A first person account of the pleasure and not insignificant pain of getting way off the beaten path in Bali. By Charles Fulkerson

A friend once told me that when you look back on your travels, you won’t always remember the details of the monuments, museums and beaches you experience, but you will remember the hiccups along the way and the stories behind each mishap. In a month’s time away from home, I went swimming with my passport, almost fell off a volcano and had a Thai man wake me up at 3am screaming: “Tsunami! You have 15 minutes to get to high ground!” During each incidence, I was stressed, angry and scared, but when I look back, the fact that they gave me the fodder to write a few kick-ass postcards outweighs any temporary discomfort. After all, who really cares about what the weather was like? 

A couple of weeks ago I was on Kuta Beach in Bali, with a guy named Mark from Texas, and a new friend Kju from England. We were drinking beer and watching the sunset when we decided that it would be a good idea to climb the volcano known as Mt. Agung that night (did I mention that we were drinking beer?). Blame it on the Bintang—or our egos—but we decided to opt-out on getting a guide, which all of the travel books strongly recommended. We arrived at the base at 10:30pm with just two liters of water each and two 10-packs of Oreo cookies. 

When we got to the base of the mountain our cab driver erupted with anger. If he was to wait for us, he wanted half the fare before we embarked. “You guys do climb in dark, no guide, don’t even know where the trail is! There’s lots of snakes and big animals, how do I know you not going to die and then I won’t get money?” We decided to give him 200,000 rupiah (about $30) and figured worst case: We would just find another taxi the next day, if we didn’t—in fact—die.

The trek started off terribly; it was a sign of things to come. Dozens of stray dogs ran up to us barking and growling. I thought I was going to be dog food even before we got to the base of the volcano. Once we arrived at Besakih Temple, we noticed signs in English that read: “Keep out unless you’re a Hindu.” We decided if we were questioned we would start speaking in Spanish and act confused (something we excel at; the confused part, not the Spanish part). Fortunately we never had to say hola to a single soul. After exactly 500 steps and several tiers of temples we randomly found a trail. Maybe the temple gods didn’t care about our religion—or maybe they knew exactly what they were doing. At any rate, the trail was going up, so we figured we were headed in the right direction.
I was the only one of the group without a headlamp, so I lead. I first tried the middle but my shadow blocked the light from behind. Then I tried the back but this offered me the least light and the most opportunity to trip repeatedly on roots and rocks. Being in the front was the best, but it made me default spider-web clearer and snake bait, as my friends enjoyed telling me repeatedly. As we began ascending, we grabbed vines, trees, outcroppings, anything to hoist us up; but this was a walk in the park compared to what was coming. 

At 4am, we reached the tree line and saw what we thought was the summit. At this point I was almost done with my first bottle of water and we were on our second pack of Oreos. The higher we climbed, the lower the temperature. I was freezing, yet couldn’t wear my shirt because I was also sweating like mad and didn’t want to have a soaked shirt when I reached the summit. At around 4:30am, six hours in, we realized that what we thought was the summit was actually just a very large cliff. The altitude was starting to make me feel loopy (no, it wasn’t the beer—that had sadly worn off hours ago). My thighs were on fire and I had enough dirt on me to fill a flower pot. The trail had disappeared and we were now doing technical rock climbing. I thought to myself: “One slip and you’re inside a coffin.” In no time I wanted to puke.

Once we crested our phantom summit, we could see the real summit disgustingly far above. Behind us were orange clouds lit up by town and city lights below. Mark kept saying every 10 minutes: “Just look at the ground, don’t look up.” Despite his advice, when I would look up, it seemed like one of those bad dreams where you keep running but don’t make any progress. The top of Mt. Agung is made up of both very large boulders and tiny cinders and pebbles, which makes it feel like you’re constantly ice skating uphill—without any ice skates on.

At 5am, our bodies demanded that we stop to rest. At 5:30am Kju woke us up. Mark was the first one of us to come to the realization that we were on the wrong side of the mountain for the dawn. The entire point of the trek was to do it in the pitch-black so we could make it to the top just in time for sunrise. In order to see the sun come up we either had to make it to the top or go home. We couldn’t have come all that way and abused every muscle and bone in our bodies for nothing. Mark started the race to the summit like a bat out of hell. A very sore, kind of sad-looking bat, but still.

The climb was so steep, we were using our hands and feet to ascend Spiderman-like. At one point I slipped and fell on my belly, grabbing a jagged outcropping that stopped me from tumbling down like an out-of-control boulder. I laid there for a minute thinking about how invigorating the exercise was; about how glorious nature could be; about how I was proud of myself for … Oh hell, all I could think was: “Why the f*** did I agree to climb this mountain in the middle of the night with no headlamp and a couple of Oreos?”

During the last 15 minutes, we tight-roped along a narrow, 60 centimetre-wide ridge. After seven and a half grueling hours, we were the highest (and maybe dumbest) people in all of Bali. But we shared the summit, a bright red sun and an orgasmic sky with no one but ourselves. For a few moments my sense of accomplishment overshadowed the pain in my legs, the grime in my eyes, the hunger in my belly. And then it was time to head down.

I spent the first two hours sliding downhill primarily on my ass and the next six just praying that the pain in my knees didn’t mean that my kneecaps were about to shoot out of my eyeballs. Twenty locals passed us, practically running down the mountain with no shoes on. We asked how long it normally took them to get to the top. Two and half hours up, and three down. It took us eight hours to get up and another eight to get down—all together a 16-hour maniac marathon. Would I do what we did again? Most definitely not! Would I do it again with more water, a headlamp, a guide and more than just Oreos? Most def!

Climbing Mt. Agung The Right Way

There are actually two paths up Mt. Agung, a mildly active volcano located in the center of Bali. The first route leaves high in the mountains from the peak of Pura Pasar Agung, which gives you a head start. The trek from this point should take approximately four hours. The trek described herein, however, is the more difficult of the two and leaves from Besakih Temple, heading straight up for 3,142 meters. Most guided climbs begin around 10pm for a dawn arrival at the summit and will occasionally include overnight camping. July-October are considered the best months for the trip up. These guides can help you make the journey—and they’ll also ensure you bring along more than a few Oreos:

Starting at Besakih
Bali Discovery Tours 
www.balidiscovery.com

Bali Sunrise Tours
www.balisunrisetours.com/agung-index.html

Starting at Pasar Agung
Bali Country Side Tours 
(Start at Pasar Agung)
www.bali-countryside.com

Pineh Bali Tours
www.pinehbalitours.com/index.html