At The Top of Java

First published in The Star, Adventure, October 5, 2015

Tumpang was a mere 90 minutes away by 4WD, yet it could have been a world removed, one of muggy, crowded lowlands, sclerotic traffic spewing poison from tailpipes, padi fields squeezed into unused chinks of land, and villages overgrown into each other in a single, incoherent mess.

But here, the sky was blue and uncluttered, vegetable farms climbed steep slopes on terraces, the air was cool and light. In the distance, emitting puffs of smoke on a regular basis, was the grey ash cone of Gunung Semeru. We passed by the epic caldera of Bromo, the earth blistered, its crust peeled back aeons ago, and healed in balmy grassland beneath a magically clear sky.

The village of Ranu Pane was nestled in a valley between terraced vegetable fields, lush with leek. It was a prosperous village of neat brick houses, tiled roofs and satellite dishes, in the highlands at 2100 masl. The 13 of us started our hike here, led by the amiable Agus, who had lost count of the number of times he had ascended Gunung Semeru.

The Javanese refer to the volcano as Mahameru, the heavenly mountain abode in Hindu mythology, an acknowledgment of the Majapahit-era religion, pockets of which cling tenaciously in small populations in the Tengger highlands, and for its status as the tallest volcano in Java.

The trail led through cool, dense forest at an easy amble, and by lunchtime we came across the valley where the forest yielded to grassland, the smooth curve of the valley widening into the bowl shaped receptacle which held the lake of Ranu Kumbolo. 

The lake was like a concealed secret revealed, its dark waters like the pupil of a giant eye looking up at the sky. Its emerald surface was unwrinkled. With neither water inlet nor outlet, its waters were remarkably clear, its depth as mysterious as the age of a woman.  Small fish frolicked in the shallows. Agus told us there were often deer and ducks at the lake, but that was ten years ago, before there were many campers and poachers.

There was no one else at the lake that day, and our porters stood foldable stools and spread a plastic sheet by the lake shore, onto which they procured a cooked lunch of fried chicken, tempe, vegetables, fruit and hot rice.  Sitting in the sunshine by the lake that afternoon, I was reminded of the simple things we take for granted, effortlessly encapsulated in the Persian “A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.”

After lunch, we left the lake. Cresting a small rise, we looked upon an idyllic landscape of gently undulating grassland, with shafts of golden sunlight highlighting tussocks of grass. There were long shadows from the trees that forested the surrounding hills as we walked across the golden fields, while Gunung Semeru loomed ominously large in our field of vision.  Up close, shorn of the illusion of distance, it looked terrifying, its gray upper cone barren of vegetation, steep slopes scoured into runnels and gullies, as coarse as the surface of the moon.

The porters set up yellow dome tents in the grassy field of Kalimati (“Dead River”) by the copse of trees that shrouded the lower slopes of Gunung Semeru.  It was beautiful and quiet here, but we had the weight of the climb on our minds.  The temperature plunged precipitously into the single digits.  We huddled together, swaddled in jackets, while a dinner of rice, soup, vegetables, fried chicken and fruit, and a wood fire, provided some relief against the cold.

A few restless hours later, Agus summoned us. I stepped outside into a night so bright from moonlight that shadows danced in sharp relief. Overhead the silent sky was alight with the cold blaze of stars.  It was midnight.

Overhead, the foliage rustled noisily from a wind, which was unusual for the time of year.  At 1am, we started out, our headlights forming a light trail as we followed Agus into the forest.  An hour later, we stopped at a clearing near the end of the tree line.  Agus pointed upwards, to the barren slopes of Gunung Semeru sloping steeply away. It was covered in a mist, but it wasn’t mist. It was an envelope of fine dust and ash whipped up by the wind as it scoured the barren surface.  “We can climb”, Agus said to the unspoken question.

I was glad for my hiking poles as I swung them ahead of me, digging into the soft layer of fine ash and loose stones.  The soft surface collapsed with every footfall, sliding backward, so that every two steps meant one step back.  I kicked into the soft surface with my boots, concentrating on the small pool of light from my headlight, and not looking up.  Up ahead, Agus’ boots were just within the periphery of my vision. 

And so it went like that, one footstep after another, small zigzags to avoid a direct steep line, for Semeru was a perfect cone of loose rock and ash.  By a rough calculation, I estimated an average incline of 35 degrees, enough to be daunting, not enough to be dangerous.

The constant wind brought a spray of dust so fine that it insinuated itself through several layers of clothing to the skin. It got into my ears, my mouth, grated against the teeth, and for a half day later, I had blurred vision from fine grit in my eyes.  Boots, socks, gloves, camera, bags, everything was covered in fine ash. Later that morning, we all looked as if we had been made up in a Hollywood set for a war movie requiring grime and dirt on our faces.

  We plodded on.  Every step brought me just one step closer, as we ascended, slowly, past the 3000 meter level. We had almost 1 vertical kilometer to climb from our camp to the summit.

A thin blade of fiery light to the east slit the darkness into two.  Agus paused.  I doubled down on the steep slope, legs anchored to prevent sliding backwards, while Agus knelt down for his morning prayers. Perhaps belief in the divine prevented him from tumbling backwards, to where I looked, down that precipitous slope, at lights of climbers behind, at Lucas resting on a rock just behind, while in the distance, the obscene blister that was the caldera of Gunung Bromo took shape in the dawning light.

We continued on, the gray ash bleak and uncomforting in the cold morning light. Towards the summit, the wind strengthened, and a drizzle of small stones pelted me.  There were small, layered cliffs, and a broken path through them, which I followed into a sheltered gully.  Just beyond was the summit, a large, flat plateau of rock marked by a small cairn of stones holding up the Indonesian flag flapping wildly in the wind.

“Welcome to the highest point in Java”, Agus declared, shaking my hand. Lucas was just steps behind, and we posed for photographs trying to keep our mouths closed against the dust.  I was light-headed at being on the top of the volcano, or perhaps it was the altitude of 3676 meters above sea level.

Crystal appeared over the lip of the plateau onto the top of Java, followed one after another by the others.  A short distance from the summit, the active cone of Gunung Semeru exploded with a whoosh, a plume of white ash projected upwards and whipped away almost immediately by the wind.  We had been warned against tarrying beyond 9am, when a change in wind direction would blow the noxious volcanic fumes toward us.  Climbers die or are injured periodically from being hit by ejecta from the volcano, being asphyxiated by the fumes or being struck by rocks and boulders loosened by climbers on the loose slope.

The descent of what had taken several hours to ascend took mere minutes by sliding down the scree slope, raising a small avalanche of stones and clouds of dust. It was like skiing without skis, limited only by courage of ridiculous downhill speeds, but before I began my descent, I looked around one last time, at the summit of Mahameru where the Gods lived, this barren bleak place, with the lush, green world spread far below, at its feet. 

Notes on Climbing Gunung Semeru.

Gunung Semeru is in the Bromo-Tengger-Semeru National Park in East Java. It is very popular with Indonesians as it is relatively accessible and affordable.  Campsites are usually crowded, except during Ramadan month.  At campsites, there are reasonably clean drop-toilets, and a porter’s hut where porters stay and meals are prepared.  Most hikers seem to prefer the outdoor, given the litter of used toilet paper at campsites.  There is trash around but not very widespread given the number of hikers.

Bathing or immersing in Ranu Kumbolo lake is prohibited, but water can be drawn from it with an empty bottle, provided ablutions are done away from the lake.    Temperatures can be very low at night, below zero degrees, especially at Ranu Kumbolo, although it is only at an elevation of 2400 masl.  Daytime temperatures are cool and pleasant because of the elevation.

Many climbers, especially locals, do away with the services of a guide, and instances of hikers getting lost or being injured or killed are not uncommon, especially during the descent of Gunung Semeru.  The authorities close the entire park when hikers are lost to facilitate search and rescue.

A health check, comprising a blood pressure reading and weight, are compulsory in order to obtain entry into the park.  Entry fees and formalities are done at the park headquarters at Ranu Pane village.

There are direct flights from KL – Surabaya daily.  From Surabaya, it is a 3 hour drive to Tumpang, and another 90 minutes by 4WD to Ranu Pane.