Stone Mountain, But Make It Exotic (Malaysia

When I set out from the entrance gate to summit Mt. Kinabalu, I hadn't yet seen the mountain. The remnants of a typhoon have been in the neighborhood all week ruining my plans, so we start our ascent in a mist.

It's 6kms of weighted and slightly sketchy staircases to base camp. Otherwise known as 1400m in elevation gain OR....435 flights of stairs.

There's also a strict time cutoff. It turns out I actually am capable of making a time cap - but only under sizeable duress.

Most of the day was rocks, trees, a carnivore flower, a monkey, and more rocks. The clouds obscured the mountain.

Left step, right step, left, right, left...and suddenly the clouds part for a minute. Through the trees I see a granite wall.

My first impression? It's kinda like Stone Mountain, but exotic.

Lights out at 8pm. At 3200m in altitude, sleep does not come easy. I spent the next 5.5 hours listening to the howling winds and battling intrusive thoughts on the potentially miserable cold, wet, and windy ascent. Particularly the cold, as I'm still in post-traumatic stress after my rendition of Frozen in Nepal.

Judging by the quietness of the dorm and the lack of snores, no one was sleeping.

1.30am wakeup call.

Theres not much to do to get ready as I slept in the clothes I am going to trek in. This saves me energy and morale.

Breakfast is coffee, pb+j sandwich, and listening to the music of the howling winds. Without going outside I am trying to discern if the water droplets on the window are active or mere remnants of a rain.

Finally I gather some courage. Gingerly I step outside and look up.

Phew! It sounded far worse. Pretty warm - maybe 10c, and dry. A half moon behind the clouds lights up the night.

At 2.30am the park ranger opens the gates to the ascent and off we go.

Stage 1 is another stairmaster excursion. It's rickety and a bit slick, but mostly under tree coverage. The wind blasts through the exposed segments, and I'm already dreading stage 2.

We get to the checkpoint about 20 minutes early. The reward? Waiting.

My sweat is cooling, and a chill starts settling in. There must be better technology out there for this problem, but I've not found it.

Sufficiently and very sadly cooled off, we start stage 2 - which is all exposed rock.

It starts off with a steep rope assisted ascent, and then eases into a moderate incline. Now I need to keep my heart rate flat, so it's slow sure steps. To stop is to freeze. To sprint is to go into cardiac arrest.

As I trudge along, I finally notice that we are in a "mist". The ranger was supposed to close the ascent if it was raining.

Now I spend a good while debating the difference between being IN a cloud and getting rained on. A new phrase is coined - "it's not raining, we are just in a cloud". I continue to debate the validity of that phase.

Regardless of whichever one it is, my puffer feels like a wet cat. I curse myself for my optimistic euphemisms that I now will suffer for.

The darkness is purgatory. I see a few headlights ahead and behind me, but mostly I'm alone. Only things I can see is the rope marking the way and my guide's feet.

The cloud is getting thicker and streams of water are running around me. My gloves are soaked from where i had to touch the rope. Waterproof shoes are great... until water is in them. Then they become water retentive. No part of me is dry and I'm getting colder.

Though it's a little too late, I don my rain poncho. With my cloak and stick, all I need now is a pointed hat and I would look exactly like a wet Gandalf.

Stage 3. It's the last 700m to Low's Peak.

The route gets precarious - a scramble over rocks, with a steep cutoff on the side.

The wind has picked up. There is no euphemism for this - it is 110% raining. My fingers and toes are swollen and unpleasantly tingly. Evidently my version of Frozen in Nepal didn't teach me enough lessons. My Himalaya summit pants stayed behind in my luggage. So did my second jacket. I swear to myself I am NEVER leaving them again.

I'm debating on where this ranks on my list of most miserable experiences and that debate keeps me going for a while.

There's no headlamps around me, and I realize I haven't seen any for quite a while. There were only a few who passed me, so many must have turned around. Visibility decreases to less than 5 feet, and I ask Sai to stay closer so I can follow his steps.

The last push is always the hardest - as the night is darkest before dawn.

If there is a dawn.

Sai says the clouds are too thick and there's not going to be a sunrise. That's always my rationale to continue - quickest path to light and warmth. Crestfallen is the best description of how I feel, since now I don't even have that to look forward to.

Somehow the wind is still getting worse and the rain is hammering us. If Sai said to turn around, I wouldn't argue at this point. In fact I might be secretly relieved. But he doesn't say anything and I don't have the courage to quit.

100m more and it's a half vertical scramble.

Finally I see headlights - a few people are coming down. 50m more.

Just get to the damn top and get the hell down.

We make it. I try to snap a picture but my phone is going berserk.

Touchscreens are a modern wonder, that is until a drop of water gets on it. And no, using your nose to type in the pin doesn't work. I don't think I'd recognize myself in the mirror, so it's no wonder the phone can't either. I was so concerned with getting off the peak as quickly as possible that I forgot to take a picture of the sign itself.

Barely a minute later we start our way down. The wind has changed direction so we get it fight it yet again. Slowly we get down to relative safety. The air feels warmer and my brain is gorging on oxygen. It's getting lighter, but visibility is still terrible.

A bit farther on, the clouds clear for just a moment. On the way down to the hut I wonder how on earth we got up here in the first place.

The Via Ferrata route is cancelled - while the park ranger seemed to have turned a blind eye to the storm earlier, he drew the line at letting people walk across suspended wires on the side of a granite face. While I'm sad because this was my main motivation (also no refunds), the other part of me is just happy to be alive without accident.

Of the 104 people who attempted to summit, exactly 10 made it to the peak. The other 94 knew when to fold.