On taking for granted amazing things because we do them regularly. The 45 minute flight from KK to Sandakan is such. Climbing steeply after take-off the flight makes a 270° turn over the islands of Tunku Abdul Rahman Park. On the day of writing the water looked dull and flaccid. The tide was out and patches of coral reef broke the surface, interrupting the passage of waves. The waves themselves look lazy and messy, slumped between the islands like a rumpled sheet.
On this day there is a thick haze caused by forests and peat burning throughout Borneo and Sumatra. The haze stretches for 1000’s of kilometres, rendering the ground dull and colourless. The haze gives solidity only to rays of early morning light. Everything else is flat, dirty and obscured.
The flight must make the 270° turn because if it took the shorter 90° option it would not have time to gain enough height to clear the Crocker Range mountains. It is gaps between these mountains that are letting the sunlight through to give form to the haze.
I am lucky to be sitting on the left hand side in front of the engine and the banked turn gives me the best view of all that I describe. Above the plane is a bank of cumulous clouds, our angle of climb acute to their flat uniform underside. It’s only a shallow bank of cloud and above it the flight breaks clear of the haze into a dazzling white space.
I look out for and am rewarded with the sight of bulky Mt. Kinabalu rising above the cloud: crisp, improbably steep and high. Another layer of clouds are formed below. These are lenticular clouds caused by warm low level airflow being pushed up by the mountains into the colder air above. Lenticular clouds spill over the North Ridge of Mt. Kinabalu, their top surface as smooth, white and textured as the surface of a glacier. The mountain closer to hand reveals the plateau pocked and puckered with granite spires
It’s a short flight and no sooner have we passed the Mountain and it’s time to descend. We pass through the cumulous again, exchanging a carpet of cloud for a carpet of oil palm. The oil palm territory is cut by gleaming river channels that wind into Labuk Bay. It’s still hazy over this side, but not so bad. The final approach to Sandakan takes us low over the fresh water swamp forest and finally some clear saturated colours of nipah palm and mangrove. Grass follows, then tarmac and it’s all over.
The first field we stepped into was damp with dew and my feet were quickly soaked. Claire stooped and asked “is that one?” A magic mushroom in our first field was a promising start to our two-day bothy trip. We planned to follow the Offa’s Dyke path from Cwmyoy before crossing the Honddu valley at Capel y-ffin and thence into the Grwyne Fawr. Claire had discovered that there is a mountain bothy somewhere in the Grwyne Fawr complete with wood-burning stove, if the photo on the MBA website was to be believed.
The climb up to Offa’s Dyke was bigger than I’d anticipated and halfway up, at the side of a soggy spring and under a spreading oak tree, Claire spotted a large mushroom. I identified it as a parasol mushroom and we strapped it to the top of Claire’s pack for safe keeping until the evening.
Claire with Parasol Mushroom, above Cwmyoy
We followed Offa’s Dyke north along a narrow flat topped ridge, with little up or down, for 10km. To our left was the narrow ‘U’ shaped glacial Honddu valley and to the right: undulating wide green vales occasionally lifting to brown moorland. Magic mushrooms occurred abundantly along the verges of the path, as did prodigious piles of horse shit, but surprisingly not together. I don’t know of any useful fungus which grows directly from shit, although plenty of mushrooms clearly find horse shit useful. The responsible horses stood around nonchalantly watching us, perhaps to see whether we would produce apples for them, or not.
Along the ridge we passed a woman with a dog and another woman who asked us if we were ‘Dyking’, a new verb for me. When the time came to descend into the glacial valley we passed a group of elderly walkers on their way up, eyes down and taciturn in their focus on the climb. Perhaps they’d have been more joyful had we met them at the top?
The brown moorland gave way to red and yellow bracken, just starting to die back for the winter. Low outcrops of crumbly layered rock marked the steepest section of the ‘U’ profile and water seeped across flat, stepped slabs which lined the path. The tree line and the top of the fields were indistinguishable, old hedge rows having been left to grow into large bushes or small trees. Seen from the other side of the valley the hedge lines seemed to be expanding like a row of ink blots to subsume the patchwork fields between them. We followed a row of hazel trees straight down the hill, filling our pockets, hats and in Claire’s case, cleavage with young cob nuts and maturing hazel nuts.
The cob nuts were green and encased in a pale yellow/green frill. As they matured the nuts fall out of the cup-like frill and turn into polished brown hazel nuts. Without their frills or cups, hazel nuts and acorns can look similar but you can tell the difference by the size and shape of the imprint of the frill or cup on the base of the nut.
Various pouches bulging with nuts, we walked the narrow lanes at the valley floor pulling blackberries from the hedge rows as we went. Claire added some sprigs of feathery yarrow to our bag. We thought that together with our parasol mushroom, they might add flavour to our rice. Our rice was likely to be short on flavour because we had forgotten to pick up some of our food from Claire’s fridge that morning.
The day was darkening with clouds as we began our climb out of the glacial valley to cross another moor to Grwyne Fawr. Jackets came off as we sweated our way up the steep bridle path, passing more nonchalant horses as we went.
Claire thought that the bothy must be at the building shown on the map of that name. As we approached, the building turned out to be a cluster of very barn and farm-like buildings and not at all bothy-like. The fenced in fields also had a ‘private land’ vibe which differed markedly to the access land, which the map had promised.
It would be dark soon, threatening rain and we had no sleeping plans other than the bothy, of which we had no idea of the whereabouts. We decided to ask at the farm. Taking cognisance of the fenced off fields and more significantly of the bountiful prickly gorse within them, we decided to approach the farm by the farm track.
“there is a bothy for walkers…” she said, holding back a pair of terriers and pausing as if trying to decide whether to tell us where it was or not.
“…it’s at the head of the reservoir. And the public right of way is on the track, up there at the back [of the farmhouse]”.
We said “thank you very much” and “sorry to trouble you again” and then held a little council at the farm gate. Should we risk the farmers’ ire and follow the obviously quicker track up the valley floor, or climb back up to the public right of way that we had been directed to. There had been an angry edge to the way the farmer had used the word “walkers” as if “walkers” was a rude word in that household. As we hoped to spend the night very close to the farm we decided that it would be better not to risk her ire.
We clambered back up the side of the gorse fields, pulling a few more blackberries as we went and wondering whether the farmer had been telling the truth about the location of the bothy.
Honddu valley
Water was spilling down the face of the Grwyne Fawr dam, broken into a white sheet by rough stone blocks. It was a very high dam in relation to the length of reservoir behind it and presumably a good place to build one, if it were hydro power you were after. The right of way that we followed was a well graded track obviously built at the time of the dam. It led us to the top of the dam where rows of pine trees formed an avenue leading to the crown of the dam. A sign warned of submerged structures and another sign advised that climbing or abseiling down the face of the dam was prohibited. We had none of the explicit or implied adventurous activities in mind and so cracked on for the one mile length of the reservoir to find the promised bothy.
Claire allowed her optimism to peak first. I reserved mine until we’d lifted the latch and found the door open. This was a one up, one down bothy. Up being a loft: large enough to sleep 3, 4 at a pinch and reached by a metal ladder. Down had a small stainless steel topped table, two broken chairs and a coffin shaped stone bench. The end opposite and two paces from the door was occupied by a wood-burning stove and, surprisingly, a pile of firewood. We put the kettle on and settled in.
Grwyne Fawr bothy
The rain did not come as threatened and we enjoyed a starry night nestled in the ‘V’ of the valley where the headwaters of the reservoir glimmered dimly. By morning the clouds had dropped to obscure the moor top and a light drizzle started.
Our return to the van took us down the Grwyne Fawr along the edge of a spruce plantation and across a moor. We followed only sheep and horse paths for a while across the moor, threading between gnarled old hawthorn trees, heather and bracken. The ridge path once gained was broad and grassy, leading gently down back into foraging territory. We found more hazel trees, although none were as fecund as the previous days’. The find of the morning was an apple tree heavily laden with pale green/yellow fruit. The apples were just the right side of sour for eating raw and we put a few in our pockets to keep us going through the last hour of woodland trail and track.
The sound of vomit hitting a plastic door disturbed my reverie. I looked up in time to see it dribbling out of the gap at the base of the door and spreading across the concrete apron outside the pondok.
“There aren’t any tissues in here!” complained Rory.
“I have some wet-wipes if it will help” said Al. He rummaged in his rucksack and pushed the pack of wipes diligently through the gap under the dry side of the door. The wipes disappeared from sight and more moans ensued from inside.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if wasn’t shitting at the same time” Rory added, for our information.
“Hey, Al, how about a photo opportunity?” The door opened a crack and Rory’s pale face appeared just long enough to grin for the photo.
I soaked up all of this fine atmosphere rather passively, my feet stretched out in front of me on a bench in the Layang Layang Pondok. I was intensely aware of Rory’s discomfort, but at the same time I felt detached, like I was conscious but anaesthetised. The early morning sun warmed my back through my sweat soaked tee-shirt and the narrow bench felt like a most comfortable armchair. Al gave me some home-made flapjack, the first substantial food I had eaten since 8pm the previous evening. I savoured each bite slowly, enjoying the fact that while Rory was engaged there was no pressure to continue climbing for another few minutes at least.
About an hour into our climb, I had briefly entertained the fantasy that I might actually make it to Low’s Peak, the summit of Mt Kinabalu and the physical high point of our Camp2Camp challenge. Those hopes were fading fast now. My legs were too tired and we were going too slowly. On my training climb the previous week I had reached the Layang Layang Pondok easily without a rest. Today had taken twice as long and I’d needed regular stops.
When Rory emerged from the loo he confessed, not surprisingly, to similar despondency. His legs were fine, he claimed, but the combination of exhaustion, dehydration and altitude with the resultant vomiting and diarrhoea made for “one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life”.
“…and I’ve had a few uncomfortable experiences” he added for context.
We struggled on and made it to the Laban Rata hut by midday, 4.5 hours after leaving Timpohon Gate. Our decision not to press on for the summit was unanimous and unequivocal, even had our Park guide been minded to allow it. We had missed our ambitious target but the journey so far had been outstanding and there was still stage III to go, once we had got down from the mountain.
The idea had been stupid from the start, and I had made my views known on this point. I thought the idea stupid because I thought that it was impossible. Despite this I still acceded. I not just acceded but I also took the challenge seriously, carefully planning a series of arduous training days to give me the best chance of success. Although I knew the challenge was most likely impossible, there was perhaps, just the faintest glimmer of possibility that it was not.
Rory’s proposal was for a fundraising cycling and hiking challenge from Camp Tinangol to Camp Bongkud, including the climb to the summit of Mt. Kinabalu. It is 180km by road between the two camps and at the 140km mark the road reaches an altitude of 1866m at the Kinabalu Park Headquarters. At Park HQ we’d get of our bikes and walk up the mountain. Upon return to HQ we’d get back on our bikes and cycle the remaining 40km to Camp Bongkud. Simple.
Camp Tinangol and Bongkud are community tourism camps operated by Camps International. Schools and Gap-year tourists who stay at the camps get involved in community development programs funded by the Camps Foundation. Our aim was to raise funds for Camps Foundation and thus the Camp2Camp challenge was born, or to give it it’s correct title: “Hideous 24-hour Physical Challenge”
Ian and Rory on bicycles
My first training run was a 150km cycle ride from Kota Kinabalu (KK) to Kota Belud (KB). From there I followed part of our challenge route, climbing from close to sea level at KB to over 900m on the KK to Ranau highway. Instead of turning left on the highway towards the park HQ, I turned right back to KK. From this training I learned that the KB section of the climb is very steep and also that cycling uphill in the 11am sun is not only debilitating but that sun screen can be quickly sweated out.
The second training run was a shorter but higher 130km ride from KK to Ranau via the Gunung Emas and Tambunan road. At Gunung Emas the road reaches 1662m before a nice downhill to Tambunan and then an arduous up-and-down 50km to Ranau. This trip took me 10.5 hours and I was digging deep by the end, barely avoiding cramp by timeously devouring a packet of salted peanuts.
By week three of the training schedule it was time to try something more intense: a five-hour 60km trip from my home in Menggatal to Kg. Buayan in the Crocker Range. 40km of the route was 4WD off-road track. I switched my slick tyres for knobblies and set off at 5am to try to beat the sunshine. The road to Buayan is brutal, on every uphill I had to push my bike and the following downhills required intense concentration and very heavy braking. My brake pads hissed when I forded the Terian River at halfway. I reached Buayan totally beaten. I stayed one night with Auntie Angela and cycled back the following morning.
My final training outing was the climb of Mt. Kinabalu by the same route that our challenge would follow. I hoped to get a psychological boost and perhaps a bit of acclimatisation benefit. I reached Laban Rata very comfortably but the remaining one third of the distance slowed me down. Trying to make up time on the descent I fell over and twisted my knee. For the next two days walking was painful and the lactic acid muscle aches were still noticeable a week later when I started the challenge itself.
Ian, Rory and Mike at the start of the Camp2Camp challenge
The day before the challenge, Rory and I held a strategy meeting with our support team, Colin Hawthorne and Alan Davies. Rory led the briefing.
“For food, I’ve asked Colin to mix us a big vat of Bircher Porridge, it’s packed with carbohydrates, no need to heat it up. We can dip into it throughout the night and for breakfast. It’s brilliant. All we’ll need”.
We made our first ‘porridge stop’ three hours and 60km out from Tinangol, somewhere on the Tempasuk plain before Kota Belud. I think I managed three cups of porridge, more out of duty than necessity. Rory on the other hand wolfed down at least six cups of the cold soaked muesli enhanced with Colin’s special blend of dried fruit. We were already behind on our schedule and there was no time for a relaxing stop. I noticed that neither Rory nor I sat down to rest, preferring to pace up and down whilst eating our porridge and re-filling water bottles.
The challenge had got off to a bad start for Michael, our last minute contender. Less than a kilometer out of Tinangol his freewheel broke and we had to call in the support vehicle. We switched his back wheel for a spare but Mike found that his gears were not tuned for the spare wheel. He battled doggedly on but poor preparation and an unsuitable bike did not work for him. Rory and I knew that we had to drop him if we were to stay in the game.
The ‘Bircher Porridge’ – maybe Rory’s downfall
We had picked a brilliant night for the challenge, it was cool, dry and a full moon shone through a thin layer of hazy cloud. Rory and I alternated in each other’s slipstream to save energy and keep the pace high. We both felt good and strong. On the up hills, Rory’s higher gearing meant that he was always a half wheel ahead of me and I followed his winking tail light, finding my own pace. On the downs we rode fast side by side in an aerodynamic tuck. Oncoming cars would momentarily blind us to the road ahead, my eyes watered due to the speed and we hoped for no potholes.
On the Tempasuk Plain the road was dead flat and the surface smooth. Our tyres hummed along and my bottom bracket squeaked painfully.
“Get some oil!” Rory yelled back at me.
“In 8-hours’ time you’ll come to hear the squeak as familiar and reassuring” I argued, unconvincingly, also wishing that the squeak would stop.
To our left, far away beyond the paddy fields, rose the silhouette of Mt. Kinabalu. It looked very big and a very long way away, beautiful, inspiring and intimidating at the same time.
“I’m just focussing on Kota Belud at the moment” was Rory’s way of dealing with it. It was a good strategy. There was a lot of night and miles ahead of us.
The support vehicle had dropped back to follow Mike. Rory and I were alone. After Kota Belud the houses got fewer and traffic ceased all together. We reached the base of the climb and decided to take a rest to prepare ourselves physically and psychologically. A bus stop presented itself on cue but the bench was crawling with fire ants so we lay down in the middle of the road instead. No standing and pacing up and down at this rest stop, just quiet and still and a sweat patch on the tarmac. We were exactly 100km from Tinangol.
Rory poses with his ‘mankini’ for a fundraising forfeit. Ian lying in the road
Half an hour into the climb we called in the support vehicle to top up our water and rehydration fluid. Rory took the opportunity to top up several cups of porridge. I did not feel like eating. I recalled how I had struggled up this climb in the midday heat during my training run. It was much easier by night. The moon was still bright and we turned off our lights to conserve batteries and to appreciate the moments as they rolled by. We found an even rhythm and paced ourselves on the climb so that we had breath to maintain some banter.
“They say that if you can still talk, you’re doing all right” said Rory to prove the point.
“I remember having to collapse on the verge just there during my training climb” I said to prove another point.
We caught up with the support bus at the junction with the main road and Rory downed some more porridge. We were tired by now, it was getting colder and we were entering the toughest stage of the ride. 30km of up hill lay ahead of us. We arranged to rendez vous with the bus at the Kampung Kiau junction but had to call a rest before that, at the Pekan Nabalu. Here Rory attempted to tweet an update whilst I applied vaseline to the base of my chafed scrotum. 6 hours in sweat soaked cycling shorts had taken it’s toll.
At the Kiau Junction our support team were all asleep in the bus and noticeably less attentive. Rory and I were noticeably less energetic or talkative. Rory ate, you’ve guessed it, more porridge, whilst I chomped on some salted peanuts.
The final 15km was mean. Road contractors or local government surveyors had marked every 100m on the road with a white line and a number, presumably counting the kilometers from Tamparuli: 35.1 35.2 35.3 each mark crawled by painfully, such that I was elated to realise that I had missed one and suddenly arrived at 35.5. I tried to reconcile these markings with the road signs which counted down to Bundu Tuhan, Kundasang and Ranau. Finally a sign indicated Kinabalu Park HQ 7km. A chilly mist rolled in and a headwind picked up. Rory’s tail light blinked 100m ahead and the red light on his helmet swayed from side to side when he stood up in his saddle to get a leg stretch and to ease the testicle numbness. Occasionally I’d see his white helmet light, which meant that he had turned his head to check that I was still behind him. The sky paled to grey and then to blue-grey. We rested for the last time at Bundu Tuhan, but not for long for fear of our legs seizing up and from shivering in the cold. After Bundu Tuhan the angle eased back and I clicked my front mech gears onto the middle ring and pedalled faster side by side with Rory. We coasted into the car park of the Panataran Cafe on the nose of 6am, 10hours after leaving Tinangol.
At the Panataran Cafe after 10 hours riding. Changed and ready for the mountain
The Park office opened at 7am so after changing into my dry mountain clothes I lay down in the back of the support bus for a half hour kip. I woke feeling slightly nauseous and headachy but this quickly passed. My legs did not ache too much but there was little energy in them. In retrospect it would have been good to have a leisurely hour for breakfast but our timetable did not allow such luxury. We needed to be at Laban Rata by midday and the summit of Kinabalu by 2pm. These were cut-off times set by the Park and only reasonably achievable if we started climbing at 7:30am. We found ourselves all too soon on the trail with a lot of mountain ahead of us.
Almost immediately we started trekking I felt the need to fart. I squeezed out a foul sulphurous smelling miasma into the path of Lasius, one of our guides.
“Jet power” I explained, feeling the need to make light of it.
“Turbo” agreed Lasius
Up ahead I heard Rory also farting noisily and with somewhat more shame than me:
“Very sorry about that” he apologised to Johan, the guide who was in his wake
“It’s ok, it’s ok” said Johan pleasantly “no problem” he added smiling as if Rory had merely stepped lightly on his toe. The reality was far, far worse.
“I can smell you guys before I can see you!” yelled Al bitterly as he caught up with us.
Rory’s progress thereafter was marked by a shameful apology every two or three minutes. I kept my shame to myself but unfortunately could not keep the wind to myself. Fart after wet bubbly fart leaked out and I began to be very concerned about the risk of follow-through. Suspicion began to fall on the porridge.
Camp2Camp Challenge cycle route profile
Around an hour into the climb Rory stopped for his first chunder and I knew that we were in trouble. The rest of the story you know already. After taking the decision to turn back at Laban Rata we both progressively felt better and better as we descended. Al, to his credit, cracked on and reached Low’s Peak in an hour and a half from Laban Rata: a very respectable time. Back at Panataran Cafe we stopped for a cup of tea and there was no question that we were going to get back on our bikes and cycle the remaining 40km to Bongkud. As an added incentive, Aida had driven up from KK with her bike and together with Mike she planned to cycle the last 40km with us. They had a 10 minute head start which was a red rag to a bull for Rory and I. It had begun to drizzle but we had the end in sight now, it was mostly downhill and there were two people to chase!
We passed Aida and Mike at a speed of 60km/h, Aida’s short legs were not lacking for effort but Rory and I had weight and momentum on our side, plus slick tyres. We hurtled through Ranau, weaving between the traffic and crossing the Liwagu river before starting the final climb of the day. Incredibly, we felt strong and pushed hard up hill to the Poring junction, where we decided to wait for Aida and Mike so that we could cross the finish line together. Here, sheltering discretely in a vegetable seller’s pondok, we were amused to see Aida arrive by support vehicle. The truck stopped at the top of the hill and Aida got out to prepare to cycle the final descent into Bongkud. She might have thought she’d got away with it had our grins not been spotted in the shade of the pondok.
Mike arrived 10 minutes later under his own steam, walking. After we had dropped him the previous evening Mike stubbornly continued, only calling it a night when he reached Kota Belud after 80km. He was now equally determined to complete the final leg.
The four of us all tucked in together for the glorious long cruisey downhill through Lohan towards Bongkud. Aida learned to slipstream behind Rory, where luckily he had ceased farting. The drizzle stopped and we rolled over the finish line at 6pm after 22 most satisfactory and memorable hours. The hideous 24-hours challenge had not been completed but all of us were satisfied and proud of our accomplishments.
The Camp2Camp challenge finish line
Thank you to everyone who contributed to the fund-raising effort, either in cash, by spreading the word or logistical and moral support. At the time of writing Rory and I had collectively raised over USD4,000. The Just Giving Page will be open for a bit longer and late donations much appreciated. The cash will be used for community based development projects. You can see how these projects benefit both people and nature on the Arkitrek Website.
Thank you also to Rory for setting the bar at a ridiculous but just might be possible height. It was an inspirational challenge.
I hate sponsored thingys. I don’t like asking people to donate money in the name of doing something that I enjoy and to benefit a cause that I care about, yet here I am preparing to undergo a so called ‘hideous 24hours physical challenge’ to raise money and awareness for the Camps Foundation.
…If you want to donate some money then please do so here, but that’s not the real reason that I’m doing this.
The real reason is probably a combination of pride and competitiveness, or to put it in poker terms, I’m calling “see you” to my mate Rory’s challenge. If I fold then I’ll never know if I can complete the challenge and I’ll never know how I’ll shape up alongside Rory.
Rory first pitched the idea to me as ‘Sea to Summit’. Start riding a bicyle from Tuaran Beach in Sabah, Malaysia and keep going until Timpohon Gate on Mt. Kinabalu. At Timpohon, get of the bicycle and start walking up Mt Kinabalu by the tourist path until you reach the summit of Low’s Peak at 4095m. All in one day. This seemed to me to be a perfectly reasonably and doable challenge. I’ve cycled from Tuaran to Kinabalu Park HQ before. The route gains around 2000m over 40km and took me 4 hours. I’ve climbed Mt Kinabalu several times, but never in one day. It is 2000m of ascent over 8km. Even with my history of poor acclimatisation, I reckon that if fresh and fit, I could get up and down the mountain in 8-10 hours. The cycle and walk combined in 24 hours, whilst no doubt would hurt, could no doubt be achieved.
Then Rory played his joker. As we would be fundraising for Camps Foundation, the challenge should have a Camps Foundation theme: Link together two villages which benefit from Camps Foundation money: Tinangol and Bongkud. The Camp2Camp Challenge was born, or to give it it’s official title: ‘hideous 24hour physical challenge’.
The cycle ride from Tinangol to Bongkud is around 180km and involves around 3000m of ascent. Of course we still get to climb Mt. Kinabalu as well and the 24 hour time limit still applies.
It is a stupid idea and I have told Rory so. Either the cycle or climb, theoretically, could take 10hours on their own. Putting them back to back. Hideous. Rory was un-moved when I suggested reverting to the original ‘Sea to Summit’ idea. “It wouldn’t be a Camp to Camp challenge, then” he declared. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he did not propose a triathlon starting from Camp Mantanani. I was trapped. Fold or Call?
At the time of writing this, I have less than a month to train. I took my bike to the shop yesterday for an overhaul. I’ll be doing this on my Polygon Cosmic mountain bike and Rory will be on his Kona ‘Jake the Snake’ cyclo cross bike. Tomorrow I’ll do my first training run. I then have two more weekends to train before the event.
Why am I doing this again? Rory has pitched the challenge perfectly: I have just the faintest glimmer of doubt that the challenge is impossible. I’m chasing that glimmer.
The challenge is on 16th November 2013
Left: road to Mt. Kinabalu. Right: not the bike I will use for the challenge
This is the bike that I will be using for my ‘hideous 24 hours physical challenge’. It’s an aluminium framed, made in Indonesia, mountain bike with bouncy forks and hydraulic disc brakes.
my Polygon Cosmic 2.0 mountain bike
Mountain bikes are not normally considered the best bits of kit for long distance road cycling. A mountain bike is designed for control and stability. The riding position is not as comfortable over long distances as a road bike and you get much less power. Compare standing up on the pedals when climbing a steep hill on either a mountain bike or a road bike. On the road bike, standing up will give you much more power plus a leg stretch and a break from the sitting position. Try standing on the pedals on a mountain bike and you instantly loose power. On a mountain bike you have stay seated at all times when climbing, with only small adjustments of the thighs and buttocks possible to adapt to the climb.
I have made a couple of minor adaptations to my mountain bike to make it more comfortable and efficient over long distances on the road. The first adaptation was to fit a pair of Schwalbe Marathon Plus slick tyres. These tyres have been on the bike since I bought it and together have probably done more than 15,000km, with only one puncture. The front still has good tread, although I finally changed the rear tyre last week due to side wall damage and going-bald tread. These tyres have outlasted: two pairs of pedals, one pair of wheel axles and one bottom bracket.
Schwalbe Marathon Plus tyres – the dog’s nuts
The second adaptation was cannibalising the Rolls San Marco saddle off my old, and knackered, road bike in the UK. This saddle and I have probably done over 30,000km together and we’re good mates. The stock saddle which came with my bike was brutal on my arse. Now it will be my legs giving out which stops me from riding further. A sore arse would be an ignominious way to pull out of a challenge.
Old and battered Rolls San Marco saddle, but still kind on my arse
What I do love about using a mountain bike on the road are the hydraulic disc brakes. There are some serious downhill bits on our challenge route and the brakes give me extra confidence to push the speed on the straights between the bends. On the bends themselves, the mountain bike geometry and fatter tyres give me more control and the tyres and suspension forks help maintain traction when the road gets knobbly, which it often does.
It might not be the best bike for a 180km road route, but it will do the job just fine.
Our third day on the mountain was the longest, albeit with less hardship than previous days. We left our wild boar nest at 8am and arrived at Paka Cave in the rain and darkness at 8pm.
It stopped raining for a few hours in the morning and as the drumming of rain faded out the roar of the Kadamaian Falls faded in. The noise was with us constantly but we got only one fleeting glimpse of the falls from a vantage point on a narrow ridge. At around lunch time a new noise intruded gradually into the forest, the rumble of the diesel generator at Timpohon Gate. Two days of trackless steep jungle had got us to the start of the normal tourist path.
Photo: Paka Cave
We emerged abruptly onto the Liwagu Trail, a day hiking trail that loops back from Timpohon Gate to the Park HQ. The three feet wide trail would have made a lovely campsite, had we happened upon it the previous evening. After 5 minutes of wonderfull level path, with no rattan in our face we arrived at Timpohon. Here we spent incongruous moments pretending to follow the original Hugh Low trail by crawling through some long grass and shrubs next to the Gate. Ceding to sense, and the reasonable suggestion of Park staff, we slithered feral and smelly onto the main tourist path.
The wilderness adventure was over but there was still a whole lot of mountain above us and the rain was never far away.
Photo: We bump into Brian on his way down
Leaving the tourist path 100m after the Gate, we took the Cable Path, a steep aptly named trail following the cables which supply power from the diesel generator at Timpohon to the TV towers as Kamborangah and the huts at Laban Rata. Sapinus showed us a vague trail joining from the left which was where he said the true Hugh Low Trail comes out. Where we might have made it to if had we not been forced onto a different route two days previously by rising waters.
The rest of the day was a slog. The main point of interest being our objective; the bivouac site at Paka Cave. Until the huts were built at Laban Rata, this was the only camping area for early explorers and before Hugh Low’s time, apparently the highest place on the mountain known to Dusun hunters. The ‘cave’ is a glacial erratic boulder with a good sized overhang on the downhill side. A wooden bench is built into the underside of the boulder which ‘comfortably’ sleeps 5. The guides slept on the lower deck on the hard packed dry earth.
The young Kadamaian River flows right past the door but unfortunately is unfit for drinking due to pollution from the huts’ septic tanks upstream.
It rained on and off all night and with damp sleeping bags was unpleasantly cold for some. The dawn brought overcast and drizzle. Our last day was set to be a frustrating one. The highlight of the morning was bumping into our mate Brian, on his way down fresh from the summit.
We reached Laban Rata in less than an hour from Paka Cave and the rest of the day was spent drinking tea, drying off and waiting for the weather to clear up. By early afternoon it was obvious that we were going to get wet again. We delayed as long as possible because it was only an hour’s climb to our proposed camp site at Sayat Sayat and there was no point spending any longer in the rain than necessary. I was also worried about the ability of our cheap tents to provide shelter high on the mountain. Above the tree line, exposed on bare granite slabs I knew from previous trips that things could get pretty wild and cold.
Photo: The bin-bag man of Sayat Sayat hut
The mist swirled around Sayat Sayat. We sheltered in the lee of a hut wondering about the etiquette of breaking in.
“they’re for emergency use” explained Sapinus.
It wasn’t raining hard so we decided to find a place for the tents. We tried to put our tents on the patches of sloping rock that were not streaked with moss, a sure sign of surface water flows.
Holes appeared in the clouds as we pitched our tents. Was it too much to hope for them to clear? A patch of blue sky appeared for an instant and we all rushed to lay out our damp kit. Ten minutes later it had clouded over again. The idea of trying for the summit was mooted. We still had an hour and a half of daylight. The guides made it clear that they were only up for one trip to the top. If we did it now, we would not likely do it again in the morning. But what if it was clear in the morning, but not now? We decided to go for it anyway.
Photo: The clouds clear for a moment at Sayat Sayat
Photo: Mist on the slabs
The gamble paid off. Within half an hour of leaving Sayat Sayat the clouds lifted, or rather lowered and we climbed the final slope of Low’s Peak bathed in the golden glow of sun set. It was magnificent. The memory of rain and rattan, of harbingers and gloomy forest made the moment all the more uplifting. I’d never stood on Low’s Peak at sunset before. To have the mountain top all to ourselves on such a day was a gift to be savoured. Sapinus declared it his 3rd best sunset from the summit. Praise indeed.
Photo: Surprise!
Photo: Guides Sapinus and Wilfred
Photo: Smmit team photo
Photo: Pulau Mantanani and Diwali Peak
Photo: North ridge
Photo: North Ridge
Photo: Exuberant catalogue models
Photo: Alexandra Peak
We stuck around on the top until it got too cold to stand still. The night was clear and I had no need to fear wind and rain. It was bitterly cold though. We celebrated with our last salted fish; fried until crispy and dunked into a sambal of soy sauce, fresh chilli, garlic and lime juice. All that was lacking was a pint of Harbinger to wash it down.
We had the honour of hosting Ian & Eve’s wedding few weeks back, Ian is an Architect based in KK ,he’s also working on the upcoming Sunbear sanctuary & some really cool beach shacks in Mantanani island. http://arkitrek.com/
Eve’s a journalist from KL. They brought together about 80-100 party animal all looked like they’ve been caged for way too long :0) I must say they’ve officially outdo us in the party department & I feel old & domesticated watching on.
1) They absolutely tear the roof off a Karaoke bar in the dodgiest part of town ( Even I didnt know of it existed,apparently that was only a warm up session ) 2) The girls had team Ian go through horrible forfeits & punishments in mid day heat ( All to proof worthy of the bride’s hand ) 3) A crazy cultural medley when the couple did the tea ceremony dress in Cheong Sam + Scottich Kilt + on our vintage Malay wedding throne + Hippie streamers in the background 4) Beers to cool the mid day heat 5) Sunset Cocktails,courtesy of ehem us .. http://www.balin-sandakan.com 6) Then some food & great speeches 7) More booze & potent Tapai ( local Rice Wine ) to get the party going 8 ) Some dancing ..some drag dancing to be exact 9) More booze 10 ) We left & last checked party did not end till 5am – Sunrise is about 5.30 here.
ohh oh .. I almost forgot she gave everyone the loveliest wedding favour everr..A family recipe book,a compilation of both families secret recipes ( Duhh )
Nevertheless I really admire the enthusiasm & randomness of this quirky bunch. But all in all it was nothing short of the big four letter word. L.O.V.E Im glad we got to be part of it.
Cover photo – lows gully and north peak
Story by Ian Hall
Photos by Ian Hall, Alan Yardley, Kris Grant & Zee Teng
The Kadamaian River collects its headwater on the summit slabs and spires of Mt Kinabalu. Here the slightest rain runs instantly off the bare granite, forming sheets and rivulets of water which steadily coalesce into streams. By the time the water reaches the Laban Rata hut at 3100m it can be a fully formed torrent. Below Laban Rata the torrent passes the historic bivouac site at Paka Cave before plunging into a steep gorge. Out of sight in the gorge the river prepares for its finest moment: hurling itself enthusiastically off a 200m precipice. The Kadamaian Falls are the most obvious feature on the NW flank of Mt Kinabalu and easily visible form the Tamparuli – Kundasang road.
Photo: Mt Kinabalu in mist from the road. Kadamaian Falls clearly visible
Below the falls, the river is again lost in a gorge. At this lower altitude the mountain is thickly forested and a series of ridges and tributaries run down into the Kadamaian valley. There is a final flourish at Minintinduk before the angle eases off and flat areas suitable for cultivation can be found on the river banks. Minintinduk is the dramatic gateway to the upper reaches of the Kadamaian. The cliffs on either side of the river at this point are so steep, that in Dusun folklore they are said to have once been so close together at the top that a man could leap the gap.
An easy day’s walk downstream from Minintinduk is the bridge on the Kampung Kiau road. This was where we were to start our expedition to follow the Hugh Low Trail to the summit of Mt Kinabalu.
Photo: flat below Minintinduk. Nice day for a walk (before the rain)
Photo: the team. From left to right: Kris, Zee, Alan, Wilfred, Sapinus, Ian
Our plan was to retrace the steps of Sir Hugh Low’s first ascent of Mt Kinabalu in 1851 The exact route of the first ascent had been lost for many years until it was rediscovered by a Sabah Society expedition in 2003.
The Sabah Society was able to piece together the trail from descriptions in Hugh Low’s diary, help from Dusun guides from Kg. Kiau and a little trial and error. It took them two expeditions to find the right route and in the process they accidentally pioneered another route up the Kiau Spur. The Kiau Spur is a logical route which follows a steep spur to the left of the Kadamaian River. The spur terminates above the Kadamaian Falls where it buttresses the precipitous summit slabs. From here the Sabah Society made an exposed traverse above the Falls bringing them out at Laban Rata and from there joining the tourist path to the summit.
In actual fact, the true Hugh Low Trail passes through the gate of Minintinduk and then follows a less obvious line to the right of the Kadamaian Falls, up a steep face riven with gullies and emerging just above the Timpohon Gate at the start of the tourist route. From Timpohon, the Hugh Low Trail follows more or less the tourist route, but taking a slightly steeper line that passes a little flat area called Kamborangah by the Dusun, now occupied by radio and tv masts.
Photo: radio and tv masts at Kamborangah
Dr Ravi Mandalam was a member of both Sabah Society expeditions and he has also repeated the Melangkap Route, which I climbed in 2006. Dr. Ravi told me confidently that I would find the Hugh Low trail much easier than the Melangkap route. Senior Park Ranger, Martin Moguring was also on the Sabah Society Hugh Low Trail expedition and he too told me “actually the route is not that hard, the interest is mostly in the historical aspect”. Somehow I wasn’t quite sure whether to believe them, especially as Martin had told me that the first two days would follow the flood-prone Kadamaian River.
The Nonobilang (in dusun) or hammerhead worm is an ancient and primitive animal. Our guide Sapinunus said that they used to be quite common but now he rarely sees them. This pit viper is highly venomous and well camouflaged. Both were seen in sub-montane rainforest near Minintinduk
We arrived at Kinabalu Park HQ to start our climb in the pouring rain and sure enough, at the bridge on the Kg Kiau road we found the river in a healthy flood. Our guides Sapinus and Wilfred prevaricated for a while about alternative routes and the water level dropping, but I knew we were going nowhere that day. I am experienced enough now in Sabah culture to know that people don’t like to tell you what you don’t want to hear, thus the prevarication. On the other hand I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if we had got up the following morning to find the river in the same state but somehow deemed passable.
As it was we spent a leisurely afternoon wandering around the rubber, pineapple and ginger cultivations above Kg Kiau. In the evening we were treated to a glorious rainbow before cooking our first meal of rice and salted fish.
“Is the rainbow a harbinger?” Zee wondered. If so; of what?
“Surely a harbinger couldn’t be of anything other than doom?” Alan argued.
“How do you pronounce ‘harbinger’” I enquired, I’d always thought it sounded like ringer, not ginger.
“Pronounced that way”, decided Zee “it sounds more like a brand of German wheat beer”.
We spent the rest of the evening playing Texas hold-em poker using rice grains as chips. Owing to the ridiculous abundance of chips, the stakes got progressively more ridiculous and the counting less rigorous. It was clear that we needed to get going in the morning before we could find even more absurd ways to occupy our time. We bedded down for the night in the church hostel dreaming of clear skies; that is when our sleep was not being interrupted by stray dogs raiding the dustbin.
Photo: Rainbow above Kg Kiau
In the morning the river was indeed placid and the sun shone from a clear blue sky. We made leisurely and easy progress, criss-crossing the river regularly and arriving at Sambatang Cave by lunchtime. It seemed a bit of a waste of time to stop now but Sapinus and Wilfred were firm in their decision to stay the night at Sambatang. The reason became clear soon enough when the sky clouded over, the rain started and within an hour the river was in a state that would have been unthinkable to cross.
Photo: Kadamaian river states
Photo: Sambatang cave
Kris and I spent a damp night in his leaky ‘festival’ tent and were up early and keen to make the most of the clear weather before the presumably inevitable rain. The going here was relatively flat as far as Minintinduk and we saw plenty of fascinating wildlife and plants; from the primitive hammer-head worm, to beautiful wild ginger flowers, huge beetles and the deadly fascinating Kinabalu Brown Pit Viper. The latter only found on the sub-montane slopes of Mt Kinabalu.
Photo: ginger and beetle
Photo: jungle fruits
Wading into the intimidating fissure of Minintinduk made things start to feel more adventurous. The sides were so steep that escape from the river would have been impossible. The sun was still shining at this point but none of it reached the bottom of the gorge. Walls of jungle rose to either side and the water was cool and clear. Most of us by now carried staffs to help keep our balance on the slippery rocks. Neither Sapinus nor Wilfred deigned to use a staff. Perhaps if he had, Sapinus would not have slipped into a deep pool, dousing his camera and mobile phone?
Photo: minintinduk wading
Photo: Zee and Alan in the Kadamaian River
We climbed a tiered waterfall, above which the river levelled off briefly. Sapinus said that we needed to pass the next tributary on the right before we could start climbing the steep face that I knew we had to tackle at some point. If we could get to the tributary before the rain, we would be in the clear, no more river wading after that, just up. The sky was getting ominously dark. Was it a harbinger?
Photo: Waterfall on the Kadamaian River
Photo: Alan and Kris rest above the waterfall
It rained.
Photo: It rained. Shortly after this photo all interest in photography ceased for 24 hours, except for Zee who had brought a waterproof case for his Samsung galaxy phone.
After some debate between Wilfred and Sapinus and a bit of ranging back and forth, we were told that it was too dangerous to continue following the river. We had no choice but to start up the face and try to traverse leftwards higher up to get back onto the trail. Our target for the day was Lobong Cave, a rock overhang and good camping spot halfway up the ravine riddled face below the Timpohon Gate.
We began climbing and the rain poured down. This was the kind of terrain I have come to expect from Mt. Kinabalu; loose, steep and slippery soil. Root and vine handholds that need to be checked first for both integrity and palm ripping thorns. Wait-a-while barbed rattan that tears at your skin and rips loudly across rucksack canvas. And it just kept going hour after hour, both the steepness and the rain.
The rain had started at about 11am and by 3pm in the afternoon it was as dark as dusk. We paused while Sapinus and Wilfred went ahead to search for a path. I was worried that we were being pushed rightwards when we knew that the trail was to the left of us. We waited, our heads hung to keep the rain off our faces. The water trickled down our backs and legs. Zee squatted, typing emails on his phone. The bright light of the touch-screen shone incongruous in the gloom.
The guides returned and said that they were looking for a camp site. We had been climbing at an angle so steep that we had not seen any flat area bigger than a foothold for hours. We still had 3 hours until night fall. “Better to push on” I argued. My previous experiences of this mountain told me that you just have to keep going and hope that at the end of the day, when it gets dark, you are just lucky enough to stumble upon a flat area big enough for half a tent with a root for a pillow and your feet hanging off the edge of the mountain.
We carried on, working our way back left now. A small stream was crossed in a shallow gully and we re-filled our water bottles. You never know where your next water is coming from on Kinabalu, even in the rain. We were traversing rather than climbing now and things were getting steeper if anything. Ahead we could hear the roar of a torrent. The water stop had been superfluous but we had other things to worry about. Sapinus had stopped at the brink of a precipitous ravine.
Even if we could get down into the ravine, which quite frankly looked impossible, how could we expect to find a way up the other side? Sapinus didn’t seem daunted and confidently started picking a way down from the safety of one tree root to another. In the blank sections between roots we crouched low to the ground to keep our weight centred over the studded soles of our fell-running shoes. The prospect of a terrifying slide into the ravine felt very real.
movie: ‘rather exciting’
No sooner were we at the bottom than straight away we began scrambling up the other side. There was no time to savour the drama of the situation. The white water briefly lightened the gloom before we slipped back in the dark forest again. There had been no hint of a camping spot by the time we reached the next ravine and complete darkness was by now imminent.
Sapinus and Wilfred wasted no time and we were again amazed to find ourselves at the bottom of another seemingly impassable cleft. Here we paused for a while and Sapinus seemed to recognise the stream. We had come too high he glumly announced. Lobung Cave was below us and there was no hope of reaching it before dark. Camping on the flood-prone flat area at the bottom of the ravine was out of the question so we climbed on.
5 minutes out of this ravine we stumbled across a miraculous flat area covered in a pile of leaves. “Wild boar nest” proclaimed Sapinus, “not a good place to camp”. Wild boar or not, it was the first flat area we had seen for 7 hours and it looked big enough for two of our three tents. 20minutes work with a parang, sticks, hands and feet made the pitch just big enough for two tents. Sapinus and Wilfred found a spot 50m further on. The cloud of biting flies that come with a boar’s nest were a small price to pay for such luxury. As we prepared our rice and salted fish the rain even stopped and through a chink in the cloud, a single beam of golden sunlight shone weakly through the trees onto our soggy nest.
Imbak Canyon, one of the last virgin lowland rainforests of Sabah, Malaysia, isn’t for the faint of heart.
DAY ONE
7:15 AM August 13, 2011 –
Ian rolls up in with Ishmael in a beefy air-conditioned jungle truck and Daniele and I throw our backpacks in the back.
For the first six hours the roads are paved and for the last two through the palm plantations, as bumpy as the surface of the moon. I am sick the entire time anyway and everyone is patient with my vicious heaves. Poor Ishmael is fasting all day long because it’s the middle of Ramadan, but he never lets on he might be getting nauseous himself even as I move up to the queen seat next to him.
3:00 PM August 13, 2011 –
We cruise through the Imbak river!! Thankfully the water level is low enough. About midway through, my visions of being swept down the river become more real…and then we start climbing the opposite bank.
3:30 PM August 13, 2011 –
Despite lots of logging going on to clear land for the palm oil plantations, The landscape is still beautiful.
4:30 PM August 13, 2011 –
Arrival at Tampoi Basecamp. We have bucket showers, hot rice and fish, sturdy Raleigh-constructed shelters, and mosquito-netted beds waiting for us.
DAY TWO
Noon August 14, 2011 –
A warm-up day–we leave to take a practice hike to the Raleigh-built Gunung Kuli science research camp nearby to see its layout and construction. A few minutes out and an 80-foot tree has gracefully lain down across the road.
We wait an hour and play with shy leaves as Ian immediately starts exploring and we all wait for the chainsaws to come. If you don’t do anything else, check out the shy leaf video–what an incredible creature/plant/other?! [Ed: Mimosa pudica is a pan-tropical weed native to South and Central America]
Daniele gets too curious with the ‘stingless’ bees nest and figures out the bees are not stingless at all.
This hike’s an hour long, flat ground, full of leeches, and riddled with crazy life I truly thought only existed in Dr. Seuss. First true trip into the jungle, can you tell?
We study the research camp layout, use of materials and construction.
I sit on top of a log straddled over the river for a long time. On the drive back I ask to ride standing in the back of the truck through the bumpy plantation roads back to base camp. It’s glorious.
DAY THREE
9:00 AM August 15, 2011 –
We sip tea, eat noodles, and stare at the heart-stopping scenery of 50-meter trees shrouded in mist to wake up. I’m glad Ian always has his binoculars on hand–we can see the hornbills flying in the morning eating figs and bees hovering over the blossoming fruit trees.
Three tiny girls live at Tampoi Basecamp and we chase each other around the breakfast tables.
11:30 AM August 15, 2011 –
This…is most definitely not a warm-up day. We pack one dry set and one wet set of clothing for the next three days and strap on our Adidas Kampung. The guides sharpen their parangs.
The drive to BBC [Big Belian Camp] is short, ten people packed in the truck. Three of us with six guides is the first sign this may be an intense and adventurous trek.
Stunning trailhead and suspension bridge.
1:00 PM August 15, 2011 -
I'm not sure how all the guys are hiking with packs--I imagine I would be falling off the skinny path down the muddy hill. Thankfully a wealth of trees and spongy forest floor wait below to break a fall. Daniele is carrying a pack we're sharing--I am mentally preparing to carry it on the way back.
2:30 PM August 15, 2011 -
Barely a word has been spoken. The rhythm is nice and we're breathing hard but deeply. We get to the first river crossing where another crew on their way out meets us. "Perempuan!" They're surprised to see a woman.
We squat on the rocks--Ian busts out some lunch and Daniele and I eat a precious few Mentos. Leeches find our warm bodies immediately and I end up fending off and tossing away the same leech multiple times. They are so much faster than you think.
First river crossing. The water is not cold. It's harder to keep balance on the shallow bank, and by the middle of the river the water helps carry me. Up to mid-thigh now. Almost to the other bank...I trip into the water. Glad I didn't have the pack. I have two more crossings to practice water-walking.
3:30 PM August 15, 2011 -
The variety and beauty of fungi is unreal. Someone could study only that for their entire life. It's one of my favorite parts of the jungle.
4:30 PM August 15, 2011 -
We see a spider as big as my palm and under her is a rocky pinkish egg sack the size of a quail's egg.
Tiger leeches are latching on from above and underneath--my shoes are filled with them and I decide I'll wear three pairs of socks tomorrow instead of just two. Some of the guides are wearing shorts and have the blood stains of leech battle. Ian tells us the leeches inject an anaesthetic so we can't feel their suction, and an anticoagulant to keep our blood flowing.
We rest at a stream straight out of the Jurassic Period--tiny trees are sprouting out of smooth round rocks with a new kind of eerie sunlight glowing above.
The trek to camp was supposed to last a few more hours yet miraculously, someone says we have only half an hour to go.
6:30 PM August 15, 2011 -
The cicada sends out his call--the best sound of the jungle, Ian says. It's like a melodious air horn, made only from the rubbing together of his wings.
7:30 PM August 15, 2011 -
That someone was wrong. We are still hiking and the mud, trees, sky and people are beginning to blend together in twilight. I tend to sweat like a dude but all the men are still wetter with sweat. The rhythm continues, a little more clumsily, as we prepare to hike in the dark.
8:00 PM August 15, 2011 -
I have not peed all day. Even after drinking bottles of water. My body is hoarding all I give it.
Thank God, a tarp in a clearing. We arrive at camp at dark, ditch our packs on the bashers, and head straight down the slope to the river. Its dark body is haunting, bounded by a narrow tree-lined canyon and the stars above. We are more than dripping already so Daniele, Ian and I walk right in with all our clothes. The current is slow but my heart still beats fast remembering it could sweep me away.
9:00 PM August 15, 2011 -
I have never, ever been so thankful for a plastic cup full of Nescafe. Things are better when you earn them. There's a language rift between me and the guides but Ian interprets some jokes and food brings anyone together anyway.
Daniele and I wind down listing off useful things to remember to bring next time we come into the jungle: a handkerchief for sweat, iodine tablets, a drafting table of sorts, some candy,...
DAY FOUR
2:00 AM August 16, 2011 -
I keep waking up, wrapping my legs tight like a burrito in the blanket, having a new nightmare about leeches coming after my warm body. Thoughts are always more dramatic when you sleep, so I remind myself I'm being silly.
8:00 AM August 16, 2011 -
The nightmare was real. Some leech got all he wanted.
We wake up and the boys hike out to survey the surrounding jungle. We want to scope out the perfect site for a future Arkitrek Camp.
I feel like a helpless lady on an expedition in the 1700s left at camp to sit in the sun while everyone else does something productive. I ask to help some of the guides build a bench but they would rather do it themselves. So I embrace the rest and read a book in the middle of the jungle. Not such a bad deal.
1:00 PM August 16, 2011 -
The guys come back and we go to search along the river banks. We go in a few adventurous circles, Ian hacking vines out of the way, everyone feeling for the perfect spot to begin building. We end up on the rocky bank, Daniele drinking river water from his shoe (don't try that at home), Ian camouflaging himself onto the rocks, and me taking photographs.
Find the Ian!
DAY FIVE
8:00 AM August 17, 2011 -
One full day at camp and it's time to trek out--I want to try carrying the pack today. Daniele asks if I'm sure, and my ego says yes. No one seems tired.
10:00 AM August 17, 2011 -
After crossing back over the Jurassic ravine, eating more sardines, and rolling more leeches between our fingers, it's time for the last big push. At least that's how I thought of it then. I cross the small stream and slip all over the rocks. I get frustrated and slip even more. A passage from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance aptly sums up the mounting ego of the rest of my hike out:
"To the untrained eye, ego-climbing and selfless climbing may seem identical. Both kinds of climbers place one foot in front of the other. Both breathe in and out at the same rate. Both stop when tired. Both go forward when rested. But what a difference! The ego-climber is like an instrument that's out of adjustment. He puts his foot down an instant too soon or too late. He's likely to miss a beautiful passage of sunlight through the trees. He goes on when the sloppiness of his step shows he's tired. He rests at odd times. He looks up the trail trying to see what's ahead even when he knows what's ahead because he just looked a second before. He goes too fast or too slow for the conditions and when he talks his talk is forever about somewhere else, something else." (Pirsig, p. 212-213).
Here I was, in the Malaysian jungle, treating the trek like a project to complete, self-conscious of my slowness, unhappy to be exhausted from the inundations of a most holy place. At least the awe of the place didn't elude me--even if I was angry, I was angry in awe. That's how powerful the jungle spirit is.
12:00 PM August 17, 2011 -
The guides are strong and patient. They keep offering water even when Daniele and I forget to drink. I decide I need some time alone in this sanctuary and I quit trying to keep up. I am naturally slower than all these guys and going fast is not the way to hike. I lose the people ahead and work off some steam up the steepest hill as my skin literally steams too. The journey is stripped down to Step. Breath. Breath. Step. Breath. Breath. The trees are thinning out, more scraggly now. The air is thick and heavy. Physical bleariness. Life at its simplest and most awesome.
2:30 PM August 17, 2011 -
We stop at the super old, knobby, monstrous Belian tree. This tree is now so dense you cannot even put a nail through its wood. We take amused pictures of Ian as he examines and climbs it.
With 30 minutes to go I give up the pack to Daniele. A gesture of surrender to a forest that seriously conquered me. "The forest silence improves anyone." (Pirsig, p. 241)
7:00 PM, August 17, 2011 -
Give me a bucket shower!! Again, earned and therefore magical. And necessary.
9:00 PM, August 17, 2011 -
We eat pink rosewater cakes for Ramadan. Ian, Daniele and I sit around playing word games and swap photos.
Last night for a while of the forest hum as I fall asleep under my mosquito net.
DAY SIX
8:00 AM, August 18, 2011 -
Ishmael is back to take us to KK. Soon we figure out the Imbak river is flooded...and have to take an 8-hour detour. We stop for dinner, and later again for a coke and coffees. I feel really safe with Ishmael behind the wheel--he's been driving this leg for a lot of years. It takes us twice as long to return. After 15 hours, a little swerving and running a few red lights, I'm in civilization. Disappointing:/
Few Malaysians even have ever stepped in Imbak Canyon. Every day that passes I feel luckier to have been here.
Ian: Peace. Out
Enjoyed this? You can read Andy Lo's account of the inaugural 2005 Arkitrek in Maliau Basin here
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Consciousness Expansion 