- wilderness [wil-der-nis], (noun): a vast tract of untrammeled nature where cell phone use is not only discouraged, but impossible.
Climbers have a choice of climbing the mountain in one day or spending the first night at the Laban Rata Rest House halfway up, and making the final push and descent the following day. Having thrown this trip together rather slap-dashedly, I was worried that I might not get a space at Laban Rata and have to attempt the single day climb, something the ever-sensational denizens of the Internet advised was not for the faint of heart. That's 7,313 feet up and another 7,313 down in one day, and a very strict timetable of checkpoints to make. Most of the mountain guides (without whom you are not allowed to climb the mountain) will allegedly turn you around if you do not meet these checkpoints, regardless of your proximity to the summit. The summit plateau is usually wreathed in clouds late in the day if you're lucky and lashed by rain if you're not, so one-day clmibers are all too often not afforded any views from the top either. On top of that, the park only offers 4 one-day climbing permits per day, and you have to present yourself for a cursory inspection by one of the park rangers, who can turn you around at the gate if he deems you unfit for the challenge. This option is fine for those who climb mountains to conquer them (peakbagging sluts, as my hiking companions from Potsdam affectionately call them), but if you prefer the steady pace of nature walking and the reward of a stunning view from the top, I suggest spending two days on the mountain.
Luckily (for my legs, though not my wallet), I was able to score a reservation at Laban Rata, so I would be doing the trek in two days. At this point, you have two further choices as to approach trail. The Timpohon Gate trail is the shorter and more commonly walked trail, significantly steeper overall but with far more points for resting, answering nature's call, and re-hydrating yourself. The Mesilau trail adds an additional 1.4 miles, is a more gradual ascent, and offers (in my opinion) better views and more solitude. The timetable for either runs as follows:
Day 1 (5 miles by the Mesilau Trail, 3.72 miles by the Timpohon Trail)
7-9 AM: Arrive at Park Headquarters, arrange transport, meals, mountain guide, and lodging.
7-10 AM: Shuttle with your group to your trailhead (6,122 ft for Timpohon, 6,561 ft for Mesilau), begin the climb.
12-3 PM: Arrive at Laban Rata and check in (10,730 ft).
5-7 PM: Buffet dinner at Laban Rata.
8-10 PM: Go to sleep! Long day tomorrow...
Day 2 (7.4 miles by the Mesilau Trail, 6.21 miles by the Timpohon Trail)
2 AM: Quick breakfast at Laban Rata
2-3 AM: Begin the climb to the summit (13, 435 ft).
5-7 AM: Arrive at the summit, soak up the sunrise.
9-11 AM: Return to Laban Rata for second breakfast.
2-6 PM: Arrive back at the trailhead and shuttle back to Park Headquarters for another buffet lunch.
Logistically speaking, pretty easy. As far as getting to Park Headquarters, you have a few options. First of all, you can arrange for lodging in Kinabalu National Park itself the night before your climb, so that you're close to the starting point the following morning. There are a number of options for accommodation here, even some hostels, but it is as a rule more expensive, I'm told. Your second option is to stay in Kota Kinabalu and get transport to the mountain very early the morning of your climb. This requires at least a little bit of planning. The buses and taxis to the park all leave from the same location in Kota Kinabalu, which is a large parking lot to the east of Kampung Air that is easy to find. You can get a bus for 15 MYR ($5), and it will leave when it is full. The bus journey takes about 2 hours, and the first one is at 7 AM. This means if you don't make the first bus, you will almost certainly be very late for the start of your climb, which is not recommended. In order to make the first bus, you should get to the bus stop no later than 6:30 and claim a seat. There is no bus with a terminus of Mt. Kinabalu, so you want the one that says Kota Kinabalu <---> Ranau. Alternatively, you can grab a taxi. The taxi ride takes about an hour and a half if traffic is light, but will usually cost in the neighborhood of 120 MYR ($40). If you can find three other hikers in Kota Kinabalu to split the fare with you, or if you came with a group, this is your best option. If you cannot, and you miss the first bus, as I did, you will have to shell out the $40 or risk being turned around on account of tardiness. Ouch, right in the finances.
On the plus side, the taxi driver was very nice, spoke great English, and was happy to stop to let me take pictures as we approached the monolith. It was very cool seeing it completely dominate the entire landscape from a distance. Mt. Kinabalu's distinctive crown and the absence of any neighboring peaks of consequence make it seem like it belongs in a movie about dinosaurs and not under the soles of man-made hiking boots.
The park officials are anywhere from passably to surprisingly fluent in English. First, you have to confirm your reservation at Laban Rata. This has to be paid for ahead of time, by credit card or bank transfer. They will also give you a lanyard and an identification card with your name and group details on it, which you will need to proceed through the final checkpoint to the summit plateau. Then you have to line up transport in one of the park shuttles to the trailhead, as both the Timpohon and Mesilau Gates are a few miles away from Park Headquarters. You are also given meal vouchers for use at the nearby restaurant and Laban Rata. If you pay for lodging at the Rest House, five meals are included. The fee for Laban Rata comes to 555 MYR ($184), and includes the mandatory climbing permit and climbing insurance. Here is the website where you can make reservations. However, they often don't offer one-night stays, only two-night, so it's a better idea to just e-mail or call and request the night you want.
As if all these particulars weren't enough, you are also forced to hire a mountain guide.
- mountain guide [moun-tn gahyd], noun: a professional hiker hired to chaperone weekend warriors and to prevent clinically stupid people from doing clinically stupid things.
This will cost anywhere from 125 to 150 MYR ($41-$50), depending on group size and which route you choose. Our guide, L.D., spoke good English and already has almost 100 summits of the mountain under his belt at the age of 18. He began guiding climbers when he was still in school and is now doing it full-time.
Here he is on the right, sporting sandals, a $5 backpack, a drugstore umbrella, and a healthy contempt for any mountain that would seek to defeat him.
Here's a breakdown of the costs, now that all my readers are assuredly itching to follow in the footsteps of my well-worn hiking boots:
Taxi from KK to Park HQ: 120 MYR ($40)
Lodging, Food, Insurance, and Entrance Fee: 555 MYR ($184)
Shuttle from Park HQ to trailhead and back: 25 MYR ($9)
Guide Fee: 150 MYR ($50)
Shared shuttle bus back to KK: 30 MYR ($10)
TOTAL: 880 MYR ($290)
I was lucky enough to latch myself on to two other Southeast Asia travelers at Park HQ, so I was able to split some transport fees and the guide fee. Mike (from Slovakia) and Yvette (from Canada) were great company and I ended up hanging out with them for the remainder of the trip. After a short ride with some stunning views of the approach to the mountain, we began the descent up the Mesilau Trail. The trail itself was easy to follow, rugged enough to offer a challenge, and like any highly-traveled mountain, drowned in an overabundance of stairs. I think almost any hiker will tell you that with a positive attitude, no ascent, no matter how jagged, is insuperable. But there is something so psychologically damaging about an endless snaking line of steps disappearing over the horizon.
This was my favorite part of the trail. The views were incredible (that's the jagged summit right ahead) and the flora was a really cool mix of jungle plants and gnarly prehistoric trees. Again, straight out of a dinosaur movie. On that note, I feel like "Dinosaur Movie" is a completely untapped genre. Get on it, Hollywood!
It quickly became obvious that not even a blind Alzheimer's patient could lose their way on this trail, and we began to call into question the necessity of the guides. I don't deny that groups of inexperienced hikers may require some guidance, but I would prefer to sign any waiver you throw at me in exchange for the autonomy to make my own stupid decisions and live with their consequences. Yvonne wondered why they made every person hike with a guide, to which my immediate response was "obviously they don't want to get sued." She said that hadn't even occurred to her, and that it was a very American thing to say. Ah, to live in an overly litigious society...sad but true.
No swimming allowed? So sue me!
Laban Rata, the guest house, was a true anomaly. Seeking wilderness and untamed mountainsides, I was instead treated to a repeat of exactly what bothered me about hiking in Korea: a giant house with bunks, a restaurant, electricity, and running water halfway up the mountain.
What you see above is the product of the unsung heroes of Mount Kinabalu, the porters. These locals make a mediocre wage for humping upwards of 60 pounds -- water, food, and other supplies -- several times a day in boat shoes and jeans. The truly lazy among the hikers can even unload their packs on the porters. I saw not a few porters chugging tirelessly up the trail with five separate backpacks lashed onto their bodies at all different angles like a bloated flak jacket. They were the lucky ones; many others carried linens, food, and trash in a makeshift pack constructed of a garbage bag and two bungee cords. Just another effect of depthless manufactured ecotourism.
We retired early, conscious of the need for a good night's sleep and the inevitable 2 AM wake up call. However, sleep was hard to find, in spite of the punishing exhaustion exacted by the day's march. Jon Krakauer says in Into Thin Air that an Everest climber is lucky to get more than an hour of sleep a night on a summit bid, due to the over-tiredness and the deleterious effects of high altitude. The minor altitude headache may have had something to do with my insomnia, but I find that I all too often get very little sleep on a backpacking trip, no matter how much physical strain I put on my body or how tired I am. Ultimately, I think it just boils down to anticipation. The challenge of the next day's climb is too present at the forefront of one's thoughts and its siren song lends the excitable climber little rest.
If my math is right, there were over 200 climbers making the summit hike the following morning, and our group unfortunately was one of the last out the door. This left us three spry and energetic young people in an unfortunate position at the end of the single-file line that stretched as far as the eye could see up the mountain. I am a strong proponent of trail etiquette, and though everyone has their own rules, I think it's fair to say that slower hikers should be happy to make room for faster ones so the former can enjoy the peace and quiet of their own pace and the latter don't have to break their well-established gait. Many people on the mountain did not seem to share this sentiment. The fact that one constantly has to deal with queues and passing lanes on a mountain trail is frustrating enough. As a result, I was forced to move briskly past the other climbers, as politely as possible, and soon found myself at the head of the pack, looking down in the pitch dark at a sea of bobbing headlamps, which was in itself a very cool sight. Having shouldered my way past at least 150 people in a mad rush to walk at my own pace, my blood was boiling at this point (not in anger, mind you, just with exertion and excitement), and I just had to be first to the top. Fairly soon after departing Laban Rata the trail spills out onto the summit plateau and you are guided with fixed ropes the rest of the way. The plateau is truly an eerie place. You realize that you are pushing 13,000 feet, but there is not, nor will there ever be, a single snowflake to be found. Just an endless stretch of jagged toothy protrusions, cementing the prehistoric feel. A few spots of lichen and alpine scrub tenaciously brave the elements, but it is mostly bare rock and the keening wind. A little slice of desolation and lifelessness in the middle of the jungle. Pretty cool.
Sadly, my quest for first place was not to be realized. Yvonne and I arrived at Low's Peak (the summit) in a short two and a half hours, making us the second group there. Considering we were nearly the last to leave, a silver medal will have to do (I'm no peakbagging slut, after all, I just have my own pace). We sat patiently, chatting with other arriving climbers and trying to stay warm as we waited for the sunrise and the promise of a stunning view. The temperamental and unpredictable weather in the afternoon is the main reason why climbers are scheduled to make the summit hike in the wee hours; the hours of 6 AM to 8 AM afford the best chance at clear skies and visibility. The sun came up and the clouds stubbornly lingered, but after another 30 minutes or so our patience paid off.
We hung around for a bit snapping pictures, but pretty soon the crowds came rolling in and we began a relaxing, by comparison, descent. The nice thing about this particular summit is that though hundreds of people may climb it in a day, the plateau is expansive, and if your guide isn't too strict and judges you responsible enough, you can amble around the top of the mountain at your leisure and escape the huge knot of people at Low's Peak.
Our climb down was steep, winding, uneventful, and of course positively filled with stairs. We chose the Timpohon Trail for our return, for a little variety. The Mesilau trail offered fewer people and a more gradual climb, but the Timpohon Trail gave us more wildlife.
Mountain volleyball, anyone? Or perhaps badminton, considering the consequences of an errant volleyball serve.
Anomalous though it is, the view from the balcony is pretty incomparable.
Buffet at 10,000 ft.
I feel like I'm at P.F. Chang's, not the middle of the Borneo jungle.
What you see above is the product of the unsung heroes of Mount Kinabalu, the porters. These locals make a mediocre wage for humping upwards of 60 pounds -- water, food, and other supplies -- several times a day in boat shoes and jeans. The truly lazy among the hikers can even unload their packs on the porters. I saw not a few porters chugging tirelessly up the trail with five separate backpacks lashed onto their bodies at all different angles like a bloated flak jacket. They were the lucky ones; many others carried linens, food, and trash in a makeshift pack constructed of a garbage bag and two bungee cords. Just another effect of depthless manufactured ecotourism.
- manufactured ecotourism [man-yuh-fak-cherd ek-oh-too r-iz-uhm], (noun): the unapologetic commercialization of the world's wild places that allows anyone with a bulging wallet to partake in the wonder and beauty of the great outdoors without having actually earned it and without actually appreciating it. Also a prime motivator in making Connor sound hopelessly and disgustingly pretentious.
Never mind the breathtaking view behind me, I simply must see if anyone texted me in the last five minutes!
We retired early, conscious of the need for a good night's sleep and the inevitable 2 AM wake up call. However, sleep was hard to find, in spite of the punishing exhaustion exacted by the day's march. Jon Krakauer says in Into Thin Air that an Everest climber is lucky to get more than an hour of sleep a night on a summit bid, due to the over-tiredness and the deleterious effects of high altitude. The minor altitude headache may have had something to do with my insomnia, but I find that I all too often get very little sleep on a backpacking trip, no matter how much physical strain I put on my body or how tired I am. Ultimately, I think it just boils down to anticipation. The challenge of the next day's climb is too present at the forefront of one's thoughts and its siren song lends the excitable climber little rest.
If my math is right, there were over 200 climbers making the summit hike the following morning, and our group unfortunately was one of the last out the door. This left us three spry and energetic young people in an unfortunate position at the end of the single-file line that stretched as far as the eye could see up the mountain. I am a strong proponent of trail etiquette, and though everyone has their own rules, I think it's fair to say that slower hikers should be happy to make room for faster ones so the former can enjoy the peace and quiet of their own pace and the latter don't have to break their well-established gait. Many people on the mountain did not seem to share this sentiment. The fact that one constantly has to deal with queues and passing lanes on a mountain trail is frustrating enough. As a result, I was forced to move briskly past the other climbers, as politely as possible, and soon found myself at the head of the pack, looking down in the pitch dark at a sea of bobbing headlamps, which was in itself a very cool sight. Having shouldered my way past at least 150 people in a mad rush to walk at my own pace, my blood was boiling at this point (not in anger, mind you, just with exertion and excitement), and I just had to be first to the top. Fairly soon after departing Laban Rata the trail spills out onto the summit plateau and you are guided with fixed ropes the rest of the way. The plateau is truly an eerie place. You realize that you are pushing 13,000 feet, but there is not, nor will there ever be, a single snowflake to be found. Just an endless stretch of jagged toothy protrusions, cementing the prehistoric feel. A few spots of lichen and alpine scrub tenaciously brave the elements, but it is mostly bare rock and the keening wind. A little slice of desolation and lifelessness in the middle of the jungle. Pretty cool.
Sadly, my quest for first place was not to be realized. Yvonne and I arrived at Low's Peak (the summit) in a short two and a half hours, making us the second group there. Considering we were nearly the last to leave, a silver medal will have to do (I'm no peakbagging slut, after all, I just have my own pace). We sat patiently, chatting with other arriving climbers and trying to stay warm as we waited for the sunrise and the promise of a stunning view. The temperamental and unpredictable weather in the afternoon is the main reason why climbers are scheduled to make the summit hike in the wee hours; the hours of 6 AM to 8 AM afford the best chance at clear skies and visibility. The sun came up and the clouds stubbornly lingered, but after another 30 minutes or so our patience paid off.
A new personal altitude record!
Our climb down was steep, winding, uneventful, and of course positively filled with stairs. We chose the Timpohon Trail for our return, for a little variety. The Mesilau trail offered fewer people and a more gradual climb, but the Timpohon Trail gave us more wildlife.
Really cool song from these fellows, and some amazing harmonies when you encountered a group of them.
Pictures courtesy of Google, as these critters proved too fast for my camera.
I should hope that someone planning the same hike may come across the post and glean something useful from it, so I'll give a quick inventory of the essential gear as well. Also, I'm an insufferable gearhead -- exacerbated by my job at EMS -- so I can't help but talk about my kit.
After years of painful shoulders, I am finally, gradually, and painstakingly learning how to pack light.
Since food and lodging are all provided, you shouldn't need to bring more than 9 or 10 pounds of gear. Necessaries include:
- Sturdy pair of hiking boots. The guides do it in sandals, but especially for the untrained sole, comfortable boots are essential.
- Water bottle. There are few streams to speak of, but there is running water at Laban Rata and basins of water at several rest points along the trail. These are frequent, so anything more than a liter is overkill. I barely dipped below the .5 L mark on either day. Some of the basins are marked "untreated," so bring water treatment if you're paranoid, but most of the hikers enjoyed it with no adverse effects.
- Daypack. The smaller the pack, the less likely you are to bring stuff you don't need, and the easier you will make life for your porter.
- Headlamp. Climbing at 2 AM makes this one kind of important. And regardless of environment, I maintain that anyone who hikes a serious mountain with a flashlight is being woefully inefficient.
- Snacks. In case you want some extra energy food. Our meal vouchers netted us some hard-boiled eggs, plantains, and white-bread sandwiches featuring fake cheese and mystery meat. Decide for yourself if that's enough.
- Rain Shell. Capricious weather, ya know.
- Waterproof Sack. See above.
- Extra Layers. It doesn't get too cold during the day, but if you spend any time sitting on the summit, you will want, at the very least, a baselayer, an insulation layer, and a windbreaker (which a good rain shell can also function as). If you find yourself often colder than other people, another layer is a good idea. An extra change of clothes and socks is also a good idea for the time you spend at Laban Rata.
- Toiletries. At least Laban Rata is sufficiently "wild" enough to not offer tiny shampoos and soaps or a mint on your pillow.
- Confirmation Papers for your reservation. Just in case.
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