Hard night’s work: Sunrise at the summit. (Source: Neelima Vallangi)
While the idea of lazing around on an idyllic beach with a book in hand, listening to the crashing waves and admiring the beauty of the distant horizon at sunset appealed to me in theory, it seems my heart wanted none of it in reality. Nothing else can explain my frantic run to buy a pair of hiking shoes in Ubud’s markets late one evening to climb a volcano later that night. I had arrived a week earlier in Indonesia’s most popular island, Bali, to attend a workshop and had planned to spend a few extra days relaxing in the Island of Gods. However, the moment my hectic workshop was over, I found myself itching to go on an adventure, a quiet vacation be damned. So I chose to climb an active volcano.
Bali has four volcanoes, of which two are popular with hikers for the gorgeous sunrise views from the mountaintops — Mount Batur (1,717 m) and Mount Agung (3,031 m). Along with a friend from the workshop, I was to climb Mount Agung in eastern Bali, which happens to be Bali’s highest point and most sacred mountain, visited by a select few when compared to the hundreds that traipse over to Mount Batur every night. This was before Mount Agung’s September 2017 eruptions that are yet to simmer down, putting a temporary halt to all such hikes. We were picked up at midnight from the deserted streets of sleepy Ubud and driven to the Pura Pasar Agung temple on the southern slope of Mount Agung, from where the hike began.
An eerie mist ensconced the temple and the tall trees around it while the pleasing fragrance of freshly-lit incense sticks wafted in. Given that we were at a height of 1,600 m at 2 am, surrounded by dense vegetation, it was justifiably chilly. Joined by our Balinese guide, Madé, and two more hikers, we disappeared into the darkness, armed with headlamps and determination. The hike immediately proved to be a challenge. In the dead of the night, we marched ahead with all our might but it was no match for the steep gradient ahead of us. Huffing and puffing through the forest, whose presence I could only feel and not see, we arrived onto the open lava fields to find a reward — the sight of a star-studded sky over a blanket of clouds hovering above the island.
However, the twinkling flashlights of fellow hikers far above us reminded us of the task at hand. While Madé sang to stay awake, I talked to myself, reprimanding myself even, for getting into this sticky situation for which I was so terribly unprepared. Assuming it to be an easy hike, I had only carried a bottle of water and a light shawl. What was required was a thick jacket and mental preparedness. The thing is, at a height of 3,031 m, Mount Agung is serious business. For the sake of comparison, Manali is at a height of 2,050 m. The climb was relentless and the fierce winds were bitterly cold. After much scrambling on all fours, one by one, our party arrived at the crater rim, 100 m short of the true summit, just before the crack of dawn, to find a sea of clouds surrounding the mountain in every direction.
Where the trail ended, there was barely enough space on the narrow ledge surrounding Mount Agung’s vast caldera. But about 30 of us hikers squeezed together to witness the sunrise as if it were a rare celestial occurrence. I stood on the rim shivering in the freezing cold, with an inadequate shawl wrapped around me. But when the sun finally rose above the horizon, the warmth of the sun felt as good as wrapping fine cashmere around myself.
From the top, the gnarled and mangled path of the lava flow from the 1963 eruption was clearly distinguishable. A sprawling forest of lush greenery extended beyond the grey volcanic rock. Over the eastern horizon, the striking summit of Mount Rinjani on the neighbouring island of Lombok rose above the clouds as well. Towards the west, the summit cast a long and magical shadow behind us. Between the two, the caldera of the much lower Mount Lempuyang was trying to break through the barrier of billowing clouds. At that moment, whatever images of Bali I had in my mind vanished like a puff of smoke — an ethereal vision of the sunrise from Mount Agung seared itself on my memory.
I was expecting rice fields and waterfalls, yoga retreats and hipster cafes from Bali but I couldn’t have imagined that a tropical island would be home to such a big mountain. Or that a simple night hike would bring me to my knees. The descent was brutal and my body was totally spent by the time I reached my hotel late afternoon, but I collapsed with a happy exhaustion. The most memorable travel experiences often arise from instances where one is caught unaware. Challenging, uncrowded and mystical, this was a side of Bali I had never known and one I was all too glad to have been acquainted with.
Neelima Vallangi is a travel writer and photographer.