Memoirs Of Mount. Kinabalu

CHAPTER 01: GOOD MORNING SABAH!
I awoke from my deep slumber. The mattress was somewhat hard but nonetheless comfortable, and for a while I stared up the ceiling, asking myself why it looked so unfamiliar to my eyes. It should be, for I was not within the confines of my own bedroom, but rather at the majestic Sutera Kinabalu Lodge. Crawling out of bed, the first thing I did was to head towards the frost-filled window, tip-toeing across the cold wooden planks that made up the floor. The early rays of the sun had just broken through across North Borneo, bathing a nearby mountain with its golden, magnificent rays.

That mountain was Kinabalu upon closer inspection. I recognized one of the peaks to be Donkey Ears. Excitedly I called upon Shearn and Jarod, who happened to be there at that time. Together, we enjoyed the view from our humble room while basking in the warmth of our brotherhood. Breakfast was sort of a "cook-it-yourself-or-go-hungry" kind of event, mainly comprised of instant cup noodles. No one complained although the forementioned noodles tasted somewhat rubbery that day. Could've been the water, I told myself.


CHAPTER 02: D-DAY
We sat there suited up on the kerbs, backpacks firmly secured in place and looking very much like a bunch of paratroopers sans rifles, waiting for our ride. Some were still busy chowing down on their breakfast (myself included). Soon the van came, and after placing our rucksacks into the vehicle and taking only the necessary survival items, we were off.

Arriving at Headquarters a little after five minutes, each individual lined up for their general-issued dogtags which was to be worn throughout the whole stay atop the mountain. It was also at HQ that we assigned two mountain guides to our 13-man squad. Endless photoshots were taken of the mountain, or of a person posing with the mountain in the background. After a quick round of prayers, we were off to war. A war of attrition against potential muscle fatigue, mental anguish, altitude sickness, and the effects due to the lack of oxygen.

The bus gradually picked up speed, roaring down the narrow tarred road. Instead of singing and merrymaking, as most people would have expected us to be doing, each person was silently deep in his or her own thought. A few took the opportunity to catch a few winks or so. But for me, the adrenaline generated from my body was having a field day rushing through my veins. During those defining moments of my life, I could not help but think of cliched phrases such as how this was the moment we were all waiting for, the moment of truth that would put each individual to the test. Such philosophy indeed.


CHAPTER 03: THE POINT OF NO RETURN
The bus suddenly came to a grinding halt; we'd arrived at the last place that officially separated Mount. Kinabalu from the rest of the world - Timpohon Gate. Once the gates swung open and we passed through, there would be no major civilization landmarks until we reached Laban Rata. Prior to that, our friendly guide - the more senior dude of the two - gave us a small pep talk on survival techniques and what-not-to-do along the way. Each of us received an A4-sized paper advising those with chronic diseases ala heart attacks, asthma, diabetes et al not to proceed with the ascent. Pardon my thoughts, but shouldn't this whole inane disclaimer thing be brought to the attention of all potential climbers at least a day before the big climb? I imagined some poor unlucky chap burning RM200+ to stay there for the night, secure a guide and hitch the bus all the way to the Gate, only to be stopped for asthma!

Yep. Some smart system we have here. But then again, having made it this far plus spending almost close to RM300 for the air tickets, I sure as hell wasn't going to let anything as trivial as those mentioned in the paper stop me (if I had them in the first place, that is). Heck no. They can roll my dead body off the mountain later once I'm finished conquering Low's Peak.

CHAPTER 04: AND WE HAVE LIFTOFF!
I stopped by at the loo to drain my lizard for one last time before attempting the ascent, having heard nasty stories of horrifically-nauseous toilet shacks along the way up. Coming out, I saw my first much-famed porter of that day. She had this great straw rucksack upon her shoulders where all sorts of imaginable things were stacked in - bags of rice, water bottles, Armalite M4A1 carbines, the Death Star - that rose to almost twice her height. And here I was carrying only my first aid-kit, winter apparel, food and beverages, and already on the verge of throwing myself off the cliff.


CHAPTER 05: THE LONG ROAD UP
I've never been so alone before in my life. Trudging up Mount. Kinabalu proved to be a lonely experience for me, partly caused by the numerous times I stopped to capture some particular scene in my DSLR camera's viewfinder. Occasionally I'd bump into Pearly, Jeremy or Dizzy, but due to the fore mentioned camera-clicking frenzy high I had at that time, naturally I found myself all alone once more. Can't blame anyone. Once past the gates into the unknown, it automatically turns into one of those do-or-die, "every man for himself" kind of situation, where the average fit individual find it tough while the severely unfit calls it an impossible task, and your mind is being overwhelmed by rhetorical questions about life, the future, and what kind of madness could have possible driven you to accomplish such a suicidal adventure.

I continued walking, with the sounds of life growing fainter and fainter behind as I gradually crossed into colder zones. Tall, upright trees were slowly but surely being replaced by their gnarled and stumpy cousins. The soil turned stark orange and was said to contain some element which would kill off all plants except for a few. Once above a certain elevation, all signs of life, save for those firmly rooted into the ground, is gone. Gone are the birds which accompanied you as you made your way up during the first leg of the journey. Gone are the delightful chatter of squirrels and their mischevious antics. For some, it is an eerily unnerving thought. For me, it is deeply therauphetic. Think Genting Highlands without the Ah Bengs and Ah Liens.

Occasionally at certain interval points, there is a simple hut/shelter in which you may stop to rest your tired feet, slap on huge dollops of questionable muscle fatigue relieving cream, and of course, eat your measly rations (either half-melted chocolate or something equivalent to it) and drink whatever water you have left. If you're out of drinking water, or if you desperately need some, the authorities have been kind enough to establish green rust-proof water tanks right next to the said huts, with the contents being collected rainwater. It just sits there quietly, tempting you to take a swig or two out of it, and you can't even lift the damn cover to tell what's died inside it, if there's any. At this point, having Halizone tablets in your inventory is a blessing indeed. Nailed neatly onto on of the supporting wooden beam posts is a sign indicating your current elevation. Once you've had enough rest and confirm that your feet might not conspire to walk you off some cliff, you continue upwards. It's repetitious and in some ways an expensive way to suffer, but strangely enough I got quite a kick out of this whole sadistic operation.


CHAPTER 06: HALFWAY POINT WITH HALF-LIFE GONE
The hike was now around five-sixths of the total journey up before reaching the halfway mark, given the calculation I made in my mind. I could be wrong, but such optimism keeps one from either impaling himself on the nearest sharp tree trunk, or doing the swan ballet off a cliff. Besides, I wanted something to tell my grandchildren about. Earlier on, at the third shelter where I stumbled upon Dizzy, Jeremy and Pearly once again, the sign nailed at the beam indicated an elevation surpassing that of Genting and Tahan. Given me, I'd pop open some champagne and arouse the men to celebrate, but at the risk of getting impaled, or forced to do the swan ballet, or both.

The landscape suddenly changed as abruptly as how money changes hands in a casino; there wasn't even enough of those gnarled trees and shrubs to start a plant army of my own now. The entire surrounding was mainly granite slabs now, with slight hints of loose rocks. The steps grew larger apart, straining the kneecaps. Retreating poisonous orange soil was being replaced by light tan ground.


CHAPTER 07: HELL FREEZES OVER
During the Battle of the Bulge, isolated 101st Airborne paratroopers, cut-off and surrounded by thousands of well-prepared German soldiers


CHAPTER 08: MIDNIGHT RUN



CHAPTER 09: THE DAWN OF A NEW BEGINNING



CHAPTER 10: A PEAK TOO FAR
My parents and also some of my friends who are in a saner state of mind that I am in (that's what I think, more or less) constantly question my strange preference to pay money for some trip which either leaves me half-destroyed or fully incapable of functioning well by the time I reach home, in this case mountain-climbing (or scrambling, whichever applies). I tell them honestly that I do not understand my semi-suicidal urges as well, save for the comforting thought that I am actually probably taking the path less taken (pardon the pun). I don't really see much joy or excitement to be visiting some exotic beach miles away from my house, with the sun-baked sands searing my soles, and the salty sea waters leaving me feeling like some salty sea dog. Granted, they make nice picture postcards, but then again, nothing beats big, shiny mountains with their rugged peaks and danger at every turn.

That train of thought ran through my mind as I braved the strong winds, struggling to get a foothold on the slippery granite ground. Each step demanded an average of five gasps of thin mountain air, and five steps taken brought the body to a standstill while you recalibrated yourself. My backpack, though lightened and temporarily freed from all the burdensome weight of food and extra squirrel fodder, still felt like deadweight upon my shoulders. Pain and suffering were the standard order for the day, and still I got a kick of out it.


CHAPTER 11: THE HEROES AT 13,000 FEET

CHAPTER 12: MISSION: HALF ACCOMPLISHED

CHAPTER 13:

CHAPTER 14:

CHAPTER 15: