Enjoying the thrill of a perilous trek up Lombok's Mount Rinjani
Enjoying the thrill of a perilous trek up Lombok's Mount Rinjani
By Christopher Torchia
MOUNT RINJANI (AP): "Are you exhausted?"
The question, repeated zealously by a grinning guide as we slogged up the misty slopes of one of Indonesia's highest mountains, was a grating reminder of my weariness.
The guide's "Sorry, Sir" every time I tripped over a rock was just as annoying.
Still, scaling the 3,726-meter (12,295-foot) Gunung Rinjani, or Rinjani Mountain, was a curious mix of hardship and pampering. With two guides and two porters lugging tents, food and bags, the biggest weight my companion and I bore was the guilt of carting nothing but a plastic water bottle.
Peering from an airplane window on a clear day, it's easy to spot the corrugated slopes of volcanoes that dot the Indonesian archipelago. The cones remain shrouded in lore, symbolism and sacredness for many who live in their shadow.
Indonesia has 130 active volcanoes, the most of any country in the world.
With a smoke-spewing inner cone, hot springs and a crescent- shaped crater lake, Rinjani is among the grandest. It is the second-highest peak in Indonesia outside the remote, mountainous province of Irian Jaya.
For travelers grown restless with a diet of beaches and sunbathing, it offers a strenuous escape from the tourist hustle of nearby Bali.
Rinjani is active, last erupting in 1994 and peppering ash over much of Lombok, the tropical island it towers over.
Indonesia is prone to seismic upheavals because of its location on the Pacific "Ring of Fire," a series of volcanoes and fault lines from the Americas through Japan and Southeast Asia to the South Pacific.
But rain, not lava or sulphurous gases, is the real threat on Rinjani. Narrow trails turn slippery during the wet season between October and April, and hikers have lost their footing on the rocky volcano walls and perished.
"How is your life today?" our chirpy guide, Rusman, chimed enthusiastically at 7 a.m. after a shivering night on the pine- studded crater rim.
It takes a day to get up there, marching across waist-high savannah before the slopes surge upward into forest paths laced with tree roots. Here, the layers of mist and silence are heavy. Down in the belly of the crater, travelers bathe in scalding hot springs reputed to heal skin diseases and other ailments. Fishermen tether live catches to stakes in the lake, like pets on a leash.
Many Hindu Balinese and Muslim Sasaks, who are the dominant ethnic group on Lombok, treat Rinjani as a holy place and trek there to fling rice, jewelry and other tributes into the lake. A full moon is a popular time for pilgrims.
Indonesian volcanoes draw farmers because their soil is fertile and good for crops.
Their terrible power inspires fear, too. In 1883, an eruption at Krakatau volcano killed more than 36,000 people.
For hikers, three days and two nights of camping on Rinjani is ideal. You need an extra day to stagger up the wind-swept summit. But the path out of the crater basin is perilous enough. The usually attentive guides were absent when we crossed one stretch of fallen boulders and loose gravel. A chasm beckoned below. "I went ahead to pass water. Perhaps you are enraged?" a rueful Rusman said later.
The mountaintop isolation can be fleeting. On our second day, descending into a rain forest, we pitched tents on raised wooden platforms at a campsite. Monkeys swaying in the trees were our only company.
Within hours, half a dozen other climbing parties had turned the spot into a hikers' slum: campfire smoke enveloped tents, cutlery clanged on cooking pots, plates heaped with rice and chicken traded hands.
At nightfall, laughter and gossip in Indonesian and a string of European tongues gave way to the grunts and snores of fitful sleepers.
On the last day, driving past palm trees to a beachside hotel, we watched in alarm as a carsick Rusman leaned out the window and retched in the road.
"It is because I am sad to say goodbye to you," he told us. It was an inspired bid for a bigger tip.