub to the mountain.  The city itself is not particularly charming–a mix of uber-modern malls, dingy noodle shops, uninspiring markets, and guesthouses.

After a night in KK, we headed to the mountain, whose peak was already hidden in thick cloud cover by the time we arrive in late morning.  We pick up our guide, Maikin (whose services were mandatory to be allowed into the national park), and two friendly Kiwis, who ended up hiking with us.  And then we’re off–eager, not yet sweaty, and relatively naive about the challenge ahead.

Day 1: 6.0 km to Laban Rata (3272 meter ascent)

After a few brisk meters downhill, the mountain begins its unrelenting rise, which insists that every step we take from here on out will be up.  For the first few kilometers, all of this ascent is in the form of stairs, which sounds like a joke.  “Mountain climbing up steps? Hah.”  NOT a joke.  Instead of the comfortable, 7-inch-or-so, rise on a normal staircase, picture steps 2-feet-tall as far as the eye can see.  One. Foot. In front. Of. The other.  I was unfortunate to get into a minor motorbike accident the day before our departure to Borneo, so small open wounds on my foot and hand are aching–starting the climb I was worried about how my minor injuries would hinder me.  It turns out I should have been more worried about how out of shape I was! (I guess my training regimen–2 days a week at the gym for two weeks–is not a great one.  Who knew!)  I am so distracted by constantly catching my breath that I don’t notice my foot at all.

Each half kilometer is marked, in a demoralizingly slow countdown to the summit.  After we pass the 0.5km mark, Maikin (who has climbed the mountain twice a week for ten years as his job) tells us that some people are so discouraged they turn around at this point.  But the day passes, one step at a time.  Porters, lugging uncomfortable loads of supplies for the resthouse, puff by us, wearing only sandals.  Each time I move out of the way for them to overtake us, I feel both guilty and amazed, given how much I’m struggling with a very light pack.  We stop for lunch and are pestered by curious ground squirrels.  The stairs give way to rocks, which is a bit of a relief at first, until the rain sets in.  Suddenly the rocks are slippery gullies of running water, and I wonder quietly how long it would take people to carry me down in a stretcher if I slip.  We are damp, muggy, chilled.  Finally, about 6 hours since we departed, we arrive at Laban Rata–our accomodation for the night.  Extreme relief is an understatement.  I am overjoyed at the dryness, warmth, dinner buffet, and the most comfortable bunk bed ever (or so it seems at the time).  We turn the lights off to sleep at 7:30pm.

Day 2: 2.5 km to the summit, 6.0km back to the park entrance

The alarm rings–1:30am.   Perhaps on a normal night, I’d be thinking about going to sleep, instead I’m bundling up in as many layers as I can manage, eating what they choose to call “supper” at the buffet, and soon after, switching on my headlamp and stepping out into the abyss to continue the ascent.  The path is just slippery rocks, all we can do is just look down and trudge by the headlamp’s beam.  It’s only after another 0.5km that we finally break above the treeline and really get a look at the sky.  The stars!  One of the first sights that reminds me that the pain is worth it.  The Milky Way is in sight, and there are enough of them to even manage a photograph.

If this many were visible in my camera, you can only imagine what it actually looked like…

We reach the famed rock face rope climb, then an interminable trudge up the looming granite dome.  In the blackness, the path is defined by the sight of other climbers–a silent and mesmerizing procession of weary lights bobbing slowly.  The mountain is traditionally sacred for the locals, and today is still revered by this daily pilgrimage of devotees suffering in the name of the sunrise (or perhaps really just worshipping the possibility of the perfect photo op). “Did I really think this would be fun, or did I just want the pictures?” I ask myself again and again.  The cold and wind increasing, we trudge toward a distant point of light, seeming ever far away like a mirage.  Low’s Peak.

This is what we came for…completely untouched by Photoshop(!)

The approaching sun is glowing red, the moon is dwindling as we attempt to clamber the rest of the way.  Finally!  The brightest, most intense, most colorful sunrise I have ever seen.  No more than a chilled 20 minutes, accompanied by the complete loss of feeling in my fingers and toes, is spent on the top.  The journey down between the peak and breakfast stop at Laban Rata is the best part, once sensation has returned to my extremities.  We are moving slowly, but more briskly than the ascent.  Hikers move each at their own pace, silent and alone, with the warm early morning light parting the blanket of clouds slightly to reveal jungle and lesser mountains below, as well as the terrain of the early morning ascent.  The word “moonscape” is the cliche most often used to describe the top of the mountain and it seems apt in the stillness of the morning, with nothing but rocky turrets and clouds in view.

After a quick breakfast, we begin the descent, taking almost no breaks, for fear that losing the momentum will cause us to give up entirely.  The stairs are equally strenuous on the way down, perhaps even more so than on the way up.  By the end, each step feels to the knees and thighs like a brutal impact.  At last, the mountain has its last laugh, as we practically crawl uphill the last bit (that nice and easy downhill beginning when we started).  As we wipe sweat from our eyes, we pass by the yearly Climbathon record board, now completely in awe of the fact that anyone could manage to make it all the way to the top and back in less than 3 hours, without fatally slipping.

Sure, it isn’t Everest, but climbing Mount Kinabalu was far from a walk in the woods.  Given that it’s such a popular tourist attraction, and doesn’t require any technical skills, I seriously underestimated the physical and mental challenge of the climb.  Even now, with the mountain weeks behind me my memory of the arduousness the two days are seriously diminished.  But the hours and kilometers that went entirely unphotographed on the way to the peak were a battle.  The walk down from the peak, with the silence of 13,000 feet, and the pink sky above the rainforest, reminded me why I’d bothered to take each of those painful steps up.  And the soreness–Oh, were we sore! It was a struggle to move at all for days–reminded me that it was my own body that had managed to take myself to that astounding overlook.