Surviving Sundoro

Climbing Gunung Sundoro at night – an unforgettable experience.

I'm not really a mountain climber, though I have been to the summits of Krakatau and Bromo. For me, mountains are too big to climb, especially since I'm rather small myself. But when I saw these two mountains, Sundoro and Sumbing, seemingly so close to the side of the road just outside Parakan, near Temanggung, I immediately wanted to climb again.

"A few months back, Laboca climbed Sundoro with bicycles and made it all the way to the top. It was in the papers and on TV," said Umar, the friend who was taking Arif and me to Temanggung to cover the tobacco harvest. Laboca is the cycling club that Umar heads in Borobudur, Magelang Regency.

I was amazed. Climbing a 3,138-meter mountain on bicycles? How? They pedaled all the way to the top? "No, no," Umar laughed. "We carried the bikes on the way up; we only rode them on the way down."

Now what kind of crazy person would want to do such a thing? Carrying a camera is a hassle, let alone a bicycle! But in fact, seven of the 21 on the trip made it to the top of Sundoro and rode down, though Umar wasn't one of them. Then again, I thought, if people can make it to the top carrying bicycles, the terrain can't be that difficult.

Umar recommended that we start our climb from Sigedang village, in the valley to the west of Gunung Sundoro, since the slope is somewhat gentler on that side. Sigedang is also at 1,700 meters above sea level, so it's already halfway there. The southern route, Kledung Pass, is used more often – it's right on the main road between Temanggung and Wonosobo, in the valley between Sundoro and Sumbing – but it's at a lower elevation, around 1,335 meters.

Umar gave us the name of the "caretaker" of Gunung Sundoro at Sigedang, who we needed to contact to request permission and help find us a guide. So in the afternoon, Arif and I were taken to Sigedang by Pak Bukhori and Pak Budi on motorbikes. The village lies on the ridge to the west of Sundoro, where it meets Gunung Butak, officially within Kalijajar District, Wonosobo Regency.

Pak Amin, the caretaker, is a small Javanese man aged around 50 who knows everything about Sundoro, including the mystical aspects. "Sumbing and Sundoro are twin mountains. Sumbing is the male, the elder one, and Sundoro is the younger sister," he told us seriously. He explained that the correct name is Sundoro, not Sindoro. Sun means "pleasure" and ndoro means "important person," so Sundoro means "a place where those who are happy become important people." This is why the mountain is often used for mystical meditation. Every year on the eve of 1 Syura – the Islamic and Javanese New Year – thousands of people climb Sundoro to pray and seek blessings.

Pak Amin advised us that when we are climbing Sundoro, we must never complain, because the route will be made longer, so it will take even longer to reach the summit. And if we come across any animals on the climb, they must not be disturbed. "If you hear the roar of a tiger, don't panic or run! That's the sound from the cave where people go to meditate. Not everyone gets to hear the tiger's roar or see people in mystical contemplation – only certain people." We paid close attention to what he told us, because we wanted to respect the beliefs of the local people, and certainly didn't want any trouble.

Unfortunately, Pak Amin himself was not available to be our guide for the climb we had planned for the next night. Arif, who has climbed to the top of Gunung Semeru'– Java's highest mountain – recommended that we climb at night because it's not hot, so we wouldn't get tired and thirsty so easily. After some persuasion, Pak Amin allowed his son Adi to be our guide.

Adi is a young father aged 22, roughly half my age. Once when he was still in school in Wonosobo, because he had run out of money, he climbed Sundoro from Kledung Pass, and then descended to Sigedang. How long did it take? "Four hours going up and three coming down," he smiled proudly. But he had an even crazier story about a friend who had climbed Sundoro from Kledung Pass and then gone down to Sigedang… on a motorbike! "Obviously, the bike was in terrible shape after that, hahaha!"

The next morning, I and Arif bought hats and plastic jerricans to fill with water, since there are no sources of water along the route. At 6 that evening, we were already sitting at Pak Amin's house, ready to set out at 10 that night. Since I'm not really a mountain climber, Adi planned to take us up "a very relaxed way," and he chose 10 as the departure time assuming that in eight hours we would be at the top to see the sunrise.

As it happened, at Pak Amin's house were a group of climbers from Karawang, West Java, who had just come down from Sundoro. Five of them were young fellows, who had climbed Sumbing before they climbed Sundoro. It had taken them six hours to go up Sundoro and another three to come down. So I felt pretty confident that I'd be able to make it to the top; even if it took eight hours going up and five coming down, that wouldn't be so bad.

So with not much ado, Arif, Adi and I set out when the clock showed 10 PM. I was only carrying a backpack containing a camera, a bottle of water, and a rain jacket; Arif had much the same, but no jacket. Adi was carrying the two jerricans containing ten liters of water, snacks, instant noodles, and coffee.

As we passed along the village road heading toward the paved main road, the sky was dark and moonless, but still fairly bright just from the stars. We didn't really feel the cold, because we were moving. But the steep trail slowed me down; I had to stop and catch my breath. Adi, who was wearing flip-flops, just laughed.

We took a shortcut through a tea plantation. I turned on my headlamp and saw the dust flying where Adi had walked ahead of us, so I had to cover my nose.

We arrived at Post I, in the tea plantation, a fairly wide structure with a roof and a concrete floor. I caught my breath while gazing at the lights from the houses of Gedangan village below us. We then proceeded to Post II, still inside the tea plantation, similar but roofless. And then Post III, still inside the tea plantation; this one was larger, with a roof and resembling a warehouse. But it wasn't easy getting there. I'd already had to stop several times. I never imagined that I'd already be tired having gone only this far. I even thought, well, maybe I'll just stop here and let Adi and Arif go the rest of the way – but I was too embarrassed.

So we set out again; now instead of tea plantation, we were passing through fields of tall grass. The trail was going uphill, but still fairly moderate. The lights of the village off to our west, in the Dieng Plateau, were interesting to look at. At first, we could see only one cluster of lights, but the higher we climbed, the more villages we could see. One village was very high up; we had to raise our heads to see those lights.

We made it to Post IV, a small building with woven bamboo walls, a thatched roof and a dirt floor. Adi said that this was the last post, and the trail would be steeper from here on. We rested for a bit, lit a fire from some wood we found, and opened our supplies. Only then did Adi realize that he'd forgotten to bring a stove and pots! So there would be no instant noodles and hot coffee for breakfast….

We had been traveling two hours, but Adi said this was only a quarter of the way. So we started again, and I had to stop even more often to catch my breath. On either side of our trail was nothing but thigh-high elephant grass, and one or two big, tall trees. It seemed that these trees had been left there to mark the trail, because we saw other stumps where trees had been cut down. It would certainly be hot climbing this way in the daytime; no shade.

We passed a clump of trees on our right, whose leaves seemed to have a layer of wool on them. When we turned on our lamps, we saw that the leaves of one of the trees were covered with small grasshoppers about the size of a match – mating. I was surprised to see this mating process taking place on only one tree, and not just one couple doing it, but dozens. Remembering Pak Amin's warning not to disturb the animals, we took only two photos and then continued on our way.

That village over in Dieng that had seemed so high before was gradually appearing lower and lower; now we were at about the same elevation. Luckily, the weather was still good. Adi told us that wind and rain storms are not unusual on Sundoro. "The only thing you can do then is take refuge in a gully."

Time had passed quickly; it was now 4 AM, and Adi said we'd only gone half the way. "I don't think we'll be at the summit for the sunrise." No problem, I thought. I'd almost given up earlier, but we've made it this far. The important thing is to make it to the peak; it doesn't matter if we're there after the sunrise.

I was tired, so I decided to rest. Adi found a reasonably flat place, covered it with dry grass, and spread out a sarong. For a blanket, the three of use shared Arif's sleeping bag, and we lay down close together. I dozed off in no time.

I didn't know how long I slept, but suddenly Adi was waking me. "Want to see the sunrise?" Well, of course! It was 5.30, so I'd only slept an hour and a half. The ground was getting lighter, and we could see the rays of the sun peeking through off to the northeast. So obviously, there was no way we would catch the sunrise from the peak. Watching the red disk slowly rise from behind Gunung Ungaran in the distance, I felt pretty good. This is probably one reason people climb mountains; a sunrise from a higher elevation is really different from when you see it at the beach or in the lowlands.

The sun's rays finally illuminated the foggy villages on the Dieng Plateau, and we could clearly see Gunung Rogojembangan in the distance, shaped just like Borobudur temple. We had a meager breakfast, and when we heard the siren of the tea plantation signaling 6.30, we continued our hike. I left my knapsack and carried only my camera. We also left behind one of the jerricans of water, to lighten our load.

The trail was now rocky and furrowed, and steeper; perhaps a former riverbed. There were small trees along the trail; we also saw places where trees had been cut down, indicating that people had come this far up looking for wood.

Above us was a rocky protuberance shaped like a nose. Adi said it was called Cungur Petruk (Petruk's Nose), referring to a long-nosed character in the wayang. "When we've passed that, we'll be near the summit."

I was climbing and panting, and finally Cungur Petruk was just below us; but we still couldn't see the summit. Every time I asked, "Is it still far?" Adi would answer, "Just a little further, just past those trees." I finally realized he was leading me on; logically, since a mountain gets more truncated the higher you climb, you'll never see the peak until you're there! While we were still getting there, all we could see was the sky above the trees, and that's what Adi referred to as the summit.

The sun grew warmer; we came to a large rock, which Adi said was a "marker rock"
indicating we were nearly at the top. We could see white clouds below us. This time, maybe
he was telling the truth, because around us was only elephant grass and edelweiss, with fragrant, yellowish green flowers.

We started to see more and more edelweiss, and this encouraged me, though we only came to a flat plain about an hour later. This area is called Pasar Setan, the Devils' Market, because if you're passing by it on certain nights, you may hear a noise like people trading in the market – even though you can't see anyone. This is why the local people believe that it must be spirits engaging in transactions.

"But," Adi noted, "on the eve of 1 Syura, it turns into a humans' market, because so many pilgrims come here to pray and seek blessings, and even the snack vendors come up here to try to make some money of the people who are praying!" I almost laughed, but then I remembered that for some people this place is considered sacred.

At Pasar Setan there are three rocks where people place offerings, on the west, southeast and north. There's also a place for a flagpole, which climbers use when they celebrate Indonesian Independence Day here, but there was no flagpole at the moment. "So where's the summit of Sundoro?" I asked again.

"This is it!" Adi shouted. "The crater is over there, behind those trees." I looked at my watch; it was 10 AM. Thank God – we had made it!

It was cloudy, so we couldn't see very well in any direction. When it's clear, you can see the Java Sea to the north; Gunung Merapi and Merbabu to the east; Gunung Sumbing to the southeast; and Gunung Slamet to the west. But I was still delighted to be there. I ran through a small field of dry grass, passing by several edelweiss plants, and came to that cluster of trees. The crater of Sundoro was there below us, a basin around 100 meters deep shaped like a hole stretching from northwest to southeast. At the base of the crater, which is not active, is a broad field, where climbers often camp or play football in the dry season. During the rainy season, it turns into a lake.

We didn't go down into the crater, because the clouds started getting thicker. I was pretty sure it was about to rain, so we'd better start heading down. And we hadn't encountered any other groups of hikers, even though it was a Sunday. Or maybe they had reached the summit before us and already gone back down?

I was surprised to see that the trail down was almost vertical, but we had no time to lose, because thick fog was heading our way. And Arif and I had to be at the Jogjakarta Airport by 7 PM to catch our flight back to Jakarta. Temanggung, our base camp, was three hours from Jogja, plus another hour for the trek from Sigedang, so we'd have to be back at our starting point no later than 3 PM. In other words, we had only five hours to get down the mountain, or we'd miss our flight!

Several times I and Arif slipped and fell when we trod on dusty soil on top of rocks, but we just kept going, because the thick fog that enveloped us was turning into a mist. We also had to find our knapsacks that we'd left behind on the way up. Fortunately, Adi's strong mountaineer instincts led him back to the place. The thick fog and mist turned into a heavy rain, and Arif got soaked because he had no rain jacket. And we hadn't had a decent meal since the night before, so Arif looked pretty weak. But we had to keep going, though it seemed as if it would never end. I was amazed at myself, hiking such a distance.

As we passed Post IV, we heard the call to prayer from a mosque below, indicating it was nearly 3 PM. If we just kept walking to Pak Amin's house, we would definitely run out of time. So Arif contacted Pak Bukhori and Pak Budi to pick us up at Post III; luckily, they were already standing by at Pak Amin's house, and they headed up to the post on their motorbikes.
We finally made it back to the tea plantation, and when we could see Post III in the distance, we picked up the pace. Farewell, Sundoro!

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