The guide I'd hired slept in, so Ketut came to pick me up at 3:45 am. I hopped on the back of his motorbike. We motored up a sandy path, over jagged rocks, to the trailhead. Torches on, and up we went, over similar terrain of sharp lava rock and shifting sand. The going was a bit difficlut at times, for the inability to see beyond the short arc of my headlamp's gaze. I was pretty short of breath with a cold coming on. But the half moon popped out from behind the clouds every few minutes, and the stars were bright, the wind gentle. It was peaceful. After about an hour we came to the last summit, at one of several crater rims on Mt. Batur, arriving at a cement and wood hut, offering shelter from the increasing wind. A Russian and two guides were already huddled in the dark hut.
As we waited for the approach of the sun, the guides started to cook breakfast. When all of the groups had arrived we numbered about ten tourists and an equal number of guides, including the guys who accompany the groups to sell them drinks - Coke, Fanta, water - at the top, for an income they depend upon and which, out of respect, hikers are expected to support. I bought two waters at a grossly exorbitant price but was glad to do it, thus allowing the man to go back down to his other work of the day, farming.
For a while it seemed uncertain whether the sky would clear enough to see the sunrise
but finally the fog lifted,
and just in time.
It was amazing, and made every last little step up that dark hillside worth it.
To our backs, several cones and calderas. Directly below us, volcanic rock fields dotted with glowing green grass tufts sprouting out of the black soil. Across the lake sat Gunung Abang, part of the 60 kilometer long caldera, evidence of a volcanic blast 300,000 years before that had made room for the lake and everything else inside its rim, including the mountain upon which we were standing. Beyond that, Gunung Agung, at 3,000+ meters the tallest mountain in Bali. Then the ocean.
And way off in the distance we could see Gunung Rinjani, piercing into the sky. Spectacular.
Breakfast was served. A 66 year old guide played his flute to salute the sun
and the dogs that call the shack home sang their own barking song and scavenged for scraps.
We shot a bunch of fotos
and clambered around the backside to see the steam vents coming up from the still-active volcano, an old hole 100 meters deep from a blast in 1849, and a cave used for meditation.
This was my guide Ketut.
We headed down at a fairly good clip,
and in the light of day, it was a real feast for the eyes. Eucalyptus glades, planted to combat erosion,
half-burnt evergreens,
onion patches growing out of volcanic ash gardens.
Boys carried cement up to build a house. Down we went, ready to take a break before the next adventure.
