Mt Raung
It was 9 pm when I switched off the bedside lamp and allowed the unfamiliar hotel room to become bathed in darkness. As the minutes slowly ticked by, my mind began to wonder about the challenge that lay ahead. As always, this familiar moment was accompanied by a feeling of apprehension as I closed my eyes and beckoned sleep. All of my research had made it crystal clear that Mt Raung was known for being a harsh taskmaster and far more technical than anything I was used to. Let's be honest - I am an old trekker, not a climber. But to capture the photographs I so desired, I needed to bet on my belief, live outside my comfort zone, and start embodying the existence I desired and had finally begun to accept.
As I drifted to sleep that night, I felt nervous, excited, and free. With every passing mile and every lasting life experience, it was becoming more apparent that if I wanted change, adventure and joy, I had to begin pursuing a life of living in the moment. For me, trekking in nature for days on end and climbing a few mountains along the way requires me to be 100% present with my chosen task.
It felt like just moments later when the shrill of the alarm sounded, shocking me from the much-needed sleep and energy I would be robbed of over the next few days. I lay in bed for a moment, making friends with the quiet world that surrounded me, when I realized that I could hear the gentle sounds of rain falling on the roof accompanied by the distant sound of thunder rumbling through the mountains - a soundtrack that seductively invites you to stay in bed.
A 45-minute ride through the dark and wet surroundings saw me arrive at base camp damp but excited. We were a group of eight, and after a quick piping hot coffee, we headed straight for the safety briefing. As I expected, it was a meeting in a language that I could not understand, but with the gracious help of some fellow travelers, I managed to get the necessary information I needed.
While the meeting was unfolding, I took a moment to scan the room. It felt different from all the other treks I had experienced. The crowd looked far more seasoned and prepared, and it dawned on me that maybe I had found my people. I don't know if it was just the weathered faces of experience or the determined energy that flowed from these souls, but I knew I felt at home among them.
The safety briefing concluded, and it was time for the inevitable motorbike ride to position 1. Everybody else seemed calm, throwing a leg over the back of their selected bike, but I have to admit that it is the moment that scares me most about these little adventures. After all this time, you would have thought I would have gotten used to it. But traveling through jungle tracks at speeds that feel faster than I ride on highways gives me an appreciation of what a bobsled team must feel as they hurtle down their icy tracks.
At position 1, the bikes departed, leaving us alone with our thoughts of what was to come. Our crew enjoyed one last coffee, a quick snack, and a short prayer asking the gods for permission to climb before the trek began in earnest. Position 1 to 3 was nothing more than a gentle stroll, and for the first time, I appreciated the tropical jungle we were moving through. Don't get me wrong; I love jungles. It's just that I love life above the tree line more.
We took a short rest at position 4 and scanned the horizon. It appeared that the heavy cloud that had been threatening us all day was about to come to bear. It was time to don the wet weather gear and push towards our overnight camp at position 7.
We didn't have to wait long for the rain to join the trek as the skies opened, dumping what felt like a week's worth of rain in minutes. The landscape suddenly changed dramatically as we left position 4 to make things more interesting. What was gentle quickly became steep, and what were sure footings quickly became perilously slick, not that it seemed to give my slightly built guide Kipling any cause for concern, as his speed and sure-footedness were never questioned. For the first time in a few hours, the nagging worry of self-ability began to surface. It was a feeling I was familiar with, and I laughed inwardly while reminding myself that he was a professional and I was not.
The rain continued to fall harder and harder with every step we took. It was slow going to say the least, as the steep jungle track evolved into a giant muddy slip and slide. My breathing became labored as I struggled forward. The rest breaks became more frequent and prolonged as I struggled for every forward step. The pace slowed, and my mind went walkabout, serving me up a constant stream of questionable thoughts.
Why are you doing this?
Do you really like this?
Do you think you are strong enough to make it?
When we hit position 5, I had to stop under the shelter of a beautiful old tree, and it was time for a bit of self-chat and time to take back control. I love the power of my mind, it has helped me live a rewarding life full of adventure, but I must admit that it requires very close supervision. Like most things in life, it can be used for good or evil. The rain continued to fall as we continued onwards, and while my mental strength improved, I still found the going physically challenging, but I guess that's what I signed up for.
My legs were gone by the time we emerged from the rain-soaked jungle to be welcomed to our makeshift home for the evening; a series of soaked tents in a small jungle clearing never looked so inviting. I enjoyed the shelter of my little red tent more than I could have ever imagined as I sat millimeters from the cold, wet ground while enjoying the rejuvenating pleasure of a hot cup of coffee.
I sat there sipping the warm nectar of life, watching nothing in particular, letting my mind wander through the day I had just experienced. It seemed childish to admit this, but as we were trekking and passing through checkpoints, I wondered where everyone else was. The truth is that I was wondering how far they were in front, or rather how far I was behind.
I guess it's just my nature to compare myself to others, or perhaps it's just learned behavior that I now need to unlearn. By the time I reached position 7, I had realized that I was somehow the first to arrive. The good thing about being ahead was that I witnessed my fellow climbers arrive at camp, beaming exhausted smiles of relief at what they had achieved. I sat there watching them drag themselves into camp, wondering what they knew that I was missing.
The day looked like a repeating pattern, showers followed by heavy rain followed by showers, and so on. I had given up on shooting anything for the day. It was looking like a photography bust, but then Mother Nature delivered a small gift. For the briefest moment, the setting sun found a hole in the dense cloud cover to light up the sky in a manner that left me awestruck. It is always an honor and privilege to witness such mesmerizing beauty. Beauty that deserves our simple admiration and silent thanks.
As the temperature dropped and the wondrous color of the setting sun gave way to the inky black of the night, there was nothing left to do but attempt to sleep and get mentally prepared for what lay ahead tomorrow. As it predictably turns out, a night spent napping in a cold overcrowded tent was about as good a preparation as it sounds. The sleepless night came to a shivering end as the 1 am alarm sounded. Gathering my tired senses, I unzipped the tent's flap to be greeted by the gloom of the storm that now seemed to be a paid-up member of our climbing team. Looking skywards, I saw no stars, just a heavy layer of cloud, buoyant with rain, engulfing all we desired. It was going to be wet that I had made peace with, but the wind racing through the treetops was starting to worry me.
After a small but much-needed hot breakfast, we set off into the dark wet night, trekking through the dense steep forest in silence, guided by the glow of our head torches towards camp 9, where we would adopt our safety harnesses and helmets. I still hoped the skies would magically clear, but as we took our first steps above the tree line towards the summit, I knew we were in for a long, challenging, wet climb.
It turns out that the knowing little voice deep within was right. We all wanted perfect conditions, but the truth was it was far from perfect. I could have been upset, mad, or disappointed, but the only thing that made sense was to laugh. And laugh I did as we stood between two mountain peaks being lashed by freezing winds and constant rain while being roped into abseil down a short mountain face. I looked through the driving rain towards our destination but could only see a large shadow rising high into the night sky.
The next 3 hours flew by in a numb blur as we climbed, scrambled, and stumbled through the wind and rain. The concept of climbing with ropes and safety gear was a new experience for me and, in truth, was just enough to keep my mind focused on the task at hand and away from the ever-approaching cold that was sending my body into uncontrollable fits of shivering. This experience was about as far away from the lush tropical vision that most conjure when considering Indonesia.
I looked at my guide, who was also feeling the cold, shivering with a kind smile. He knew we needed a break from the wind before we undertook the final hour push to the summit. We chose a large boulder on the edge of the mountain as a place to enjoy a brief rest bite from the bone-chilling winds. As we shared a pack of sugary biscuits, we both smiled at the realization that although conditions were far from perfect, there was no other place we would rather be.
With this resolve set deep within me, it was time to leave our much-appreciated shelter and push to the summit, and at that moment, the strangest thing happened. The wind cutting through us for the last 3 hours disappeared. Like a gift from above, the next hour would be undertaken in ever better conditions. As we scrambled toward the summit, the rain began to ease, and the soft light of the new dawn allowed us to turn off our head torches and enjoy every well-earned step as the summit loomed near.
After 10 further minutes of scrambling on hands and knees, we stood together on the summit of Mt Raung. I spent a minute in stunned silence, taking in a view I struggled to put into words. How can something so rough and rugged be so mesmerizingly beautiful? How can a view that was created by a violent explosion feel so gentle? There was nothing to be said at this moment. The silence we shared gazing down upon something we struggled to comprehend said it all.
Moments passed as the rising sun's warmth blessed our outlook, accompanied by a single thought. If you want to live in the moment, first you must LIVE.
I smiled at this thought's simplicity as I began photographing a wonder that would stay in my heart forever. It was far from a perfect sunrise, but for me, the journey, the effort, and the discomfort that led to this moment was the foundation that somehow made this moment in time perfect.
Thank you, Mt Raung, and thank you Kipling.