56 - Mt. Kerinci (Sumatra, Indonesia)
“We reached caldera’s edge well before sunrise. The light show was not to be, but disappointment was impossible. Fiery embers glowing and swirling punctuated the redolence of a dying campfire. And Kerinci continued to gripe and groan in the dark abyss, subtle reminders of its catastrophic potential.”
by Mr. Nos T. O’maniac
SEE VOLCANO. CLIMB VOLCANO. THAT’S MY MOTTO. Mt. Kerinci (3,805 m — 12,482 ft) does require effort and a bit of moxie. Nothing crazy, but you’ll need your big-girl pants. You are, after all, looking at over five thousand feet of elevation gain. Biological parameters of altitude are in full force and effect. It ain’t Everest, but it ain’t nothin’ neither. Just the view from Kersik Tuo is foreboding enough to make thee reconsider.
Kerinci was closed. No, it wasn’t. Yes, it was. Was. Wasn’t. Let’s go with wasn’t, shall we? According to the national park service, the volcano was off limits temporarily. Too hazardous. From video of Kerinci dated two weeks earlier, and from what I saw with my own eyes in situ, the prohibition may have been warranted. My guide missed the memo. One of the most rewarding escapades in Indonesia might never have happened but for miscommunication… or willful ignorance.
It wasn’t just the mountain that captured my awe; it was the company as well. One synergized my experience of the other. Een Endatno pulsated positive vibes from the moment we met. A superb guide. A heck of a fella. Every bit as curious as I. A smile broaches my lips with each recollection. I met E.En (his spelling) the day before our climb at his home for a pre-siege strategy session.
There was something about En that rang familiar, but I couldn’t make the connection. And then, Bam! I got it. He possessed an uncanny resemblance, both in appearance and manner, to Ugarte (Peter Lorre) from the movie Casablanca. (The man who gave Rick the stolen letters of transit and was later shot by police.) Thankfully, he shared none of the questionable moral traits of his Hollywood doppelgänger.
The morning of departure we shuttled to the trailhead (approx. 2100 m — 6,889 ft) via motorbike… and so began the ascent. We passed offerings made to the spirits of Kerinci in service of favorable climbs. One was an odd “litter of gratitude” piled high with various fruits and vegetables. En made no contribution, nor did I for that matter. Reckless? Mmmm… maybe, but I love a little sacrilege and blasphemy with my trekking.
Though our pace was slower than I would’ve liked, it gave En time to point out flora and fauna. We saw gibbons, monkeys, birds, squirrels, and interesting plant species whose names I can’t recall. En produced his cell phone and did something to thwart my inner cringe and justify the modern intrusion: He held the phone up as it played recorded bird song. Inside three minutes, two members of the species perched within feet of our position. Even for a non-bird enthusiast (at the time anyway), that was pretty darn cool, a pleasant melding of nature and technology.
The upward slog starts in the jungle but doesn’t remain there long. Soon, the forest subsides with altitude. The first part of the trail is steep in parts but nothing too strenuous. Even with our leisurely pace, we reached the campsite (3,000 m — 9,842 ft) by 2:30 pm. The real work was to begin twelve hours later in the wee hours. But, for the moment, it was rest and relaxation. Tea and crumpets followed by dinner a la En garnished with superb valley views. A good day. A very good day.
Before dinner En, in his Ugarte fashion, inquired, “Ummm, sorry, Richard, do you want to play with fire?” Who wouldn’t? Let’s burn shit, I say. Smokey the Bear can suck it. “Play with fire” was his English device for “start a fire.” He was merely asking if it would be okay for him to kindle a flame for dinner. Not sure if this was a regulatory issue or a courtesy in case I had a phobia. It was difficult to know, as En asked permission before doing anything. My effusion of laughter required clarification so as not to offend. An English lesson on the connotation of “play with fire” ensued.
Early to bed. Early to rise. We rose at 2:15 a.m. and began the climb around three. Our camp was just below the tree line where vegetation falls away, replaced by exposed rocks and scree. The goal was to arrive on top pre-sunrise for a geologic magma-spewing light festival. As you may recall from earlier volcanoes, any and every guide has a raging hard-on for the sunrise, regardless of consequence or potential reward. I often found this puzzling, as it added little to the endeavor. This was different. Getting to the top before Helios could be worth the strain irrespective of vista sunrise views. The video lava show I’d seen at Sahar’s home told me that much. I’d hoped for a similar spectacle.
And the “thunder” rolled… The volcano’s constant rumblings betrayed its mood. I wouldn’t say angry, just irritated. Imagine the sound of torrential rain, strong wind, and a landslide all rolled into one muted thunder-like clap. In the predawn void, this gave our “quest” an otherworldly context. I hoped the “dragon” would be imaginary, not the metaphorical representation of a volcano losing its shit as we stood ringside.
The park service said the volcano was closed. Remember… ya big dum dum face?
We reached caldera’s edge well before sunrise. The light show was not to be, but disappointment was impossible. Fiery embers glowing and swirling punctuated the redolence of a dying campfire. And Kerinci continued to gripe and groan in the dark abyss, subtle reminders of its catastrophic potential.
Niiiice Kerinci. That’s a good girl. No fry-fry Richie and Endatno.
Bystanders to Earth’s primordial growing pains? Bystanders… or participants? We were helpless for sure, but unaffected? Certainly not. Perhaps a reminder of our cosmic insignificance—a tutorial, if you will.
The earth stirred. Our souls vibrated—respect and awe pulsated from within. The universe doesn’t need us. We’re superfluously nonessential. But, if it could, I bet it would express gratitude just for being noticed, defined, studied, and fathomed regardless of ineptitude. Thus defines our “participation”, I suppose. Rimming an active volcano? An experience like no other.
And then there was light. In the dawn’s early glimmer, we could see a thousand feet into the crater, at least when Mt. K wasn’t belching smoke and ash while propelling florescent orange flotsam from the depths. We stared into the void. The giant grumbled. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide if the fucker erupted. I’m no vulcanologist, but I had to imagine that possibility fell well within statistically significant probability.
En was a fountain of enthusiasm. Not a guide and his charge. Not an American and an Indonesian. Just two kindred spirits basking in the glow of curiosity. Twin blemishes on a geological masterpiece. Like me, he was childish in his exclamations. I could almost believe this was his first time. I cannot possibly overstate the rarity of this circumstance. A guide enjoying the journey as much as the guided? Grateful. So fucking grateful. Then and now. To be there, at that moment. Terima kasih, universe. There was only now. No past. No future. Now, and only now.
I could’ve sat there all day but the cold and deteriorating conditions forced our hand. The winds strengthened, and air quality decreased markedly. I was covered in volcanic ash with a not insignificant quantity entering my lungs along with every nook and cranny of exposed skin and hair. Yummy.
*Drone Footage Courtesy of Steve Poo
On the way down, I turned into somewhat of a nosebleed. I lost my footing not far from the peak, mashing my palms into jagged rock while attempting to brace myself. To prevent further injury, I donned gloves or a glove at least. The other I sacrificed to the mountain. Between that and the blood soaking my remaining glove, I’d say Kerinci commandeered its “pound” of flesh. Give the devil its due, or he’ll invoke eminent domain.
Upon reentering the forest, the rain began in earnest. I couldn’t be arsed to sport my rain gear, going instead with a wholly inadequate poncho. Inexplicably, I assumed the downpour would be brief. We’d been lucky thus far. Yeah, cause that’s how the jungle works, numnuts. Magical thinking also led to a belief Kerinci’s jungle canopy would shield me from the worst. Gimme an “I” for ignorant.
After about fifteen minutes, rain gear was moot. I was soaked. My ego also took a hit when repeated missteps propelled my ass into the mud. Expletives resulted. It reached a crescendo when the rain cover protecting my pack dislodged, taking my water bottle with it. Swearing like a truck driver with hemorrhoids. That was me. My profane ejaculations may have frightened En a smidge. I made sure to explain my frustration lay with moi, not him. You’d think the gratitude at the summit would’ve shielded me from the caddy recidivism of the everyday. Nuh-uh. My repeated falls preceded a temporary “fall” from grace. Clearly, this grasshopper had a lot of work to do… grasshopper.
We emerged to find a chariot awaiting. Single chariot, that is. En’s friend drove his moped to meet us. Who likes math? Two Indonesians plus one lanky goofball plus two backpacks plus one small motorbike equals masterclass in space economy. So, it was En driving, my backpack atop the fuel tank, Goliath in the middle, and En’s friend wearing En’s backpack rounding out the caboose. En and I became one, first with the universe, and then each other. Nothing like smashing your balls against a small Asian man. Nothing.
I made it to the hostel, bid En a fond temporary farewell, packed my shit, and drove an hour back to Sungai Penuh. I was beguiled by a hot shower fantasy. Although the trek was only one night, I hadn’t had the pleasure of a wash for days. The hostel in Kersik Tuo had a mandi (washbasin) with a ladle for ball basting and such, but chilly weather made for chilly water. Princess needed more. I wasn’t against the basting protocol. I’d done it on many occasions. And, truth be told, I was getting comfortable with prolonged bouts of waterless hygiene. (It helps when you eschew mirrors.) I think the ash was the clincher, and I knew hot water was only a short ride down the valley. I admit it. I was a hot water whore. Temptation overcame my defenses.
I returned to my previous hotel in Sungai. Hot water and HBO? I would’ve gone down on a horse for those. Luckily, only money was required though I probably looked desperate enough to fellate Mr. Ed as the soggy, muddy monstrosity that was me entered the lobby. I left a trail of boggy footprints all the way to my room. Classy. I was drenched. Everything in my bag was drenched. My soul was drenched.
Food. Shower. TV… almost. Cable was out, but I persevered cause that’s what I do. Also, it didn’t matter. Sleep overpowered me. I slept and slept well. The next morning a hotel employee knocked on my door with a friend, a student of English looking for practice with a bona fide North American. So, they decided it would be a good idea to drop in and see if I was game. Before I understood what was happening, the English seeker asked, “I join you?” and motioned to enter. My reply accurately conveyed, Whaaaaaaat?!
He wanted to improve his English, not get freaky but, initially, I wasn’t so sure. When I realized the aim, I relaxed. A teensy overbearing? Sure, but how often do you get to cross language swords with Team America. I appreciated the impulse. Actually, I was even flattered. Had I not been amid a fatigue hangover from the climb, I would’ve screamed, “Bring it on, Buster!”
I explained my position and suggested we meet later. I needed to gather my mental energy so I could toot my tutor skills. Whether my manner or a scheduling conflict, I didn’t see them again. I cringe at the missed opportunity, but I was too exhausted to care. Dammit.
I was to see En again. We discussed the prospect of a three-day jungle trek in search of Shere Khan at a date TBD. He needed time (about a week he thought) to prepare and plan a route. He knew of a path but the trail was old, and he suspected it may’ve been reclaimed by the jungle. I was giddy. Three days in the jungle with En was bound to bring its share of treasures. Two friends on a mountain. Two friends in the forest. I could hardly wait. Giddy up.
If you wish to hire E En (highly recommended) here is his contact info:
Cell Phone: +62 852 66 266 992
Email: endatno@gmail.com