Mt Rinjani
I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. You felt like a vivid vision of distant beauty, a vision I was drawn to, one that I could not deny.
I stood on the summit of Mt Agung as the sun rose, blanketing the low-lying cloud that separated us in the divine colors of a new dawn. You appeared as a towering silhouette, dwarfing all that surrounded you. You sat majestically alone and resonated a peace that attracted the curious. It was our first encounter, but you consumed my thoughts as I descended. An itch was ignited, an itch I knew I would have to scratch.
I arrived home exhausted but excited. My partner asked how the climb went. Yet all I could talk about was Mt Rinjani. She knew just as I did that very soon, I was going to be at the mountain's base that seemed to be consuming me. My excitement was growing as dates were locked in, guides hired, and last-minute details checked off the list when I received the shock of my life out of the blue. Stephanie announced that she would like to join me on this little adventure.
I usually like to hike alone. I love the space this kind of grind grants me. Time to think, consider, and appreciate what matters to me. And while I have traveled extensively with my partner, this is not something we had shared before. But she was determined, and if there is one thing I know about Steph, it is that when she applies her mind to a challenge, there is a very strong possibility she will achieve it.
Three weeks later, we touched down on the beautiful Indonesian island of Lombok. A four-hour drive along the coast saw us arrive at base camp, where we rested and organized ourselves for the pending challenge. The research I had done assured me that we would make it to the summit, but it also left me feeling that nothing about Mt Rinjani would come easy.
Neither of us slept well that night. I guess it was nerves at what lay ahead or the nagging doubts that always seem to accompany these little adventures. But when the alarm rang just before sunrise, we both leaped out of bed, organized our packs in silence, and readied ourselves for a long day of hiking.
We traveled to the start point in the back of a small truck. With every corner we turned, the spectacle of Mt Rinjani grew more prominent, and the weight of the adventure my partner had signed up for increased. Looking at mountains from the base, knowing you will have to work your ass off, is a great leveller. For others, it's nothing short of intimidating. Hauling our bags from the back of the truck and throwing them on our backs marked the point of no return as we set out through a few villages, across open plains and a gentle incline to reach position one.
Stopping for a snack, I could see Steph looking at what lay ahead. She was nervous as the same doubts raced through her head, just as they did for every other climber looking upwards. All shared a familiar doubt, wondering if they had what it would take to reach their goal.
As we left the comfort of camp one, we knew we had a demanding five-hour hike ahead before we could rest at the crater rim where we planned to spend the night. I can honestly say that the hike to the crater's edge was challenging; not crazy hard, but it still tested everyone taking this journey. Yet the thing I love most about these days is the people you meet on the way. Some are far fitter while others struggle, but I can honestly say that the community that enjoys this kind of adventure is supportive and, from my experience, supportive without judgment.
Steph and I walked and worked together. We took breaks and laughed at each other as we tried to catch our breath while pausing for precious moments to take in the stunning surroundings. By the time we stumbled onto the crater rim, we were both tired, but as we staggered towards our tent, the view we were greeted with instantly recharged us. Filling us with excitement and the humble knowing that the reward was well worth the effort. In retrospect, it always is.
As the sun began to set and day drifted towards night we enjoyed the freedom that only places like this can grant. We felt alone yet very connected to an unseen source as we looked down on a memory that would last a lifetime. We were sore and had a long way to go, but in that brief moment, our worlds seemed calm and peaceful, and the absence of luxuries seemed fitting. We had all we asked for and all we needed.
Sleep was fleeting that night, which always seems to be the case when you know you are waking at one in the morning for a challenging climb through the night to what appeared to still be a distant summit. When the shrill of the alarm sounded, we emerged from the tent to be greeted by one of the most stunning full moons I have ever witnessed. It was bright enough for us to walk through the night without head torches, which made the ascent even more majestic.
We set out in silence, conserving every bit of energy we both knew we would need as we slowly but surely followed the conga line of climbers making their way upwards. We had to navigate a few very steep pinches before we arrived at the ridge line that would lead us directly to the summit.
It was still early, and I thought we were making good time until we took our first steps along the ridge line. I felt my foot sink into the soft volcanic sand, a feeling that sent a warning signal through my entire being. If this is what lay ahead for the next four hours, this was going to be one of the most brutal mornings I had ever experienced.
With every step I took, the reality of the climb was becoming more transparent. Each footfall sunk deeply into the soft terrain and then gracefully slid backward. In essence, every hard-earned step was only half a step. We were only one hour into the soft sand hike, and we were both starting to feel the fatigue of the experience. Yet we knew we had no choice but to continue, we were close, yet we were miles away, and the only thing that would ensure the summit was the strength of our minds. We would make it if we could keep our thoughts from focusing on the pain and frustration of constantly slipping backward. For me, it was a battle that played out over the next three hours, one step forward, slide backward. We passed numerous climbers lying down on the trail's edge, searching for a reason to continue. We realized that the constant mental challenge was fast becoming more consuming than the physical one. Yet we also knew that all we had to do was keep moving forward, one painfully sliding step at a time.
As the sun was fast making its way towards the horizon and after endless hours of punishment and several less polite conversations with myself, I suddenly felt a change underfoot. I was standing on something that only moments before felt like a distant dream, solid ground. I paused for a moment, looking up towards the summit, and the last few hundred meters I had to climb, I was nearly there. Taking a moment to look back to where I had come from, I had an overwhelming feeling of pride as I watched Steph, still slogging her way up the slippery slope. She had not given up; she never would.
I felt good as I set off for the summit. The pain of the climb now seemed like a distant memory as the prize was in reach. Sadly, the sun had already risen by the time I was standing on top of Mt Rinjani. I missed the best of the dawn light but what lay before me was breathtaking.
A majestic crater spread out towards the horizon like a sleeping giant that had experienced all life had to offer. Inside the crater sat another small volcano surrounded by a beautiful blue lake. The image was perfect, and the effort was made all the more meaningful when I saw my partner climb the last of the rocks and join me on top of Mt Rinjani.
We stood there in silence, hand in hand, exhausted but pleased by what we had achieved individually. A closely guarded memory we will share into the unknown future.
As the haze of tired achievement began to wear off, we both realized that this journey was far from over. Our overnight camp lay far below on the edge of the lake, just another eight hours of tough walking. We set off down the mountain, and I am pleased to say that heading down in the soft volcanic sand was a fun pleasure, and it reminded me of powder skiing as we leaped from one soft footfall to the next. Arriving back at our overnight camp, it was time to enjoy two things hikers love: resting tired feet and a hearty breakfast.
As we set off, our guide informed us that the trail down had been badly affected by an earthquake, and we would need to scramble our way to our overnight camp. Seeing our tired expressions, he assured us that it was well worth the effort and the waiting hot springs would take care of all our aches and pains.
It turns out he was right. The earthquake had decimated the trail, which made the scramble down extremely hard work, remembering at this stage, we had been on our feet for 12 hours. But as we strolled into our new camp, all our collective tiredness dissipated as we approached the lake's edge to take in the otherworldly view. It was mesmerizing, like a wonder of the world, so idyllic it is almost impossible to find the right words. But we were truly exhausted, and it was time to recharge our beaten bodies in the promised hot springs.
We slipped off our boots and climbed into some hiking sandals; a decision Steph would live to regret as she stubbed her toes on an unseen rock. At first, I didn't think too much of it, but I soon realized that this seemingly minor injury would significantly impact the next day. We still had 12 hours to hike, 8 of which would be downhill. This was going to hurt, and there was no way around it.
At my selfish suggestion, we set off early the following day. Being a greedy photographer, I want to be somewhere high by the time the sun rises, and from the very first step we took, we all knew it was going to be a long hard day for Steph and her badly bruised foot.
We skirted the lake while others slept and reached a beautiful rocky outcrop for sunrise. Taking a break, we sat in silence as the new day dawned, well aware that we still had a long way to travel and the downhill section was about to begin. Usually a moment of great relief for any hiker, but with injured toes, a moment of harsh reality.
Leaving the sunrise view behind, it quickly became apparent that Steph would not be able to descend in boots; the pain was just too much. A quick switch to sandals helped, but only a little. To her credit, she soldiered on without complaint, and after 6 hours of painful downhill hiking, we walked through the gates that marked the finish of the hike together. We were spent, exhausted, yet full of joy. The kind of joy that can only be found upon completing a challenge that tested you physically and mentally.
As we drove to our hotel that night, my mind drifted to the next mountain, the next adventure. Steph's, on the other hand, was considering hiking retirement. I smiled while squeezing her hand, she had done this for us and she had done it in style, and for that, I am grateful.