Climbing Number 5

An account of climbing Gunung Chamah, 2008

Hikers, lovers of things that are better left wild and undeveloped, know of the G-7, the seven mountains or “gunongs” in Peninsula Malaysia that are higher than 7000 feet.  At 7123 feet above sea level, Gunong Chamah is Number 5.  It is one of the more remote and less accessible mountains on the long mountainous spine of the country, but it happens to be the last one to climb on my list of the G-7.

For over 4 hours, I and my fellow climbers share the back of the Toyota 4WD pickup with rucksacks, dodging stray strands of rattan, bracing ourselves as we slide and wheelspin on muddy stretches, and inhaling through bandanas in the clouds of yellow dust thrown up by passing timber lorries. 

Around us is the blasted, damaged landscape of logged forest.  Occasionally we pass a timber camp, a blister of red and bleeding earth under scorching sun in what was once lush rainforest.  

Some 56 km later, we grind to a stop at a small orang asli settlement, on the fringe of dense, as yet unlogged, forest. This is Pos Rekom, comprising a few families. They are drying jungle produce in the sun - cut up portions of the fabulous Rafflesia.

The Rafflesia is a biological anomaly. It has no stem, roots or leaves and it selectively parasitizes only one particular type of jungle vine, so its existence is mysterious and tenuous. Bulbous buds blossom into the characteristic flowers - short-lived, large, florid, pungent and rare.   

Though protected by law, the dried buds and flowers are used in traditional medicine and are one of jungle produce which the orang asli trade for cash.

We step into primary rainforest. It is cool, dim and humid with dappled sunlight struggling to the jungle floor, the smell of decaying leaf litter, and towering sentinels soaring upward into a dense canopy high overhead. 

A half-hour’s walk away is Sungei Rekom, a cold and clear jungle stream, gushing over mossy rocks. Emerald leaves of riverine plants glisten like gems, and flutter in the surge of the water.  We make a leisurely camp and I sleep like a baby.

The next morning, I awake to the incessant, soothing babble of the river.

Our plan is to make a return trip to the summit in a single day.  This avoids breaking and making camp, and hauling a heavy rucksack to the peak.  There is the risk that we will not be back before it turns dark. Walking in the jungle at night is not a good idea for a number of reasons.  We carry food, raingear and torchlights in daypacks.

Mist still clings to the trees as we start out along the steep river valley.  Below us, the river rushes heedlessly along. 

For two hours, we hike past deep bamboo groves, silent forest giants with coarse bark and massive girths, sidestep crystalline rivulets, on steep and undulating slopes dense with a profusion of trees.

We emerge at the river again, at the last watering point where we refill our water bottles.  The climb proper begins from here.

On a map, Gunong Chamah is at the crest of a main ridgeline which falls away into a series of valleys on either side like the variegated vein patterns of a leaf.  Our route ascends to the main ridge from the river valley, and follows the main ridge to the summit.  The steepest parts lie ahead.

We climb, the slope unrelenting above us, using roots and trees as handholds and footholds.  The vastness and majesty of the jungle, that green cathedral of light and air, evoke quietude, and a sense of proportion of our own insignificance.

It becomes cooler and drier, and the jungle changes. The trees are smaller and carry moss on their flanks. Some two hours after we begin the ascent, we break into sunlight at the top of the ridge.

The trees are stunted or slanted by wind, with gnarled bark and small leaves.  The soil is poor and plants adapt accordingly, smaller in size, with thick waxy leaves. Orchids are more plentiful, and we see pitcher plants which trap insects in cupfuls of digestive fluid.

Two orang asli guides lead the way along the ridge. It is undulating and twisted, a sleeping dragon’s back encrusted with the growth of millennia. Both sides fall steeply away into impenetrable jungle. Occasionally we hear the distant roar of a river in a valley far below. There are breaks in the tree cover, and we see crowns of trees bathed in sunlight ripple over mountain ranges like waves.

For two hours we clamber along the serpentine ridge, on a narrow path seemingly trodden by gnomes and fairies, with thick moss, shrubs of pink and red leaves, hoary trees with gnarled roots, mossy curtains trailing from branches, deep hollows and delicate flowers, and we reach the crest of the dragon’s back. 

The summit of Gunong Chamah is at the end of a flat area. The trigonometric point that once marked the true peak is long gone, replaced by a metal stake.  Around the base are three very old, rusted metal canisters, which bear the marks “1954” and “Water” – apparently deposited on this peak over fifty years ago.

The summit straddles the Perak-Kelantan border.  All around are majestic ranges, serrated as the edges of worn blades, and covered in a dense mantle of jungle.  There is open sky above and a deafening silence. We are in the heart of Malaysian wilderness.  

At 2.30pm, it is time to begin the return journey to avoid walking in the dark.

Mindful of the limited hours of daylight, we walk quickly, silently, in small groups.  I find myself with Sunshine (true to her name, she is a cheerful person) and I time our return: it takes us two hours to retrace our path on the ridge.

We begin the descent from the ridge into lowland jungle, plunging down, down, down, using trees and branches to arrest downward momentum.

45 minutes to reach the river. It is 5.30pm now and the sun is low in the sky. We ratchet up the pace for the last 2-hour hike back to our campsite. We are near the front. Our orang asli guide has disappeared from sight up ahead; the trail is clear and he does not like walking in the dark either.

Sunshine is beginning to flag, but does not complain (later, she tells me she was walking “like a zombie”), as we trudge beside the river, slipping and sliding on the trail made slippery from our earlier passage.  The sky is beginning to darken with rain clouds.

At 7pm, as the first fat drops begin to fall from a sullen sky, as night begins to claim the jungle, we reach the camp, nearly unfeeling from fatigue. It has been almost 12 hours since we started that morning.

Darkness closes like a fist, and it begins to rain heavily.  The others trickle in from the rain and the night, tired, hungry and cold, but in good spirits.  We have prepared hot food for them and the camp is a dry and warm oasis in the comfortless night.

It has been a long day, but we have climbed Number Five, and I have completed the last of the G-7.

Copyright © 2014 Lee Yu Kit