I have never considered myself athletic. Sure, I dabbled in sports occasionally, but mostly for social reasons. Yet here I was, preparing to hike South East Asia’s tallest peak—Mount Kinabalu.
It was an opportunity I never saw coming, and honestly, I didn’t put much thought into it. A few months ago, I accepted the challenge to join the Kuching Division Journalists Association’s (KDJA) annual hike, not realising how much of an impact it would have on me.
This idea was sparked by Premier Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Abang Johari Tun Openg, who had challenged the media fraternity to embrace a healthy work-life balance.
We were advised to regularly engage in hiking-related activities to prepare our bodies and mental endurance. While I admit I didn’t join any of the preparation hikes, I was regularly exercising at the gym, pushing myself on the treadmill at the highest incline possible.
Did it help? Somewhat. Was I mentally prepared for the gruelling climb ahead? No.
Mount Kinabalu, towering at 4,095.2 metres above sea level, is the highest peak in Southeast Asia outside the Himalayas and Papua New Guinea. The trek spans 8.8 kilometres (km), winding up the mountain’s southern side along the Tenompok ridge.
Only 8.8km, doesn’t sound too bad right? But for an amateur like me, each step soon became a battle.
The journey
On Monday (Oct 14), our group of nine pressmen and one Fire and Rescue Department (Bomba) officer began the ascent at Timpohon Gate, setting out on the 6-kilometre trek to the mid-point resthouse, Panalaban. The trail was relentlessly steep, rocky and muddy, not a stroll in the park.
Along the way, we were constantly overtaken by porters hauling supplies, and even mattresses, on their backs. These porters must carry everything needed to keep hundreds of climbers comfortable at Panalaban.
Watching them pass by so effortlessly as though they were walking on flat ground was awe-inspiring and humbling.
By 3.30 pm, Regina Lee, a fellow journo from TV Sarawak, and I finally reached Panalaban. Seeing the red ‘Panalaban’ sign was a relief—it meant our agenda for the day was done. We had time to rest overnight before the summit attempt.
The summit push
The next morning began in darkness. We were up by 1.30 am, fuelled by a quick breakfast, and by 3 am, we were off for the summit push.
Though it was only a 2km climb, it was by far the toughest part of the hike. The cold, thinning air and the steep ascent made every step a challenge. I had to stop every few steps to catch my breath.
As the sun illuminated the sky at 5.30 am, the majestic peak of Mt. Kinabalu, Low’s Peak, emerged on the horizon. However, at that moment, my body was worn out. The summit was within sight, yet every fibre of my being urged me to stop. I pondered, contemplating if I truly needed to surpass my limits after having come this far.
At that moment, I remembered DayakDaily’s journalist Shikin Louis, who came back this year to conquer the mountain after failing to reach the summit two years ago. Her determination gave me the strength to keep going.
“To me, the 2022 trip was one of my failures in life. It felt unfair because I wasn’t prepared enough. That experience which stuck with me like a tattoo might even haunt me for the rest of my life. So I was determined to come back,” Shikin said.
So, I stood up, despite my body screaming to rest my legs and enjoy the view from where I was.
Reaching the summit
Finally, at around 6.30 am, I made my way up Low’s Peak. Crawling on all fours, gasping for air, stopping every other step, I was constantly overtaken by hikers jogging past me like they were on a casual morning run.
But when I took those last few steps, all the struggle suddenly felt worth it. The exhaustion, the burning muscles, the mental push, everything felt so insignificant as I stood there, tears welling up as I took in the breathtaking view.
It was unlike anything I had ever seen or experienced, a sight that no photos or video could truly capture. The sea of clouds beneath me, the vastness of the horizon, the endless mountain stretching endlessly around me — it felt like stepping into another world.
At that moment, there was an unexpected stillness. I felt a quiet connection with the mountain as if it acknowledged my effort and endurance to reach its peak.
I had never been this high before, not just in altitude, but in spirit. I had never felt so alive and so small at the same time. There’s something so humbling about being at the top of a mountain, knowing the earth is so much larger than you, yet also feeling like you’ve accomplished something huge.
“You did it,” I told myself. I was part of a small percentage of people who had pushed through the gruelling journey to stand on this summit—not just in Malaysia, but in the world. It wasn’t just about reaching the peak; it was about the perseverance, the mental battles, and the willpower that got me here.
After taking a million photos, it was time to descend.
The descent
The way down was a different kind of torture. Fatigue and hunger hit hard, and the initially slow pace turned into a desperate jog as it began to get dark.
I had strayed away from the group after stopping too many times for snacks and rest, and soon found myself alone, drenched in sweat and rain, in pain, and mentally exhausted.
My legs felt like they had given out, my knees screamed in agony, and my ankle throbbed from a wrong landing earlier in the descent.
When I finally saw the last 500-metre marker, I almost let out an excited yell. The end was in sight, and I pushed myself to the finish line. It was nearly 7.30 pm when I concluded the hike back at Timpohon Gate.
As I write this on the flight back to Kuching, I feel a bittersweet sense of goodbye — like parting with a short-lived summer romance. Painful, exhausting, yet unforgettable in all the best ways.
Would I go up again? Absolutely. But next time, with more training, a knee brace, and ankle support.
