The trek in and out of Kampung Pos Atap is not as bad as the leeches might suggest.
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I didn’t have a long drawn out plan to summit the highest mountains in East and West Malaysia in 2007. Gunung Tahan came into the picture when Quin Jean and I talked about it early in the year, and then I felt I needed to go up Kinabalu, which I did back-to-back with Gunung Tambuyukon in December. All in all, I went up six mountains (some numerous times) and a few bukits last year—making 2007 one of my most active years. I wanted more. I still longed for Nepal. But at the same time, I was tired and exhausted. After all those mountains, I didn’t feel like taking on the Trans-Titiwangsa trails or some other multi-day treks in a rainforest. Not yet anyway.
I wanted to trek, preferably up mountains, but I wanted to be able to justify why I was going out there. When I did the Tambuyukon-Kinabalu double, I didn’t do it just because I wanted to be at the peaks. There was something else. I didn’t want to just take. I wanted to be able to give as well. I dreamed of calling up WWF and ask if I could spend weeks in the jungles setting up camera-traps for tigers or volunteering in the elephant or rhinoceros initiatives in Sabah. I dreamed of walking through the lands of the Sherpas in Nepal. I dreamed a lot.
I also had to do a lot of reality checks. So, nothing happened. I was back to doing short hikes—just so I don’t lose touch with the wild.
Then Kampung Pos Atap came into the picture.
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On the thirteenth week of 2008, I had already made plans with Amos, Nee On and Leon to go on our short hike up the eastern ridge of Bukit Tabur. Four days before the trek, I received Taiping Goh’s comment on one of my older post just . Now, this Taiping Goh person is an interesting one. We’ve only emailed each other a few times before since last year, and I’ve never met him before in my life. And this wasn’t the first time he asked me out on a trek; I’ve declined him before, but he has been somewhat persistent in inviting me on treks. When I read the comment again and again, I was drawn to the trek—here was an invitation to trek into the interiors to an Orang Asli kampung (village). Here was an opportunity to put my philanthropic aims to the test. Here was a chance to meet new people and expand my network of trekking comrades—and so I was soon making plans to head into the jungles I’ve never been to before.
I was quite sure of joining Goh and whoever else he had on his team, but I wasn’t sure if anyone else would be interested. I asked a few others even though I knew that that lugging a heavy load of foodstuff—rice, salt sugar and the sort—for a few hours over hills and valleys ain’t everyone’s cup of tea. Ikhwan said he’d come. After weighing his options, Leon came knowing very well that this was the kind of experience he wanted (and that they don’t come by very often). Amos was very eager—staying in an Orang Asli kampung got him excited already, but to carry weights in made it all the more exciting. But by switching plans from a simple day trek to a possible 8-hour trek, I lost Nee On.
When 29 March, 2008, came upon the world, Amos was waiting outside my place at 5.30 a.m. I was still asleep when he arrived—I had been packing the night before and only went to bed at 2 a.m. Barely awake, I rushed into his car. We picked up Leon at his place and met Ikhwan at Sunway University College. We changed vehicles and the four of us were on our way to Simpang Pulai to meet Goh and his team by 8.30 a.m.
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From my conversations with Goh, I was under the impression that there’d be a bigger entourage heading into Kampung Pos Atap. When we arrived at at Kampung Jantung Baru—a new Orang Asli village relocated from the interiors—we exchanged greetings and introduced ourselves. After all the emails we exchanged, I was looking at Goh eye-to-eye for the first time. He was very easy going, and I felt comfortable almost right away. For the first time is so many outings, I didn’t feel the burden of organizing or leading the team. I didn’t even have a clue where we were heading. All I could do was trust Goh with his map and his GPS toy, and our guide, Ismail, a handsome young man in his mid-thirties. Together with Goh was Kampar Ong, a 59 year old with more than thirty years of trekking behind him.
Compared to the three of them, my team seemed somewhat young and raw. What we lacked in experience, we made up with enthusiasm and a drive to explore new worlds and try out new things.
There were seven of us going into the jungles. Seven. I like that.
We quickly did our final packing, stuffing our backpacks with the provisions we intended to bring into Kampung Pos Atap. We already had our own personal gear in our rucksack before we added parts of the 10kg of rice, 4kg or salt, 5kg of sugar, 2kg of oil, packets of instant noodles, a few canned food, teabags and coffee sachets for the villagers. We had no weighing machine, but our rucksack would have easily been between 10 and 15 kilograms each. Our packs were so heavy that we seemed like we were heading off on a week-long expedition when in actual fact, we were only going to stay a night in the interiors.
I thought the weight was fine until we hit the trail that hasn’t been used in years. Carrying heavy loads on a clear path is one thing, but carrying heavy loads and doing the Malaysian Jungle Limbo Rock was a totally new experience many of us were not prepared for.
Before long, we started our journey. We walked along the highway to the starting point–going into a vegetable farm where inviting purple eggplants greeted us. This didn’t look too difficult because we were walking on a clear path. The vegetble farm came to an end, and we continued along an old logging trail. There I saw one of the largest mushrooms growing in the wild. A little while more and the journey really started. Out of no where, our guide took a left turn and disappeared into the jungles. I followed by scrambling upwards. It was only a short distance, but pushing through the thick growths on a steep slope seemed like forever.
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Mizuno Blue Boys. ©2008 Ong.
During one of our short breaks, I realised that three of us—Amos, Goh and I—were wearing shirts by Mizuno. One’d think that we were sponsored, but tough luck. We thought of of taking a pic together, but then we found out that Amos and Goh had something else in common, too. They smoke. I don’t. So in the end Ong took a pic of just the two of them.
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The journey was a tough one. So much so I kept my 2kg camera in my backpack the entire 7 hours to Kampung Pos Atap. At times I wished I had a handy compact camera strapped nearby so I could shoot interesting sights. But then again, I was quite tired from all the walking, pushing, bending and crawling to be taking photos.
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After many hours, we reached the abandoned Kampung Jantung after many many hours. Ismail once lived in Kampung Jantung before moving out to the outskirts of the jungles. All there was now were
remnants of huts flattened to the ground. Zinc sheets that once functioned as roofs to the homes were now lying flat on the ground; some being swallowed by shrubs and vines. I’d like to have stopped there for a moment, but we didn’t. As I stepped over the zinc sheets I thought of how a village has disappeared, and I wondered what Ismail might remember of his home when he was younger. I never had the chance to ask how he felt; I wish I had made it happen.
And so we move on toward our destination: Pos Atap.
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At times I got fed up of bending down to go under branches and vines, I unleashed my parang and slashed as many obstacles in sight; sparing the little thin trunks of future giant trees. Leaves and branches either bowed down or turned away as I walked pass them like a royalty. Leon who was walking behind me must have seen an entirely different image. Before long, he shouted, “That looks tiring. I think it’s easier to just bend down, balance and walk.”
I do not know if I was physical or psychological drained, but my parang soon stayed silent in its sheath more than swishing and swooshing in the stillness of the jungles.
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We didn’t bring tarps or tents into the jungles. We just trusted Goh to get us a place to stay; and a place he did get us. While we were walking in, he was teasing us, “If we don’t get a place to stay, we can always sleep under their houses.” But none of us were worried. When we reached the kampung we were given a bungalow in the forests to stay for the night. There were only a few homes left in the kampung, and each of the bungalows were built on stilts—some three feet above ground—and made of bamboo pieces with zinc rooftops (gone are the days when roofs were made of attap leaves). The bungalow we stayed didn’t seemed like it belonged to any family; it seemed more like a hall. The six of us were fortunate to have the place, really. We had more than enough space for ourselves; I think the home we stayed in can comfortably fit another five people.
The day was getting dark soon, so before we washed ourselves, Goh decided that we should quickly present our gifts—the weight that we had carried on our backs for the last seven hours. It was a nice gesture, but the moemnt Goh selected was kind of off. The Tok Batin (Ketua Kampung) was having his bath, and he was asked to come out quickly to receive the gifts. Tok Batin received the gifts happily, and no signs of grudges for having someone mess with his bath time. It was a quick and simple affair as he passed on the food-stuff to other families in the kampun as well.
With that done, the six of us went through a thorough session to de-leech ourselves. My legs were bloody all over. Even after I took them off, I was still bleeding—and this makes me believe that the type of leeches at Tambuyukon and in West Malaysia are of different species. An hour after, I was still bleeding—albeit more slowly. Sitting in the bungalow like a wounded soldier, I started preparing my dinner.
Unlike Ikhwan, who seemed to have collapsed after the grueling walk, I still had strength and energy within me. But I self-confined in the hut I was in because of the unending stream of blood near my left knee and on my ankles—wounds from the leech party. Though I felt no pain, I felt bad leaving footprints and drips of blood on the bamboo floor. I felt even worse when I couldn’t bring myself to enter the other huts to spend time with the Orang Asli. I wanted so much to connect with the people, By the time my wounds stopped bleeding, the moments to mingle was over. And dinner time was upon us.
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Apparently there are a few routes to Kampung Pos Atap. We had used a long abandoned trail in, and that has drained our energies. The thought of going out the same way made us shudder in pain. When Goh suggested we used the route that only take us three hours out to Bharat Tea at Cameron Highlands, everyone cried, “Ay!” unanimously. No second thoughts.
That night, we slept peacefully.
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The next morning, we woke up refreshed. I was woken up at about 5 a.m. when I heard voices outside our bungalow. Thinking back, I shuld have hopped out to join the Orang Asli and watch the sun came alive. Instead I remained in my sleeping bag until it was quite late—7 a.m. I had a quick breakfast, and then I went out to photograph the kampung that had become my home for a a night. Though it was only a few hours, but Kampung Pos Atap has been intricately woven into my soul. Just as when I spent nights at Kampung Telaga Air, Sarawak many year ago, I know that Kampung Pos Atap will remain in my memory for long. In Sarawak, I had no camera with me; all I have today are memories of times past. Now, in Kampung Pos Atap, I had my faithful camera with me. I went capturing the tapioca farm, various bungalows, and people. Here was a rustic and peaceful kampung that I want to call home in the jungle if I was allowed to.
Bungalows in the Forest #1
Bungalows in the Forest #2
Bungalows in the Forest #3
Portraits of Orang Asli, Bepampan (l) and Bahkerop (r)
After saying our good-byes, we went off on our way. It was a much shorter walk—three hours to Kampung Sungai Ubi at Bharat Tea, Cameron Highlands.
In the Wilderness
On The Last Stretch to Civilization
Bharat Tea Plantation at Cameron Highlands
From Bharat Tea, we took a bus to Tanah Rata (costing us RM1 each). Once we got to Tanah Rata, we rushed to the Bus Station to get the next bus heading to Ipoh. That cost us RM7 each. The ride was slow—the bus stopped at numerous spots to pick up and let off passengers. I didn’t like it each time the bus stopped; not only did it slow down the journey, I was deprived of a nap because I had to lift my backpack, which was occupying the aisle, onto my lap so people can walk pass. The ride was a lot smoother after Kampung Raja, but by then we were descending the highlands already. I kept looking out the window and wandered amongst the distant mountain range and valleys. As we got to about 10km from Kampung Jantung Baru, Ong pointed out the abandoned quarry, where one begins the trek up Gunung Suku (the Orang Asli calls it Gunung Sugu).
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It was interesting on one hand to be pushing and pulling branches and leaves to clear the path, and also to be bending and crawling amongst the undergrowth to continue the journey. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel quite lost and disoriented—not only because I was walking on uncharted trails and had to depend entirely on Ismail, but because I was pushing my way through a secondary jungle to reach our destination. Instead of appreciating the wild bamboo plants, many ferns and the sunlight filtering through thick undergrowth. Only when we came to rivers and streams did the wild seem moderately familiar. I don’t know how others felt, but I sorely missed the sights of giant tall trees, fallen tree trunks, leaves wet damp roots, mossy growths, and pitcher plants. How many years before big trees take over the land again? I often asked. Perhaps that is why when I was asked if I enjoyed the trek, I couldn’t give an answer. While I enjoyed every bit of the company, the trekking experience and spending a night in an Orang Asli’s home, I couldn’t bring myself to calm my saddened heart during the time I was there.
But as time passes, just as the forest renews itself, though slowly, so does my heart. It’ll be some time before the greens stretches high above the ground again, and it moans not. There is this unrelenting force that keeps the landscape ever changing and ever growing. Never barren for a long long time. And for that, I can console myself and be glad.
Reflecting back on the two days, I am glad I made it through the wild to Kampung Pos Atap (and back) with Goh, Ong, Leon, Amos, Ikhwan and Ismail.
• Leon Varga’s blog entry on the Pos Atap trek fills in a lot of gaps in my entry.
• update 20080425: The funny thing is that we were having lunch one day, and he said that he avoided reading my entry before he wrote his just so that he wouldn’t be influenced by what I wrote. I told him mine was too long already, and he jokingly said that I must have stopped abruptly; like waking up the next morning, and the walked out in three hours. Well, the joke was on him because that’s what I did. I had simply wrote: “After saying our good-byes, we went off on our way. It was a much shorter walk—three hours to Kampung Sungai Ubi at Bharat Tea, Cameron Highlands.”
Having read his entry, I must say that he reminded me of a few things I had missed when I wrote my entry. And then there are some more that both of us didn’t write about; we’ll probably laugh when we tell tales such as The Three Leeches and I. Ask us, and we might just tell the tale.