Patrick Vs. The Volcano

After I'd come back from museum ARMA on the first day in Ubud, I'd run into Anke and Nadine, who told me about the tea they had been brought and that I had my own carafe waiting on my balcony. I asked Anke if they were planning on a Volcano tour, as it was one of the only other things I had heard about that I really wanted to do while I was in Ubud.

She told me that yes, they wanted to go on a volcano tour, and in fact they had heard that there was a sunrise hike that was supposed to be quite good that we could arrange through the hotel. The price was $45 per person for two, but there was a possible discount if more signed up.

The downside? The tour started at 2AM (!) so that we could be atop the mountain by daybreak. It sounded amazing though, and I've made a habit of following the suggestions of my fellow travelers so far and always with good results, so I decided to do it. We negotiated with the hotel staff and got them to drop the price to just $35 per person US, and decided that Anke and Nadine could pay me their portion in Rupiah (saving me a trip to the ATM) and I could pay out of my US cash reserve, since American dollars are preferred by the locals.

So we scheduled the trip for Thursday morning, before I returned to Sanur to finish up my backlog of writings and relax for a litle longer. I figured I could sleep on the bus, then get a nice massage on Friday to sooth my sore muscles if the hike was strenuous.

Helpfully, on Wednesday the birds woke me up at 7, and I rented a beat up 15 speed bicycle (for $2.50, for the day, with no deposit--I love this place). I hadn't ridden in a dozen years, but it really does come right back to you--I was up and off after just a couple of brief wobbles. I spent the day cycling around Ubud, including the Monkey forest and two museums, one of which was a couple of kilometers further up a very long hill than I expected, so I was nice and exhausted by 20:00, and asleep (fitfully) by 21:00.

I woke at 1:45, dressed and grabbed my bag and bottles of water. I met the girls in the courtyard and around 2:15 we walked out to the main street and found our guide and driver waiting for us. There were two other people on our tour, but we didn't do introductionss yet, we were all still pretty bleary, so we rode in relative silence for nearly an hour, through backcountry roads and up into the mountains of Bali. We were headed for Mount Batur, an active volcano that last erupted in 2000 (CONFIRM?!?!).

We reached the hiking tours office, where we were waited for about half an hour, and we were given turkish coffee (or tea) and a sort of banana pancake-slash-crepe that was delicious. At breakfast we finally met our two companions, Greg and Alex, a couple of brothers from England here on vacation between school sessions. They'd a month to spend just in Bali, and were touring around enjoying themselves and surfing whenever they got the chance. They were really neat fellows and had some good advice about the place. At some point, I thought, I need to start quelling my desire to cover 8 countries every time I leave the US, and try traveling like that. After we'd had our breakfast and waited a bit, our second guide showed up. it turned out that there was a rule that you could only have four climbers per guide, and since we were five, they needed an extra man. We drove about 10 more minutes to reach the start of our hike, and then set off into the pitch black morning with our two guides, Wayan, and Made (pronounced like MARDI gras, but with an H instead of an R).

Wayan was in the lead, and he seemed to have a burning desire to reach the peak in record time. He booked it up the hill and we set off in hot pursuit, passing other groups on the hike and climbing steadily. The first third of the distance wasn't bad, a slight upward grade with no stress to it, and we covered the ground fast.

After about half an hour, the second part of the climb started. Now there was a steeper grade, and you occasionally had to use cuts in the rock as small stairs. The flashlights we'd been loaned by our tour company started to come in handy to identify where each step would beest be placed. The rate of our guide hadn't slowed much, and we kept passing other groups on break, sucking water and wind under small trees or seated on rocks along the path. We could tell that it was going to get worse though, because now in front of us we could see the first hikers of the morning, identified by the shining beams of flashlights, high above us, and it was clear by the angle of the string of spread out lights that the section they were on was much, much steeper. It looked for all the world like a handful of people with torches had found a stairway into the sky.


The path itself was small, wide enough only for one, and there were no switchbacks yet. It started to become more of a challenge to climb, and jackets were removed as people started to warm up and sweat. It was still pitch black, and near the end of this segment thick clouds rolled in and we found ourselves hiking with a thick cloud cover that obscured even the lights of the hikers farther up the trail. We grumbled, concerned that clouds would ruin our view, but we needn't have worried.

It wasn't until the third and final segment where we'd seen the lights that things really got bad. At this point the volanic sand started to occasionally slip under your feet, and the furrows in the rocks you were climbing occasionally felt like climbing up a giant's stairway. We found ourselves using our hands on the rocks to steady ourselves in the steeper sections, and the switchbacks (such as they were) were laughable, the total space of the path felt like there were only four or five steps between each switch, and they barely cut the face of the mountain at all--they simply made it more possible to get your feet in the footholds.

Our guides constantly asked if we were doing ok, and we all insisted we were fine. We were young, and of us all I was probably the least fit, and I'd been walking several miles per day for most of the last month. By halfway up this portion my head and body were soaked with sweat. I was glad I'd brought one running shirt, lightweight and very breathable, that would dry quickly. I'd reached the point where if I ran my hand across my scalp I could feel a layer of persperation being pushed off, and I could feel my heart pulsing in my neck.

I started breaking down each switchback as the entire point of my focus, not thinking any further than where my next step would be. The dark made it difficult to step with care, even with the flashlights, and stumbling and tumbling back down the hill were high on my list of things to avoid. It was still too dark to make any gauge of the remaining distance, and the angle was so steep it was now difficult to look up and see any lights above you.

I could sense the toil on the part of my companions, all of us struggling with the exertion and effort. The guides seemed as fresh as when we'd started, of course, but the rest of us were all pushing through fairly strong personal limits. The hike was more than any of us had bargained for in that early morning calm just an hour before.

Then suddenly we were at a level space and the Wayan, who had been on point turned in place and shook our hands as we stumbled past him. "Congratulations, you made it."

I gasped out a thanks, and was glad to see that my fellow hikers looked as bedraggled as I felt.

We stumbled past perhaps twenty other people, and collapsed on a little stone wall that helped retain the platform on which we were sitting. In truth we were at the base of the rim of the volano, and to our east it climbed up and out of sight, but we didn't know this yet.

We caught our breath and watched as the horizon slowly became illuminated with the barest touch of gray, straining to make out Mount Agung in the distance to the southeast. Once we'd rested, our guides came to us and said "it's very crowded here, and more groups are coming. We should move higher for breakfast and quiet."

We liked this idea, and by now the physical shock of the hike had worn off, so we climbed down from the shelf back onto the face of the mountain and followed our guides up a short, steady incline. We were climbing along the lip of the volcano, and this became clear in the barest of light, which made the climb easier still. We found another stopping place, higher up, with a small wooden hut and a couple of benches facing southeast, with a good view of the dawn's glow to our left and Mount Agung directly in front of us.

Our guides, silent as ghosts save for their congratulations up to this point, now told us they'd cook breakfast, and a couple of other groups joined us. The guides for the three groups gamboled and caroused inside the hut, disturbing the early morning calm with laughter and play as they cooked, but it formed a nice counterpoint to the ponderously slow increase in light. There was a thick bank of high clouds off to the east, so the sun roise without us seeing it, instead spilling the glow of day across the mountain softly. The view was spectacular, with rice fields and Lake Batur (Bali's largest lake) finally coming into view below us.

Our guides made us breakfast, hard boiled eggs and banana sandwiches on the driest white bread I've ever tasted. The egg was delicious, and the bananas were quite good, but the bread was a crime against toast. I tried feeding a corner of the bread to one of the stray dogs that seemed to climb the mountain with the teams to beg, or lived up here perhaps, and he looked at me funny and spat it out.

The sun continued its slow climb, and finally, after our breakfast was finished and we'd gotten all the pictures of the quasi-dawn we could stand, it broke the cloud cover. Since the clouds had been so thick, the sunrise itself lasted perhaps five minutes, and then it was suddenly the light of mid-morning, though it was only around 7AM.

We now had a chance to look around, and figure out that we were halfway up the slanted circle that formed the lip of the volcano's crater, and there was a further climb tha would let us see out and down the other side than the one we'd climbed. We asked, hopefully, and our guides said that we'd be climbing this. They pointed to the long ridgeline in a sweeping arc. "We go around the top, then come back down the other side." We were going to lasso the volcano.

We climbed further, finally reaching the top of the lip. About 180 degrees of the circle were all at the same level, and we were at the southernmost end of this ridge. Up until this point our guides had been silent, letting us tend to our own demons on the trail and enjoy the sunrise without any talking. I figured that they'd just lead us along without much more through the rest of the hike. Instead, they transformed, Wayan joking and laughing with us, and Made becoming a fount of knowledge. As we went, they pointed out landmarks and nearby volanos, told us which craters had been formed in which years, when the lava flows had happened, and what effect each one had. They pointed out lucky temple to us, a temple just at the edge of the flow of one of the largest eruptions--the lava had rushed along for miles, and then had stopped and cooled just short of its doors, thus the name change.

When we reached the inside lip of the crater, we climbed down a few feet into it so they could show us the steam vents, and feel the heat of the earth. The vents were incredibly hot--they told us they could have cooked our eggs here, if they'd wanted to make the additional trek--and you couldn't hold your hand over them for more than a moment. The steam was mainly odorless, with only a very occasional hint of sulfur.

We continued along the ridge, sometimes passing across places where it was less than a meter wide, with a sharp, steady drop off on either side that would have left you tumbling for a kilometer or more until you reached either the valley floor or the base of the crater depending on which way you fell. It was easy to pass over, but gave your spine a shiver if you stopped to really think about it. Made told us he'd had two Japanese girls freeze up in terror at that point in the hike once, and he and another guide had been forced to put them on their backs and carry them across the twenty meters of thin rock.

When we reached the end of the half circle of ridge, our guides presented us with a choice. We could go back down this side of the crater, to the platform where we had completed our climb, closing the lasso and then clambering back down over the steep and rocky route we'd come up, or we could go visit one of the newer craters. Made, who did the majority of the talking, told us that they were paid independently as part of the guide's association, on salary, so there was no additional charge for the longer itinerary. Afterwards, they were just going to go back to their homes and work in the garden, so they could go either way.

He seemed keen on it, and we were an adventurous bunch, so we said sure, it sounded cool and we'd get to see more of the mountain. We already felt like we had had a really wonderful morning. Little did we know it was about to get a lot more fun.

It turned out that the direction we were about to go was partly steep rocks, which had to be carefully navigated with a combination of short steps and long jumps, sometimes shimmying down the face of one rock to jump to another four feet below. Made, for his part, suddenly transformed into a mountain goat. He would show us the path, and then ignore it completely, bounding, leaping, and landing like a cat, nimbly traversing a long section in a few bare seconds. You'd hear tell you where to go, and then see a flash of white and red pass you and he'd be 50 meters below, a small figure in the distance, beckoning you forward.

My traceur's instinct kicked in and I wanted desperately to emulate him--the movements and drops were all within my physical ability when I was at my peak, but the finesse required was far beyond my currently skill, and he was performing each movement as if he'd played on these rocks since he was a boy. In fact, he had--at 12 he had been a drink seller, making the long climb each morning to sell bottled water and sprite (in glass bottles no less) to the parched tourists at the top for a hefty profit), he'd become certified as a guide in 2002, so in all, for the last 15 years he'd been climbing this Volcano, and he obviously knew it like the back of his own hand.

Still, there were sections where I could leap and bound a little, and it was fun dropping hundreds of feet in just a few minutes, the valley floor below us becoming clearer with each new ledge. When we'd come a few hundred meters down, we came to a sandy spot where there were few rocks, just slick mountan face with small stones. Made looked at Greg who was in the front and said "ahh, good, you know how to run. Little steps" and took off. There were few places you could safely pause here without losing your footing, so the trick was to cover 50 meters at a stretch, aiming for the next vaguely level place and pausing there just long enough to cut down on your breakneck momentum, then continue apace to the next outcropping of rock below. A flutter of footfalls meant you could control your direction and vaguely reign in your speed, but there was no real way to safely come down at a stroll, only at this careful quickstep.

During one of the denser, sandier parts of this section I slipped and scraped my knee slightly. Not a large scratch, but enough for some blood to seep to the surface. Made saw it and asked me if I'd hurt my knee and needed medicine. I waved him off, saying it was fine, but he said "you need an antiseptic, it will stop the bleeding!" He had a backpack with him, so at first I figured he might have something he brought along, but instead he climbed down a small rock face to a waiting plant and pulled off a handfull of leaves. While the others drank water and looked at us like we were crazy, he showed me how to chew them and handed me a few. "Is a great medicine, actually, famous in Bali. The bleeding, even from a deep knife cut, will stop very fast."

So, I chewed. The plant was bitter, with the strong green flavour of all leaves, but the resultant mush did wonders when I smeared it on the wound. It dried in the wind almost instantly, and the seeping blood was slowed, then halted, within moments. I felt very little pain, as all I'd done was take off some skin, and so I thanked Made for the help and within a moment we were on our feet again, ready to continue.

We continued down the face of the volcano. It was harrowing work, and it was absolutely brilliant fun. during one small pause between two long sections, Made promised us there was another section below where the sand was thick, and we could run pell mell.

In minutes we'd covered another kilometer, and were at the site of the crater. The ground here was hot, our legs warmer than our upper bodies, and the steam swirled around us on the ground. Made and Wayan found us rocks still cooling near the vents, and let us listen to them crackle, then showed us how the smoke from a cigarette would dramatically increase the visibility of the smoke and steam from the vents. The mountain seemed to sleep grudgingly, and the warmth of it made me think the same thoughts that no doubt led the Greeks to invent Hephaestus--that there was a some infernal blacksmith below the earth, hard at work, perhaps with dwarves at his side, turning the heat to his own purposes, hammer pounding against steel.

When we'd taken plenty of pictures and gotten more history and geology lessons from Made and Wayan, we headed down the face of this crater. Here we found a steep, rockey section where there was a jump the guides performed. They asked me to climb down below it with my camera, and they dashed to the ledge and flung themselves into the air like superheros, bodys curled into crouches with arms flung wide. The leap looked harrowing but like brilliant fun. If not for a few sharp rocks that you had to avoid after the landing, and my confidence already having been shaken by my earlier slip up, I would have been trying it myself.

Just a little further down, we discovered the long section of sand Made had promised us earlier in our descent, and he'd been good to his word, it was perhaps 70 meters of unbroken soft sand, all slick and soft and easy, and Made stopped us and bade me hand him my camera. I acquiesced. I'd set it up in the multi-shot mode when I'd been taking pictures of their leaps, and I showed him how to hold down the button and shoot in short succession. He bounded off and then we began our own bounding run, Wayan and Greg,and Alex and I all thoroughly enjoying the breakneck plunge and the rush of the wind in our ears. Anke and Nadine took a more leisurely and practical pace, but still grinned and slid a bit and had a good time of it.

When we'd reached the bottom of this section the climb down became more boring, eventually leveling out back into the first third of the hike we'd started this morning, a soft downward descent past gardens and farms that had been invisible in the pitch black.

We picked our way through Eucalyptus groves and Made and I fell into a long conversation about educaion, the challenges of Balinese life, and home ownership.

He had a house of his own, a small 3 bedroom place, but all his, courtesy of his father, for the Balinese tradition is to build a house for each of your sons when he is old enough to move out. He was currently working two jobs, one as a farmer on his family's land, and one as a guide, and attending university, struggling to finish early with a degree in history and cultural studies. We talked about the high cost of education, and how we'd both relied heavily on scholarships to make it through school. He was a quick mind, and an interestinng blend of contradictions. He was obviously a very hard worker, but he also had the easygoing attitude of a Islander. He said it was pretty typical of the Balinese to work like this, several jobs, just to keep things going, but always to laugh and be relaxed. He would shrug and say "If you want more, you have to struggle more. Always like this."

We talked abot work, and how he liked gardening as much as his other jobs because there was no boss. I think he put it brilliantly, "The onion don't ask, y'know? They don't complain. You just give them water and wait."

When we reached the bottom of our long hike, the view was stupifying. See that thing in the background? We hiked from where I'm standing, all the way up, around the ridge, and back down, in just under six hours.

Made called our transport and told us we were a good group. We all thanked him and Wayan and tipped them both well. They were some of the best guides I've ever had. I got a picture with them both, and he gave me his email address before we left, and I promised I would send him some of the pictures of their long jumps down the mountain.

It had been a very good day, and now it was only about 10 AM. We climbed aboard our transport and waved goodbye to Made and Wayan, and most of our little party slept as we wound our way through small villages and rice fields back to Ubud. I watched instead, as our little truck wound through each village and market and carving shop. There are gifted craftsmen at every turn in the area surrounding Ubud, and we passed shop after shop with carvings and statues of surprising beauty, the craftsmen of Bali hard at work in the doorways, creating the latest souvenir statue likely to wind up in a soccer mom's yard in the suburbs of Sydney or London or San Diego.

I thought back to Made's comment. "You want more, you struggle more" and I thought perhaps I'd never seen a better example than here.