What's the hardest thing you've ever done? I used to dread that question. I've lived a blessed life which for the most part I've sailed through without a struggle. But now finally, I have my answer; climbing Mount Rinjani...
*
It's day one of our trip and our alarm sounds at 6am. What the hell are we doing? It's Monday morning but even if we were back home working in London we still wouldn't have been awake at this hour. And we're not back home; we're here in Gili T, one of the most beautiful beaches we've ever seen and we could have spent today relaxing on it. Instead we've chosen to go to Lombok, where the clouds always seem to loom, to climb the second highest mountain in Indonesia. What the hell are we doing?
The boat journey to Lombok is choppy. We both start to feel nauseous but we're not sure whether it's nerves or sea sickness. It's a clear morning so for the first time since we arrived in Indonesia we can just about make out Rinjani's summit and it seems to be growing taller the closer we get.
We're picked up at Lombok port and driven to the base of the mountain. They don't even give you a few hundred metres head start; we're literally at the very bottom. They do, however, give us a banana pancake for breakfast which we bury in sugar, figuring we'll need it for the long trek ahead. We're told that the rest of our group arrived earlier and have already begun the climb. For now it's just the two of us and an elderly guide who looks as though his better years are behind him.
We have an eight hour trek to do today. To put it in perspective that's a whole working day with no lunch break. We moaned for two years about spending eight hours a day stuck at a desk but that now seems like a distant dream as we trudge our way through the jungle with no end in sight. We're immersed in a world of green with little else to distract us from the long upwards climb. I'm thankful when we hear a rustle overhead and look up to see a wild monkey flying from branch to branch. It's the first of many we see over the next few days.
An hour passes before we pause for our first quick sip of water and our guide tells us we should lead from here on. Worry spreads across my face; 'But I don't know the way?' His smile, tainted with sadness, speaks for itself. 'There's only one way to go: up!'
I'm not up front for very long though. After just a few minutes a stray dog with ten udders comes bounding out from behind the bushes and decides to take the lead. She's looking for something but can't quite decide what and so instead accompanies us up the mountain. Perhaps she just wants friends. We nickname her Barbara and trust her to take us safely to the next stop where the rest of our group are waiting for us.
Once we arrive our elderly guide bids us farewell and introduces us to Sap who will be the one to take us to the very top. He appears to be far more full of energy despite having already climbed Rinjani once this week. We're amazed by the strength of the guides and the porters who climb this mountain almost daily, carrying all the supplies we need along the way. Indonesians have such small builds that none of them look particularly strong but underneath they must have the bodies of superheroes. It's the only explanation.
We also meet the other Trekkers: two French guys, a German, an English boy and a couple from Finland who have already decided they're not making it to the summit. I thought we'd stick together but we climb at our own pace and Hana and I quickly find ourselves alone again, only this time without a guide.
It's tough but we're okay. With what little breath we have left we sing to keep our spirits high. 'Ain't no mountain high enough' is a big hit. We're just two hours from the base camp when the first raindrop falls. It's wonderfully refreshing and we continue on, thankful for the break from the scorching heat, knowing it's unlikely to last long.
Then the thunder sounds. This is no normal rain shower. Within minutes the raindrops double in size and triple in speed and we're desperately searching our bags for our waterproofs. As if this wasn't hard enough? With nowhere to hide we have no choice but to push on until we find shelter but it's easier said than done; the pathway is drowning under a running waterfall of muddy water and we stand and watch as our happiness flows downstream.
The monsoon lasts for three hours, one of which we spend huddled under an aluminium hut which looks set to collapse at any moment. We want to stay sheltered for longer but we're soaking wet and need to keep moving to avoid getting cold. The last hour to base camp is pretty miserable. Our shoes are squelching and the idea of having to put them back on in the morning before they've had a chance to dry is unpleasant to say the least. The rain has brought the crickets out too and they're making a real racket. It's as though they're laughing at us, poor sodden travellers with hours left to go.
We're just starting to feel as though we're the only people left in the world when we finally reach our first base camp. The porters have set the tents up and laid out sleeping bags inside. We clamber in and fight to stay awake at least until dinner. It's only 6pm but it seems more like midnight.
The rain has now stopped but it's been replaced by an intense wind which roars through the camp. Since arriving in Asia my malaria tablets have been meddling with my dreams, making them far more vivid and memorable. Tonight I dream of the Wizard of Oz and half expect to wake up at the end of the yellow brick road. I'm surprised to find that our tent has survived the gale.
Breakfast is served at 6am and we're on our way by quarter past. Today is supposedly a 'rest day' but still involves seven hours hiking. And the route is much trickier now than before; steeper and rockier with no jungle canopy to protect us from the sun. We've been walking for an hour when we catch our first glimpse of Sagara Anak, the lake 2,000m up in the mountain. We're taken aback by the view, partly because it's such a contrast to the baron landscapes which surround it but mainly because it's absolutely stunning. In one corner sits the volcano's crater smoking softly, a gentle reminder that it's dormant not dead.
We're pleased when our guide tells us we'll be walking down to the lake. A closer view but also the chance to go downhill! It sounds great but in reality it's just as hard work. The route is stupidly steep and the surface is gritty so that we're sliding all over the place. In Europe there would surely be railings and a clear path but here there's nothing. We have only our instinct and blind courage to guide us. A few members of the group have proper hiking gear but the majority of us are wearing whatever we had stuffed in our backpacks. For me that's disco leggings, an old vest and my trusty H&M high tops which aren't feeling all that trustworthy as I skid my way down the mountain side.
The view from the bottom is breathtaking though and makes the last two hours worthwhile. We're desperate to take a dip in the lake but our guide tells us to hold out until the volcanic hot springs which are more suitable for swimming. He's not wrong. Just over the hill we find a number of small pools, linked together by waterfalls. The water is a thick green colour and is steaming at over thirty degrees, the perfect temperature for a hot bath. It's heavenly and a real struggle to leave.
The weather up here is beautiful but there's an ominous cloud threatening from below. Keen to arrive at our second camp before another storm hits we begin our four hour climb as soon as we've finished lunch. It's the hardest we've done yet. For the most part we're free climbing on all fours up a cliff face. It's terrifying and I can't believe we don't have harnesses or ropes but I also can't see another way. The storm never quite reaches us but the mountain has been overcome by a thick fog which makes it difficult to see more than ten metres in front of you. With each step we hope the camp will emerge through the mist but just see more and more clusters of rock or the occasional mountain monkey staring you in the face. They're so close that if Hana was not here to confirm it I'd have thought they were part of an exhaustion-induced hallucination. Finally the bright orange tents break up the landscape and we crawl into our sleeping bags for the second night. Although this night will be cut short as our final climb to the summit begins at 2.30am.
It's still pitch black when Sap wakes us up. The stars are so bright and look close enough to touch but they don't provide us with any light. We're aching, tired and still have three hours between us and the top. There's no need to be told that it's the hardest three hours we'll do. We get going right away and the boys storm ahead in the hope that they may make the peak by sunrise. We can tell they don't think Hana and I will make it at all.
We're left completely alone and with only my old shitty Nokia phone as a flashlight, we struggle to find a route. The surface is like sand, the kind you sink into so that you're sliding backwards with every step you take. It feels as though we're getting nowhere, walking the wrong way up an endless travelator.
We eventually see a stationary flashlight ahead. It's Sap and he's waiting for us, conscious that we've been left behind. For the next hour he accompanies us, sharing the light of his torch and showing us the way. The temperature drops dramatically the higher we climb and we have to keep stopping to add layers. There's nothing I can add to my hands and feet though and it's not long before I lose the feeling in them entirely.
I want to cry but tell myself I can't spare the energy. Instead I focus on reminding myself to keep walking, keep breathing. It's strange to have to force myself to do what usually comes so naturally.
The cold is making my eyes and nose stream and it's becoming difficult to breath. The air is so thin up here. I try to take long deep inhales but they get stuck half way in my throat and are forced back out again. I feel myself starting to panic. How long left to go?
'We're almost at half way.'
We can't believe our ears. Surely Sap's joking? It feels as though we've been walking all night and yet he's here telling us we still have an hour and a half to go. Both of us collapse on the nearest rock, exhausted at the mere thought of the next ninety minutes.
'Girls, don't go. I'm worried about you if you try and make it to the top. Stay here and watch the sunrise. You don't have the strength to go on.'
He doesn't know it but Sap's words are spurring us on. It's exactly what we need. Physically he's right, we're not strong enough, but mentally it's a whole different matter and if there's one way of ensuring we'll do something it's to tell us that we can't.
We say nothing but by hauling ourselves up we give him our response. We pass the people in different groups who have chosen to end their journey early. We're determined not to join them but each time we stop for a sip of water I worry we'll not manage to start again. We've made our decision now and neither Hana nor I want to be the one to let the other down.
The final hour is the hardest in my existence. We can see the summit but it's teasing us, refusing to come any closer no matter how high we climb. It's now freezing cold and a harsh wind is finding it's way into every crease in our clothing. The final scene of the Lord of the Rings keeps flashing into my mind. It's as though our desperation and exhaustion matches theirs, the two small hobbits on their quest to save the world.
The top is now just minutes away. Shouldn't adrenaline be kicking in? I wait and wait for that last surge of energy but it's taking all of my strength to just place one foot in front of the other. I turn to see Hana a little way behind me and hang back. We have to finish this together.
We pigeon step forwards and I begin the final countdown in my head. We'll be there in five, four, three, two.... We both burst into tears. Exhaustion, relief, pride and pain. The emotions are all too overwhelming. Sap gives us both a gigantic bear hug which nearly takes us over the edge and then cracks open a celebratory packet of chocolate biscuits.
'I didn't think you'd make it.'
We smile. We know.
The view from 3,726m up is quite something and it's all so surreal. The sun has just come up, casting light over the whole of Indonesia. We look behind us to see the Gili Islands where we started our journey from just three days ago. It's strange to think we'll be back there later today, staring up at Rinjani from the other side.
We'd like to stay and admire our prize for longer but the cold is too much so we take our winning photographs and then head back down. We're in such a great mood that despite our aching bodies and tired minds we enjoy the two hours back to base camp. 'Ohhh we're going back to Gili, ohhh back to the island.' We can't wait!
It's a dangerous route though so we need to keep our concentration. The rubble is so soft that we end up almost skiing down most of the way but Sap takes us both by the hand so that we don't slip off the edge. In the daylight we're horrified to see how narrow the paths are! In the dark we had no idea but had we taken one step out of line we'd have dropped to our deaths. And Sap chooses now to tell us that we wouldn't have been the first.
I'd love to say that's the end of the story but it drags on for the rest of the day. Once our happiness settles, pain kicks in and after hours and hours of walking downhill we are dying to go back up again! The pressure on our toes, knees and thighs is incredible and although less tiring than walking uphill it's a lot more painful. It takes us seven hours in total to get down to the very bottom and we make it just in time to catch the last boat back to Gili T.
Stepping onto the sand it feels as though we've arrived home and we can't wait to be tucked up in a real bed and sleep for more hours than we walked.
*
Climbing Rinjani was the most challenging experience of my life and I doubt whether anything will ever match it. It was only after telling people about our trek that we discovered it's recommended for pro-hikers only but it just makes us prouder that we've achieved something we should never even have attempted.
