Mt. Kinabalu, at 4,095 metres (13,435 ft), is the
tallest peak in Malaysia and on Borneo, in Sabah province, Malaysian
Borneo. We set out to climb it. This excerpt is from the eventual book,
Common Sense and Whiskey.
A fine
young man with a Yesus Kristus medallion bouncing around beneath his
mirror drove us the seven or so kilometers into Mt. Kinabalu park,
through the sleeping village of Kundasang. Farmers congregated at the
warren of tin-roofed stalls along the main road. It looked like a good
day for green tomatoes, potatoes, and there was plenty of cabbage.
They hauled us all in bas minis from the ranger station to the trail
head. From here, a six kilometer trail led up to our destination, the
Laban Ratah guest house at 11,000 feet.
The first kilometer (the trail was marked at each 1/2 kilometer) popped
by in 23 minutes. We were flyin’, and all that stuff about how hard
this would be was just talk. The first kilometer, we only stopped long
enough to shed our wraps.
Just at first
the trail led downhill, charming, to a cool, wet place called Carson
Fall. On the way down the mountain, conversely, having to climb at the
end was just one last kick in the butt on the way out the door.
Still before 8:00 a.m., no sun had fought its way to the forest floor,
and the air was downright chilly as our shirts turned sweaty. And they
did — at the first K marker they weren’t wet on the outside, but a
breeze blew down the rise and chilled our wet skin.
We were cocky, jaunty, making tracks.
The massif stood silent and still, the only sounds birds or a rustling
squirrel. There were no monkeys on Mt. Kinabalu. They live nearer the
sea, east toward Sandakan.
Our guide
was Erik, a phlegm volcano at first, hacking, spitting, coughing,
exercising all facial cavities by the second. He was a little guy, as
these highland people were, but with the strong, imposing legs you’d
imagine.
He guided once a week,
reckoned he’d done the climb fifty times. His personal record to the
top — a place called Low’s Peak — was about three hours.
The rest of the week he helped his parents haul their produce to the
Kundasang market, where you cain’t make no money. Erik said a kilo of
cabbage brought fourteen U.S. cents.
*****
Grim realization set in during kilometer two.
