It’s been more than a week since the Kota Kinabalu experience, otherwise known as that time I stuck with a booking I made one month into the semester because I was already tired of the academic workload.
And really, every time I close my eyes, it’s still the chilly air I feel, and the gentle rustling of trees I hear.
I’ve never been prouder of my tendencies to take the leap.
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Kota Kinabalu is the highest climbable peak in Southeast Asia, towering at 4,095 metres above sea level (for reference, Mt. Pulag in Benguet is at 2922 MASL, while Mt. Apo in Davao’s at 2954 MASL — both giants, but dwarfed still by this Malaysian peak). A UNESCO World Heritage Site, it abounds with flora and fauna, both endemic and otherwise, and an overnight stay at the mountain will guarantee sights one can only see when one ventures outside.
The initial party of 7 got reduced to 4 when a typhoon hit the Philippines the day after Christmas, but as with all things, the rest of us who were unaffected by flight cancellations continued the trip. Every destination a hopeful joke to each other, “Maybe they would be there when we arrive.”
The climb itself was uneventful, the weather expected. It would rain every afternoon, like clockwork, and the silence would be punctuated by laughter from our group, or conversation about local politics, or the occasional slips due to the muddy terrain. You would not, however, have seen a more cheery group. Accustomed to the greetings that take place in Philippine mountains, you would’ve heard our chirpy “Good mornings” and “Take cares” and “Enjoy the climbs” far before you’d have seen us, some climbers even looked at us weirdly, as though wary, “How are they still happy?” they must have wondered.
Well, how can we be not?
Our guide, Taisin, told me, with a bit of worried look creased on his 61-year old face, “Your bag is too heavy.” I smiled. “It’s fine,” I quipped. “Heavy bags are my security blankets.” The comment was repeated by 3 other guides throughout the climb, but I never really noticed the weight.
We were the third group to arrive at Laban Rata on the 1st day, our bags drenched and our ponchos nothing but thin strips of plastic which vainly tried to protect us from the rain. After a hot shower, we played Scrabble until the buffet opened up. Not really hungry, but excited for the prospect of food, we spent 2 hours just eating, a practice that would continue for all meals. Always the first at the buffet table, always staying long enough to not miss on anything.
The rest slept at 6 PM, but I stayed up long enough to see the sun set from behind the clouds which cradled it. “This is,” I wrote in my journal, Sabah tea in hand, more for warmth than to quench my thirst, “officially the highest I’ve climbed as of today.”
The next day started at 2 AM, our eyes wide open far earlier than our alarm clocks rang. Lugging our summit packs and half-empty stomachs (none of us wanted to have to use the bathroom during the trek), we climbed the last thousand metres — which meant two things: stairs, and a gargantuan slab of rock.
In the middle of the night, and with the sun a few hours away from our sight, it was a challenging trek. Altitude sickness got the better of us, and so while every step was a reminder to keep breathing, our lungs which were accustomed to lower heights would protest in response. I popped a paracetamol before I climbed, but my brain kept wheezing, and every time I’d stopped it would be much harder to keep moving.
And just when I thought my brain couldn’t take it anymore (my legs were fine, my back still straight, my arms strong), we were there.
At the summit.
And it was the most breathtaking (pun intended) thing I’ve seen. Perhaps all my life. We didn’t see the sunrise, but the colours from behind the jagged rocks looked as if the latter pierced the nighttime sky, allowing it to explode in fiery colours — first red, then orange, then green and purple and yellow altogether. Our noses were freezing, our brains were reminding us to take deep breaths, and our hands were icicles, but it was all good.
It was all good.
Our descent took us faster than the ascent, and every so often we’d utter a word of admiration. Perhaps the ascent would have been a lot easier if we saw where we were going.
But it was also really nice to see where we had come.
And maybe, and hopefully, if the gods who dwell in the mountain would allow, I would go back again.
(NB: I will talk about Kota, my thoughts on climbing etiquette, and tips and tricks on my next post! And photos!)
Of perpetual finds 