Spiritual Sense

When I was travelling a few years ago I underwent a 10 day trek in West Papua, a truly remote province of Indonesia covered in dense, (mostly) untouched rain forest and scattered with tribes only 'discovered' by the West in the 1940's or later. The trek was the most intense thing I've ever undergone, mentally and physically. More so the former, for the body obeys when there's no other choice - when you're 5 days into the back of beyond and your guide says you must walk for another 5 hours without stopping to reach shelter, you do it. But, as I discovered, the mind obeys in similar ways when devoid of other choices.

I think it was about day 6 or 7 that we were due to tackle the mountain. In order not to retread too much ground we had planned to come around the mountain and go back over the top. The mountain was an imposing 3600m and the guide and porters were eager to rest for a day, but myself and my trek-mate Alex were keen to hit the road so as to avoid an additional days pay and to keep on schedule. Us being the bosses, we pressed on.

We soon hit the mountain and the ascent began. Ever-steepening, zig zagging paths cut their way up, the peak looming above, impossibly high and out of reach, never seeming to get any closer. The paths got more and more trecherous, rocky and slippery and we often had to traverse otherwise unpassable cliff faces via slimey, dangerous, cobbled together wooden ladders. Rain was ever threatening - a storm was chasing us up but just keeping at bay.

I was exhausted early on and while my legs and arms automatically kept me in motion, I had to work on keeping my mind working with me. The previous day had been torrential - a non stop tropical downpour making the going miserable and hard. I had spent the day mentally cursing the jungle. "Is this all you've got?!" I jeered in an attempt to bolster my willpower and strength. The jungle answered by sending more rain and more puddles and more lethal crossings. Today, though, I tuned my thoughts in to the environment. I thanked the jungle for showing me a fleeting flower, that moment of beauty turning my grimace into a smile. I thanked the sky for keeping the rain away. I thanked the mountain for presenting the right foot falls and hand holds. By staying respectful and knowing my place, I believed I was helping myself rather than bringing on more hardship and angering the jungle as per the day before. I truly believed that.

Soon after we'd set off up the mountain, we were overtaken by a couple from the village we'd just left, carrying their 3 year old. Papuans are a hardy, able, incredible people. They were making the same journey as us back to the port town in order to sell their paltry produce - of course, they'd make it in a third of the time and twice as laden. Plus they were doing it out of necessity, not out of a Western craving for the exotic and extreme. The man stopped periodically and shouted something into the air before climbing on, and soon my guide answered my silent question about his purpose.

"If they were not here, the rain would come", he explained. "He is doing ritual for the offerings at the top of the mountain to keep the wild dogs and rain away. We lucky - if they were not here, the rain would come. Really! Very dangerous. People who don't make offering die at top."

It turned out that the mountain was a feared place of ghosts and supersticion. The locals who had to pass over it passified the twin dangers of weather and wild dogs, or faced death. I gave genuine thanks for the presence of the villagers.

When we finally reached the plateau at the top, weary but excstatic with achievement, Alex and I expected a lunch break. But instead we saw the porters literally running, laden with baggage, over the eerie, mist shrouded plain that unfolded before us.

"They scared. Can't stop here, must keep going. When you see stick in ground, it means person who made no offering died there", Nico the guide explained.

Bewildered, we trudged on through hardy grasses, cracked ground, ancient palms and moss covered rocks. And indeed, interspersed in this alien landscape were sticks, thrust into the ground, marking the point at which a villager persihed. I was taking photographs as we went, but something told me to stop up here. I swallowed the something, though, and took another shot. At that second, the sky foresook us and the rain came down in torrents. Subsequently, my camera remained in my bag until the mountain was behind us.

The plateau took hours to cross, but when we reached the other side there was a nourishing snack and a warming smoke to be had. The porters were visibly calmer and relieving camaraderie at our surviving the treacherous ordeal took hold. My sense of achievement was immense - I had climbed a 3600m mountain in adverse weather conditions in the middle of a hopelessly remote jungle after walking for 8 hours a day for the last week. I had overcome physical and mental barriers and done something I would never have thought possible until that day. And I had learnt something about myself and the universe in the process.

That day, I understood supersticion. That day, I believed in spirits and the need to passify them through ritual. That day I had a glimpse of a worldview that is debunked by anyone who is used to surviving without incident, anyone who knows they will not starve or freeze. I tuned into something utterly instinctive and it kept me going. It kept the rain away, it kept me from slipping, it integrated me with the environment and gave me understanding when there was no rational alternative. For a few hours that day, I was as spiritual/religious/supersticious as the ancient tribespeople around me.