Friday, November 23, 2007, a motley crowd of 31 members of Couples for Christ, led by its Unit Head Mr Gerard Yee and the expedition co-ordinator Mr. Aloysius Pianzin, left for the National Park at Kundasang in preparation for the assault of Southeast Asia’s highest peak.
The participants were housed at the Summit Lodge, Peak Lodge 1, Peak Lodge 2 and Peak Lodge 3.
Dinner at 7.30 in the evening was a potluck contribution by members of the entourage, followed by fellowship banter before retiring to bed.
Saturday morning, 24 November, all were geared up for the climb. Before being bussed to Timpohon Gate for the ascent, Gerard Yee summoned everyone for prayer of thanksgiving and invocation of protection and safety of the participants. We were indeed blessed with clear sky and sunny day!
The climbers were at the Timpohon Gate at 9 am. After a minor procedural bureaucracy, the climb began half an hour later.
The fitness level among the climbers was varied. The manner of their steps and gait says it all. Some plodded, others paced, some just average, and few obviously had not had enough conditioning. None could be Climbathon material as yet! If they lacked fitness, the youngsters compensated it for agility and enthusiasm.
In the beginning, there were plenty of animated conversation and humorous exchanges, especially among the youths. By the time the half-way milestone was approaching, quietness descended. Sighing, whining and heavy puffing were the order of the day.
The rarefied air, gravity and altitude are obviously acting on susceptible victims. Teresita Majanil’s stomach began to churn, her head spun, and finally she threw out. She had to be escorted down from the 2.5 km signpost by Hugo Gimfil to recover at the Summit Lodge under the care of Gerard and Connie Yee and the rest who chose to stay behind.
Everyone was concerned, but all fears and anxieties were consigned to the Providence; and the rest marched forward.
At the 3-km milestone, my stomach started to rumble. I had a foreboding when I felt queasy the previous night at Peak Lodge 2; but the thought of a lifetime chance to be at the zenith of Southeast Asia’s highest mountain made me trivialise the issue. The urge to empty was very overpowering; luckily the next toilet was within reach. Then I had two or more that one of which I had to do it behind the bush.
My porter Ms Alina and her youngish colleague Rospipa never strayed beyond few feet away from me. They were extremely helpful and sympathetic. When my quadriceps started to ache and cramp Alina was quick to offer advice – “get a rubbing lotion and massage the muscles till the skin gets red.” I reached for my sodium diclofenac gel and did as told. True enough the aches subsided.
It must have been 3.30 pm or so when I reached Laban Rata. The temperature gauge at the entrance registered a reading of 5.5 0C. BG Chin and Mark Wilson were at a table had had there fill, relaxed and composed, without the slightest notion of fatigue, happy though to see me still in one whole piece. They arrived at around 12 noon, Mark first with BG hot behind his heels, the earliest to do so, beating even the youths, from the group, which is quite a measure of personal fitness. I was left wondering what’s mine! I joined them.
As for me, the climb was an energy sapping enterprise. The bout of diarrhoea was a double jeopardy. I was almost drained to the core. I couldn’t wait a minute after scanning the menu for hot mushroom soup to replenish myself.
The threesome remained at the table munching titbits, reflecting on the climb, discussing issues, exchanging humours, surveying the United Nations of a crowd there, and at times, staring blankly into the mist-covered, wind-swept, scarcely vegetated mountain slope behind the hut, while waiting for our colleagues trickling in one by one in various state of exhaustion.
We applauded as each one of our colleagues emerged at the entrance.
Geoffrey Goh was smitten by migraine midway. His wife Monica’s and his sister-in-law’s fitness was suspect. Only grit and determination pulled them up to the 11 thousandth feet almost at sunset, the last batch albeit.
When all were accounted for, fed and refuelled, Jerome briefed the youths to be at the Laban Rata Restaurant at 1.30 am the next day before dismissing them to Gunting Lagadan for the night.
I shared room (No. 4) with BG and Mark. We went to bed early, at 8 pm, hoping to catch four or five hours of sleep before the wake-up call. I closed my eyes, but pressure in the head and the overheated room prevented me to doze off. In a while BG started to snore and Mark quietly slipped off into the dream world. The gale-grade winds howled and came in frequent and frenzy bouts; piling rain was pounding the rooftops and the walls. Many thoughts raced through my mind; foremost was the safety of the climbers if the situation wouldn’t abate. My boy’s presence, hardly fourteen, in the team made my mind unsettled and a squeeze in my heart. I must have offered many prayers for them from the deepest core of my being, especially Humanson. My stomach writhed again and the urge to evacuate was so overwhelming that the inevitable was a non-issue at all. Fortunately the washroom was just opposite our room. I visited the washroom no less than three times from 9pm to 12.30 am. The gastronomic turmoil eased after several doses of activated carbon and oral re-hydration salt concoctions were administered. At one in the morning I saw Mark’s silhouette in the darkness motioning to the door, opened it and shut it behind him. I waited for 10 or 15 minutes if there was any movement from BG. There was none. He woke up after my third call, quickly dressed up and off he went. I followed suit to see the youths especially my Humanson lest he had not geared up appropriately.
All the youths were there at the restaurant fully attired, equipped with all the paraphernalia needed for the occasion. They were highly spirited, enthusiastic and raring to go. "I’ve not seen such display of high level discipline, and unity among the youth; they have been here since one o’clock," enthused Jerome Majanil, who came down to see his wife Anne, his son Aldo and daughter Jody off for the climb - he declined the challenge due to suspect personal fitness.
Just past two a.m. the Laban Rata entrance was a hive of activity, almost to the point of pandemonium, as climbers from various groups converged there for briefing. The guides rounded off all the participants and drilled in them the importance of sticking to the dos-and don’ts during the climb. The guides were the men in focus. The rain had somewhat lessened, though the wind was still whistling past at threatening speed. The thick mist still hanged in the air. Aloysius was a picture of confidence and calm; BG, sober, yet doubts seemed to bother him. On the left hand corner of the entrance, Monica Low stood stiff, freezing in the cold, watching over her son, Johenson Geoffrey Goh. Her demeanour befitted a worried mother. Perhaps a mother whose son is off for battle would know her state of mind. She was desperately in need of assurance that the situation was under control against the backdrop of the unforgiving elements. The least she could do was yell at Aloysius and BG that the boys were in their hands; an act that could transfer part of her emotional baggage to others. Awing decided that none of his family members should rough it with nature’s fury.
At 2.30 a.m. the order to go ahead was finally given by the guide. Everyone walked in to form a single file. Jerome, Monica, me and others, stood in stark silence, keeping vigil until BG, Moses, Anne, Jody, Aldo, Johenson, Aloysius, Aaron, Mark, Adam, Theodore, Jason, Vyner, Elias, Humanson and Johnel disappeared into the misty darkness of the dawn amidst sputtering of rain.
Jerome stayed back at the restaurant until three in the morning straining his ears to tune in to whatever bits of news that could possibly filter through from the mountaineers, especially beloved wife, Anne, son Aldo and daughter Jody. He couldn’t be more fatherly. I went to the room with my mind fully occupied with the thought of my boy; but finally surrendered everything to the Almighty. Now I wanted to energise myself with enough sleep for the descent. But the attempt to sleep was an exercise in futility. Finally I resorted to relaxation technique. That helped, and felt much better.
The climb was no picnic. The strong, moisture-laden wind and the sub-zero temperature took its toll on even the most seasoned of climbers. Needless to say what it could on the rookies. Exhausted and chilled almost to the point of hypothermia, Moses’ hands slipped off the rope and slid five metres away; only paternal instinct grabbed him to safety. That’s an omen enough for BG and son to call it a day. Similarly stricken was Aldo that he begged his mother and sister to clamber down. The three Majanils capitulated. Tired and battered by the elements Johenson took the easy way out.
When the numbers were tallied ten achieved their dream of conquest of Southeast Asia’s highest peak. Aloysius and son, Aaron, Mark Wilson and son Adam, Theodore Pianzin, Jason Jiloris, Vyner Conrad Majanil, Elias Ezra Yee, Humanson Gimfil and Johnel Tsen, were the victors.
Energy sapped and sleep deprived after the tough adventure, a warm meal and a quick doze would be a welcomed diversion. The food they could have had, but the luxury of time they couldn’t, because it was then late morning, and the descent should start without delay. So I persuaded my boy, who really begged to have half an hour’s rest, to get ready.
I had a quick walk around the bushes in front of Laban Rata just to have a rough idea of the area before the climb down. It was an awesome sight. The jugged peaks of massive granite form the backdrop of the patchy bushes of twisted and stunted trees topped by beautiful tufts of fine leaves. The temperature was stingingly cold. When the wind blew, it bit into my bone. At the peak it was subzero, I was told. Intrepid explorers would spend months on arduous journey to the polar region to savour the tropic-temperate climate experience; back here in Sabah we can do it in three, or four hours. Can we be luckier! Praise the Lord!
The descent was just as intimidating as the ascent. There wasn’t a sense of urgency among the youths because it was just the beginning of their holiday; but for the working class, the next day was a Monday, hence the quest to get home as soon as possible. At the last kilometre, there was a downpour. Much as I wanted to run, but my two legs couldn’t carry me anymore. I was drenched to the skin, a folly which I highly deserved for not heeding Aloysius’ admonition not to part my raincoat with the porter. Improvising on a big PVC bag saved me from further trouble.
We reached Timpohon Gate at around 4 in the afternoon; then bussed along the four-kilometre route to the entrance of the Nationaln Park.
Gerard, wife Connie and son Moses were at hand to welcome and congratulate us. Hugo Gimfil and Teresita Majanil were in tow. The upbeat mood was pervasive. Everyone relished the adventure.
Foremost in our minds after recharging depleted energy stocks was to journey home. We all did.
Not all of us reached the pinnacle of the mountain. But the biggest trophy is not so much reaching the highest point of the great mountain as the success in the bonding of friendship and siring of the spirit of camaraderie among the members. For all intents and purposes the expedition is a fitting denouement of CFC’s success since it first blitzkrieg on Sabah’s soil four years ago.
We will never know the extent of our vulnerability and the depths of our inadequacy unless we are in the midst of a maelstrom subject to the vicissitudes of the elements. By then any gossamer of invincibility and sense of control would have vaporised into the thin air.
Aloysius and 19 others were in the thick of it all when they attempted to scale Southeast Asia’s highest peak amidst the unforgiving weather and gale-grade winds. The difference though is their unstinting trust in the Providence. That’s the sure winner of it all. - by Dr. James Gimfil
