Semeru

From what we can tell, through the dim light of our headlamps, we have finally reached the last stretch of the mountain.  The last of trees are randomly scattered; breaking up the vastness that lies around us.  Although its 12:30 am the clouds are illuminated from the full moon that sits behind.  We’ve now been hiking for an hour and a half and from what we’ve been told we can anticipate another 3-5 hours to go.  We sit for a few minutes on rocks and stumps, refilling our bodies of its lost water, speaking words of encouragement, taking out jackets and gloves.  The rain drops are slow but, matched with the cold, it runs deep.  It’s enough to keep us moving despite our tired legs.

We arrived at the mountain 2 days prior with big smiles and heavy packs.  After negotiating the entrance fee and buying last minute hats and gloves we set off onto the trail.  Into nature- something that’s been desperately lacking in our lives.  The first day we made our way to the lake, Ranu Kumbolo, passing many people going the opposite direction.  Their holiday coming to a close, while ours, just beginning.  We set up our tents racing against the rain.  Once all 4 had been set up we retreated; doing all we could to keep what few items of clothes we had dry.  On day two we woke up with the sun.  What began with bright, clear skies, all-too-quickly turned to taking refuge under a leaky tarp warming our hands with tea and fire.  The rain is no stranger.

We take the first step onto the cone.  The entire ground is volcanic rock; big and small.  We fall into roles; some leading, some offering their light, assistance, or praise.  The steepness of the cone is intense; paired with the rocks it makes for a difficult trek.  With every few steps taken forward we slide back one.  Some use their walking sticks to keep balance while the rest of us lower our center of gravity by advancing with both hands and feet.  I am thankful for the thin fabric that acts as a barrier between my hands and the rock.

In the darkness we have no indication of how far we’ve come or what lies ahead.  Harold and Sean, our self-defined leaders, use large rocks and sticks as markers.  We inch our way forward for about 15 or 20 minutes until we hear Harold come through on Julien’s walkie-talkie: “We stopped at the big boulder ahead.”  We look for his flashing light.  Each stop is a saving grace.  We push on knowing that rest, although brief, is to come.

I stand about 7 feet away from the few who have made it to the next stopping point.  In any other circumstance I would have sprinted to the finish to relish in the rest that is to come, but here I stand, my breathing heavy in the thinning air.  We are 12,000 feet above the Earth.  I stand in front of them and we make conversation.  I look behind me and see scattered lights cutting through the darkness.  I work up the energy for my last few steps.  Harold makes a seat for me in the rocks.  I sit.  My body slides until I dig my feet into the rock.  I catch my breath.  The last few people make it and crash into the ground.  We sit in silence.  The only sounds are our own breaths and pellets of rain hitting the hoods of our jackets.  Those who have been resting for longer grow cold and want to push on while the new-comers dread the thought of continuing on.  Be we do.

We push on through the darkness for the next 4 hours.  We are the first ones to reach the summit.  It is 4:30 am and the first breaks of dawn begin to poke through on the east face of the volcano.  We rush to the other side so we don’t miss a moment.  We try to take it all in, but we are overcome with cold as the wind pierces through our wet clothes.

We stay at the summit just long enough to see a second eruption (not to fret, this naturally happens every 15-20 minutes).  With a big rumble it cries for our attention.  We look towards the south face where the crater lies and watch as huge puffs of smoke and ash fill the air around it.

Letting the cold get the better of us we pack up our bags and begin our decent.  With the new-morning light we see the mountain with fresh eyes.  The clouds begin to break and the world opens up, showing us exactly how far we’ve come.  The sun warms us and we start going down the steep face.  We find our rhythm ‘skiing’ down the mountain.  With each step we leap forward and slide until enough rock has built up to stop our forward motion.  We make it down in what seems like record time.  What at first took 4 hours to climb up, we make down in 40 minutes.

Although the trek is not yet over, the summit is.  We continue on with a new pep in our step and an immense feeling of accomplishment.

 

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For more logistical information about hiking Semeru check out the post below:

https://themilcents.wordpress.com/2016/12/17/554/