A bit of Borneo

Jacob’s Ladder_________

The island of Borneo is controlled by three countries: Brunei, Indonesia, and Malaysia. Brunei is a small oil-rich nation, something like Kuwait. Indonesia on the other hand is one of the two largest archipelagoes in S.E. Asia, with the Philippines, and spans all the way from Thailand to Papua New Guinea. When I imagined landing in Borneo, I thought of National Geographic head-hunters, poisoned darts, and sweltering jungle.

Reality is always a touch more complicated than dream. I landing in Malaysia, a wealthier country by far than the Philippines. The infrastructure—water, roads, buildings—is so far superior as to not be a just comparison. At first, I thought perhaps it was a local difference, as Kudat, where I am now anchored, is but one town. But as I have gotten to travel in the last week I have seen that the difference is endemic.

The sweltering heat is still present, but the jungles have been ravaged by logging and many of the forest people of old are now civilized. Malaysia makes up only a small portion of Borneo, most of the west coast, where central and eastern Borneo are Indonesian. It is the central part of the island that is most likely still natural and traditional.


I packed a rucksack with the plan of getting away from Brillig for a few days. Her little anchorage is snug and safe and there is a famous mountain in Borneo called Kinabalu. It is the tallest point between the Himalayas and Irian Jawa. The mountain is 4101 meters (13,434 ft). It is a huge granite dome rising out of the jungle lowlands. It is steep, but short to climb.

I arrived in the late afternoon—no reservations. The lady said that I could have a room, but all climbing permits had been issued. After a bit of talking, she said that if there was a cancellation, I could be first on the waiting list. The park itself is huge, the size roughly of Singapore. I went down to my dorm and laced up my running shoes. The weather was amazingly cool, now at 1500 meters. The air was humid, lots of running water and lush forests. The insect noise was incredible. I had never noticed before just how far behind insects are compared with birds in the arts of melody and rhythm. I have never heard such awful music makers. You could here beginners: a rhythmic beep…beep…beep… . . and then the rhythm would falter, he’d stutter, almost cough and try to keep going. It was almost comic. And then there was another insect that sounded like a lumber mill. Loud, unrhythmic, high-pitched. . . no elegance or style what-so-ever. By the time I finished running there had been a cancellation and I was set to climb in the morning.

 

Side note: As I washed up that night, the bathroom was full of the most amazing diversity of moths I have ever seen. Out of thirty or more moths pasted on the walls or flying about the lights—not one was similar to the next. It was amazing. They were all beautiful and well colored, large and small, discrete and flamboyant.


In the morning, once the numerous formalities are fulfilled, my guide and myself set off for the mountain summit. I don’t know how long it has been since I climbed a tall mountain, or the last time I really had to feel good, old-fashioned physical pain, but I was beaming with pleasure. I felt like I was flying up the mountain. My steps were small, but I didn’t stop, and we were making good way.

Normally a hike begins at 8 am and ends at Laban Rata, the high mountain hut around 2 – 4 pm. Most people wake early in the morning, say 3:30am to finish the climb in the dark and see the sunrise from the summit. They then descend to Laban Rata, have some breakfast and then head down the mountain. This is what I had planned also, but we made such good time, and the day was exceptionally beautiful—a bit of a rarity on a mountain—that we considered a new plan.

 

We made Laban Rata by 11:30am. That gave us enough time for a lunch and a break, before pushing on up the mountain in the afternoon. We had time, the weather was perfect, and I felt so damn good to be hiking up a properly steep hill again I was too high to think about stopping.
The climb was like a never-ending staircase, sometimes more like a ladder. The distance is only 12k!! Above Laban Rata though, the shrubs thinned and the granite became the dominant physical feature of the trail. Fixed lines were bolted in place as the path met blank rock faces.
Mind you, this trail is hiked by a Tremendous amount of people, people of all ages and fitness levels. It is strenuous, and I found it so impressive that so many people had the determination to see it through.

By the time I was ascending, most everyone was down to Laban Rata. No sunrise, just clouds. No people. We climbed up and up and not a soul was on the mountain. Imagine a Mt Washington, or a Mt Rainer with no people!! Clouds came and went and the granite spires unveiled to our left and right. I could only think of the Alps or the Sierra Nevadas. The grade was far lessened now, just a great spreading dome of granite. I wanted to run and climb each spire.

I can’t remember the last time my whole body felt so good. Indeed my legs were trembling at this point, but my smile encompassed my entire body. We reached the summit at 2pm. Instead of the cold hikers are warned about (in the morning), we found sun and warmth. I took off my shirt, ate some chocolate and smoked one of Walter’s (my guide’s) cigarette’s. Although we had reached the top, had plenty of time to relax there in the sun, I was already thinking of something else: Salt Peak.

Salt Peak was the most prominent spire that we passed on our way up. Gorgeous is hardly the word. Perfect. I felt the backside of it had a climbable route on it. And I wouldn’t head down until I found out. Walter had been a great guide. It wasn’t normal to pass all the rest huts on the way up, or to climb the peak in the day. He had also let me get off route and do some scrambling on the way to the summit. This all to say that he had grown in his trust of me and my comfort on the mountain. So I felt this would help his “unease” when I set off for Salt Peak instead of down the mountain.

The granite dome was an ideal inclined for a downhill run. So we blistered it out. I had a fair lead on Walter and used it to follow the ridge for Salt Peak. As I stemmed my way up the granite to the summit he wasn’t mad. He even got my camera out of my pack and clicked a couple of pictures (to close to be any good). I made a slow descend after one of the great vistas of my life: nothing but granite stretching across miles. All green jungle beneath.

We sat again and laughed at such a fair day on the mountain, how rare to be here alone. We shouldered our packs and started our jog back down the mountain. We reached Laban Rata in 45 minutes, beat. I sat on the porch, drinking tea profusely, and watched the sunset behind the mountain.


In the morning, everyone left for the summit. I slept in until 7:30, ate some breakfast, and was gearing up to leave as people started trickling down the hill. I was stiff and weak starting out, but with a little prodding from Walter (another race???) we started gaining speed. It was a rock-hopping, stair-running scramble. We even picked up a local photographer and guide as we went. The photographer later left us in the dust. At some point, you just can’t stop. You come so far you simply want to see it through to the end. I was so tired but had to push through to the end. At the end was a short uphill section of stairs. I meekly started to run up it, yelling “race” to Walter, who promptly bounded up the stairs like a gazelle, showing me just how much reserve he really had. We were down in an hour and a half and the first ones off the mountain that day.



Huck and Jim’s Raft__________

10:30am. Say some goodbyes to Walter, walk out of the park and immediately catch a bus heading for Sepilok, the orang-utan sanctuary. In Malasian, orang-utan means “people of the forest” and they are the only native ape to S. E. Asia, living on Borneo and Sumatra. The logging has had effects on the orang-utan population and Sepilok is one of only four rehabilitation centers in the world.

In the end, I skipped the rehabilitation center and got on a boat on the Kinabatangan River. I spent three days and two nights spotlighting owls and crocodiles on the river with other tourists. I met some great people; I was so lucky to have such a group to travel with for several days. (My closest friends I met on the bus from Kinabalu—their’s had broken down—we stayed in a hostel together before heading into the jungle, and one, Alex, traveled to Kota Kinabalu, the major city with me, after the trip.)

 

On our boat trips we saw proboscis monkeys, maquaks (another sort of monkey), kingfishers, hornbills, fish eagles, monitor lizards, gibbons, crocodiles (small ones), flying foxes (the world’s largest bat), and endless other marvels. No pythons; no elephants, no rhinoceros—which at one point in time was possible to see along the river.

It was a comfortable trip. I could sit around—my legs were weak; stairs were a strain. But I enjoyed the company and the boat rides. The animals were always a bit in the distance, mostly in the trees, so I wasn’t as interested as many others. I saw dark dots mostly.
But the orang-utans were really special. I’ve never seen an ape before. He was huge, cinnamon brown, and those amazing long arms. We caught one high in a tree once and watching him work his way down was something I won’t forget. The advantage to going to Sepilok would have been the proximity: being able to see their faces and expressions. I didn’t get that. But I did see orang-utans in the wild.

I have friends who have taken their boats up the Kinabatangan River. This would be an amazing experience. I am not going to take the time in Malaysia to do such a thing, though this is the sort of adventure I hope to do in the future. I have a friend coming in a few days and I hope to do some interesting trips with her. There are a few good diving islands around the west side of Borneo and Sulawesi. We will stop there on our way to Bali.

Bali however is not a pleasure stop. We will only be granted three days there without a visa—so it is a provision stop before crossing the Indian Ocean to Seychelles, an archipelago north of Madagascar. Since I was back home in the States, it was a long crossing that I most looked forward to, and now it is finally approaching. There are still hurdles; the boat must be ready. But I don’t see anything critical blocking a crossing this season.

Once I’m in East Africa I can slow down again. In the Kinabatangan, I heard the praises of Madagascar sung over and over again. The ecology there is apparently surreal, being separated from the African continent for over 80 million years. So I am getting excited. And, of course, in East Africa, there are two large mountains to climb. My former addiction is rekindled, I hope to never have it quenched again.