‘The summit is what drives us, but the climb itself is what matters.’
– Conrad Anker (1962-present); an American rock climber, mountaineer, and author
AS we stood atop the summit of Echo Mountain, we were completely awestruck and were lost for words. For several moments, not a word passed between us. All around and below us a breathtaking panorama unfolded before our eyes. The world seemed to stretch out in all directions like a vast canvas of natural beauty painted with a myriad of colours and textures.
The year was 1965. I was 12 and my brother was 10 and there we were on top of the world as far as we were concerned, although we had learned in school that Mount Mulu was higher being Sarawak’s highest mountain at approximately 2,376 meters (7,795 feet) above sea level.
Two years prior, we were told that Sarawak was not a British colony anymore. We joined Sabah, Singapore and Malaya to form the Federation of Malaysia. As a result, our geography lesson in school was reviewed to cover the new nation and subsequently, we learned that Sabah’s Mount Kinabalu was the country’s highest mountain at approximately 4,095 metres (13,435 feet) above sea level.
These bits of trivial knowledge, however, did not matter to us at all. We were extremely excited and happy beyond description just being on the summit of Echo Mountain that day when the sky was a brilliant blue, so clear and pure it was as if we could reach out and touch it. Fluffy white clouds floated lazily by, casting soft shadows on the rugged terrain below. The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow over everything in sight. The land below was a patchwork quilt of greens and golds, dotted with trees and shrubs that seem like specks in the distance.
Looking back, the idea of climbing to the peak took roughly two years to realise. The first time it popped up in my mind, I was looking at the mountain from the front and I quickly dismissed it as a preposterous figment of my overactive imagination.
Scaling the cliff face was out of the question as it was a bare vertical granite wall from the ground to the summit, a height of just shy of a thousand feet (304.8 metres or slightly longer than three football fields arranged end to end).
As fate would have it, about three months after my eleventh birthday, during the year-end school holiday of 1964 my little brother and I were right behind Echo Mountain tapping old rubber trees that were abandoned by our Chinese uncle-in-law and his family who had moved to Serian town some years before.
For clearer context and to get proper mental bearing as to the layout of the land, imagine standing in the middle of the rubber garden while keeping the mountain to your right. In that position, you’d face north; the mountain would be to the east; the south is behind you; and the west is to your left. If you lose your mental direction after this, return to this paragraph.
Concerning the tapping of rubber trees to extract the latex, it is generally known that the best time to do it on any given day is between 3 am and 8 am when the temperature is cool. The trees tend to be more generous with their latex within that time window.
To reach the rubber garden at daybreak each day we had to start walking before sunrise (roughly before 5 am) from our village which was to the south. The rugged jungle path leading to the back of the mountain traversed over several hills and valleys, and on days when we got lucky, we would walk part of the way in the company of other rubber tappers.
As we had no clock or wristwatch, we never really knew the time of day, but we always managed to tap all the trees before the sun got too high in the sky. From experience, we knew that as long as we finished before or just as the sun peeked over Echo Mountain, we were within the time limit.
The backside of Echo Mountain looked nothing remotely like the front part. We used to joke that there was no mountain there because at ground level it was completely blocked from view by thick jungle and tall trees. Even as we tapped the row of rubber trees close to the rocks, we never saw the whole mountain, just the black mossy granite along the bottom that seemed perpetually shaded by the thick forest canopy.
One day, after we had finished our tasks, we walked along the row of rubber trees closest to the foot of the mountain to collect the young leaves and shoots of wild ferns for our mother to cook. Curiosity soon got the better of us and we found ourselves gazing at the rocks that loomed above us and wondering whether or not they were climbable.
“Should we climb up there?” asked Little B.
“No. Not today. Let’s just go home. Maybe next year when you’re a little bigger and stronger,” I said.
However, a few days later, we ate our lunch on a flat rock at the same spot while looking longingly at the rocky slope that seemed to call us to adventure. After a short rest, we went looking for an access point that would allow us to walk up rather than climb. We found one but it came to a dead end.
We were not deterred, though, for the next day, we found another route and managed to go up higher. We would have gone higher still if Little B had not complained about being thirsty, which jolted my senses and reminded me that I was thirsty too.
We made no more attempts to climb the mountain during the remaining part of that year. The annual rainy season was already starting in earnest, making the moss-covered rocks in the jungle wet, slippery and dangerous. More importantly, nobody tapped rubber trees during the wet season because the rain would just wash the latex away.
Furthermore, the annual durian season was also upon us. We were so engrossed in collecting the fruits for sale that before we knew it 1964 was over.
Enter 1965: I entered Primary Six while Little B went on to Primary 4. Much of that year was focused on the Sarawak Common Entrance Examination that my classmates and I must pass to qualify for secondary school the following year.
I studied as much as I could and felt quite confident that I would pass the exam, but it was mentally draining and frankly boring. So, when the mid-year school holiday came around, I jumped at the opportunity to tap rubber trees again behind Echo Mountain.
Having finished our tasks before noon on the first day of our return, Little B and I wasted no time in going up to the spot where we cut short our climb the last time we were there. Little B was not so little anymore, and we were better prepared.
We used empty beer bottles to carry water and made sure that we had a machete (parang) in case we had to cut something.
We even carried a length of traditional rope made from a type of tree bark, of which there was plenty at home. We figured that our parents won’t miss the one that we took.
As I said earlier, there was no way to tell how long we climbed as we had no timepiece of any kind, but by the time we reached the lower part of the bare granite above the forest from where we came, the sun was right above our heads. It was noon or slightly after.
Without the thick jungle blocking our line of sight, we could see the peak from where we paused to catch our breath. Even from that height, we were already able to see the seemingly endless expanse of the jungle below.
Before moving on we spent some time studying the rocks above which were devoid of trees, creeping plants or grass of any kind. We spotted plenty of handholds and footholds. And we paid particular attention to ledges and rock protrusions. We called these “breathing points” because they were where we stopped to catch our breaths.
To our pleasant surprise, the jagged surface of the mountain a few metres from the top had a rather gentle slope, which made for a rather smooth climb. Still, because we were so exhausted when we reached the top that we just sank to our knees and then lay down with our eyes closed till our breaths slowed down.
The first thing that I noticed, when I got up after several moments, were several other mountains in the distance that rose like sentinels, their forest-capped summits shimmering in the sun.
The air was crisp and clean, and the only sounds were the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional cry of a bird soaring in the wind.
The world stretched out as far as our eyes could see. Here and there, bits of farmland and clearings broke up the endless expanse of green jungle.
The streams and paths that crisscrossed the land seemed like thin ribbons, winding their way around the hills, through the fields, and disappearing into the horizon.
As we stood there, taking it all in, we could not help feel a sense of awe at the sheer scale of it all. It was too much to take in all at once.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
