Mt. Rinjani, Piece of Cake

After five days of extremely low-key sun bathing and book reading in Gili Trawajan we found ourselves getting a bit antsy and wanting to do something. "How about a trek," I suggested, "it'll be a tons of fun. Great views, some new faces - a little bit of adventure!" It took a bit of coaxing but finally Yasi agreed to a three day/two night trek up Mt. Rinjani, on Gili's mother island, Lombok.  



Enjoying the warm Gili waters.

 























I was pumped, and to make sure that we had a day to prepare we decided to head to Senur, a town a few minutes away from the base camp. This avoided having to hike and travel on the same day. After switching rooms because of a curious spider's nest, that's right, spiders nest (who knew?) on the wall by the bed we took a lovely little hike with one of the local guides. He told us a bit about the area and showed us two stunning waterfalls. We had dinner with a Dutch girl named Regula that wished us good luck and then said, "Rinjani was one of the most difficult treks I've ever done... but I'm sure you guys will be fine. Enjoy. Goodnight."



Looking down into the rice fields of Senaru.




What was known as Waterfall #2 in Senaru.
































Day One

Waking up with Regula's puzzling comment still ringing in our heads, we laced up the boots (or Keens in Yasi's case) and headed to the trail, excited but a little anxious. I silently prayed that I hadn't put my strong-willed yet rather under-experienced girlfriend in a precarious situation. The weather was beautiful to start but by the first checkpoint, deep in the rain forest, it started to turn. This was about the time that we met the first member of our trekking team. Jose, a good looking, strong-chinned, mid-thirties Spaniard, well experienced in the woods and strongly opinionate when discussing topics such as trail navigation,  politics, food, and whatever else was on your mind. We hiked together for the next four hours until we hit checkpoint three and the rain had turned torrential. Our guide thought it best to make camp because there was good shelter since it appeared like it was going to be a wet night. It was.

Right around dusk was when we met the rest of Mt. Rinjani entourage. Nicola and Slyvian were a late twenties couple from the French side of Belgium on a three week Indonesian holiday. I'd describe them as fit and outdoorsy with a metropolitan sensibility. I suppose our guide didn't know they were going to make it that night because he only packed two two-man tents. As Jose climbed into our tent that night he stated, quite seriously, "I have two rules. No..." and he motioned to his butt and fanned it as he looked for the English word.
"Farting." we yelled in unison, as if playing a game of charades.
"Yes! And no..." this time he squished his face up and snorted like a pig.
"Snoring?"
"Ahh, yes. None of this!"



It's easy to smile when you've walked a quarter of a kilometer.




The third man in our two person tent. Meet Jose.























 

Day Two

We awoke to the sound of bananas sautéing, jungle monkeys screeching and the loudest pair of Russian's on this planet. (Side note: The women sounded like a man and the man sounded like he left his testicles at checkpoint two.) That, and a muscle-searing 30 minute ascent to the first ridge aside, our morning was capped with one of the most impressive postcard views I've ever had the privilege of laying my eyes on - the kind of view that constitutes a religious experience.

And then, we descended, and ascended, and descended again. Finally, with our calves on fire, we stopped for a fried rice lunch but not before a quick dip in the mountain's natural hot spring. Our muscles were in serious pain by this point and I began to understand why Regula had left us those parting words. The steamy hot waterfall and bubbling bath did much to lift our spirits and energy. The day was not even half way over and we had already done five hard miles.

Up we went. In came the fog. Down poured the rain. And we climbed, sometimes scrambling on our hands and feet because it was so steep. I would occasionally turn back to check on Yasi and would gaze out into a wall of pure white, like staring at a gallery wall sans the exhibit. At times, I found myself squeezing my eyes closed and then opening them expecting to see a horizon but there was nothing, just a blank canvas.

About three quarters of the way to the next checkpoint we heard crying up ahead. A young French girl was sitting on a rock by her boyfriend balling, her will broke by Rinjani. As we passed by we all encouraged her, quietly knowing she had no other option than up. When we finally reached checkpoint six, the intermediary summit, our group was exhausted and the conversation had stopped hours ago. We set up camp, put on a set of dry clothes and took dinner in the tent. It was around eight p.m. and we were advised to head to bed so that, weather permitting, we could do the final ascent to the summit to catch the sunrise. Physically exhausted, I still couldn't sleep. I kept listening, hoping the rain would subside.



A view into the valley of one of  Indonesia's most active volcanoes.





Feel the burn & lack of oxygen.





Natural hot springs, a hiker's best friend.





The intermediary summit with about 2% visibility.



Day Three

The three a.m. wakeup call was no problem, the sound of rain still hitting the tent was. Our guide said we'd give it another hour and a half but we knew the wait would be in vein. We had a tight timeline and a long climb down, plus there was no way we'd make to the top for sunrise, even if it was a cloudless day. I was bummed. Yasi was actually a bit relieved, and rightfully so. As a first time trekker she had taken a very challenging climb by the balls. Even though she wasn't sure if she'd make the final ascent, apparently, made of a challenging loose volcanic rock, I knew she'd be standing next to me 3726 meters high, breathing in some very fresh air.

Someone upstairs must have been feeling sorry for us because right as we finished breaking down camp the sky opened up and revealed another jaw-dropping view of the landscape, as well as the summit. We snapped some pictures, felt the warm morning sun, and started the hike down. The day remained beautiful and as the pictures show we felt as if we were hobbits romping through a land much larger than us.

We finished our climb with a couple beers and a group picture before hopping on the bus back to the guesthouse. Looking around I could see everyone seemed content and accomplished. Ten minutes and several furious turns later I looked around to see different facial expressions - one, that said, "I think I'm gonna puke!" and she did. There was Yasi, hanging out the window spewing nasi goreng and Coca-Cola out the side of the bus. We stopped the bus and reset. After plowing through an intense three day trek it was the suspension-less Indonesian bus (that looked identical to Scooby's Mystery Machine) that had her begging for mercy. The boat ride back to the beaches of Gili Trawagan was much less eventful. The shower that night however, was epic, exactly like our trek up Mt. Rinjani.

Appendix: It must be noted that while the "trekkers" did carry weight on this trip, we had porters. These men were super-human, carrying roughly 60 pounds of supplies distributed evenly over both shoulders using two woven baskets and a piece of rock-hard bamboo working as the support beam. Ascending and descending a massive mountain like long-horned sheep. They did it all, get this, with freaking flip-flops on. It was a rather humbling site and anytime we were feeling exhausted we'd simply looked over at one of the porters smoking a cigarette as he scrambled up the trail with our dinner on his shoulders and we'd snap out of it quite quickly. Oh, and it would be unfair of me not to mention that these men were also fine backwoods cooks, making us three proper squares a day - a true marvel to bestow.



Not the top, but damn close.





The Shire. Where's Frodo?

 


Our crew.




Gnarly ass feet. Provided by Yasmine Molavi.