KINABALU

THE PLACE WHERE SOULS RETURN

Hirayama using double-rope English trad techniques on the fourth pitch (5.12a) of Metis 5.12c

Ten years ago I went to Borneo for 10 days to film a Japanese television program. The idea was to introduce people to different habitats on the island from sea level to the top of Mount Kinabalu. I was scheduled to climb on the last day of filming. The route I would climb was on the east face of Mount Kinabalu’s south peak and involved vertical face climbing that followed a fading crack line, with one small roof, for 70 metres. I fired in a few bolts and ended up doing the first ascent of what turned out to be a beautiful line.

Climbing with a sea of clouds opening beneath my feet was an incredible exper ience, but there was something that pulled me into Kinabalu’s gr ip even more than the south-peak route. It was a for mation I had seen in a picture hanging on the wall of a hut on the way back down the mountain. A giant pillar of rock, unlike any I had seen. I named it Oyayubi Iwa, or Thumb Rock. It was overhanging and the top appeared to be solid. When I imagined myself climbing the monolith at 4,000 m above sea level, I knew it would be hard. I wanted to experience climbing on Mount Kinabalu again and Thumb Rock was my goal.

Eight years later, in June of 2011, I returned to the magical peak I had seen in the photograph. I had a full crew with me, including photographer Kenji Iiyama, a television crew, and several staff members from my gym Base Camp, who were accustomed to climbing at altitude.

The day we arrived at Sayat Sayat Hut I took one glance at the photo I had seen eight years earlier and sprinted to the summit to find Thumb Rock. It looked larger than I had imagined. On our way back to the hut we saw several other spectacular peaks and, after grabbing our gear, headed back and got to work on several new routes. I flashed a great trad line on Donkey Ears West and called it Mr. Misty, 5.12d.

Thumb Rock is about 100 m tall and sloping in such a way that I couldn’t find a line up the middle. I did end up spotting a terrace wide enough for a hands-free stance partway up the face and decided to look for a line linking that ter race to the top.

First, I summited Oyayubi Iwa by climbing a third-class r idge. I set up a belay using natural protection and, with chills running up and down my spine from the vertigo,

THE DUSUN TRIBE BELIEVES THAT MOUNT KINABALU IS WHERE SOULS OF THE DEPARTED RETURN, SO I NAMED MY ROUTE POGULIAN DO KODUDUO, OR ‘THE PLACE WHERE SOULS RETURN,’ BECAUSE THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I PLANNED TO DO.

I rapped in. Swallowing the fear r ising in my throat, I searched below my feet for the elusive line. My heart was beating hard, it echoed in my chest like thunder. The wall was nearly blank, but by creating an image in my head of the crack and cor ner system glimpsed from the ground, and linking the indistinct line of holds below my feet with that image, I managed to find an escape route. I knew the route was my line, the one that I had been dreaming of for eight years. It goes up the middle of Oyayubi Iwa’s yellow wall and is reminiscent of the beautifully overhanging La Rambla Direct, 5.15a, in Spain. It was exciting to bolt the line down to the ter race while imagining how so few holds, and so few possibilities, could coalesce into a route. To be honest, I felt that it was beyond me and might be a ‘wall for the future,’ a dream line. The weather was unstable and we had three hours of climbing each day. I found myself waiting for those br ief moments on most mornings. Luckily, I had been rehearsing some of the moves while bolting and I was able to give the crux section a good attempt on my first go. It was nice to climb after three hard days of figur ing out 100 m of moves and dealing with bad weather.The few holds sent me pawing more at bumps as I progressed up the cor ner that for med the weakness I had bolted. Still, I gave it my all as I fumbled at the possibilities. In the end, by moving just off the bolt line here and there I felt everything come together and thought that I just might be able to

conquer it. My trepidation tur ned to a feeling of ‘I can climb this!’

It was the 40 metre second pitch that really gave the climb the ‘dream line’ moniker and as I set off my heart was thumping loudly. Leaving the ledge the initial holds were relatively large but you can definitely feel the steepness of the climb. Moving into the crack section I felt my body begin to tense and even though I tr ied to climb without forcing things, my heart-rate shot up. After the crack I moved into a really dynamic section where I alternated between hard pulls and delicate moves before finally hitting an all important rest off to the r ight. Up to this point the route is probably 5.13d, but hypoxia makes it seem like your heart can’t pump enough oxygen to your limbs. Instead of feeling pumped you lose all sensation in your fingers and forearms and simply can’t feel what you are holding onto. I became a little desperate at the rest, but eventually sensation returned to my forearms. I spent a while at the rest waiting for the r ight moment.

There is a serious lunge right off the rest. In the hypoxic conditions this move felt really hard and I began to lose feeling in my forearms. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it back, so I just focused hard on linking the pitch. Exactly 10 moves out from the rest, and with only three more moves until the end of the crux, I ran out of steam. After I fell I couldn’t move.The feeling of blood finally returned to my forearms, it hurt like hell. I think it took about 10 minutes to catch my breath and get motivated to start moving again. I climbed the upper technical 5.13c section with one hang and ended up two-hanging the route on my first burn. It felt like I could send the route.

I gave the dream line a few more attempts in the days that followed, but fell at exactly the same place. Sadly, that ended my trip. Even as we were packing up to head down the mountain after nine days on the summit I was thinking of ways to scrape together some time in September to return. I decided to name the route using the local Dusun dialect.The Dusun tribe believes that Mount Kinabalu is where souls of the departed return, so I named my route Pogulian do Koduduo, or ‘The Place Where Souls Return,’ because that is exactly what I planned to do.

My return tr ip in September was plagued by atrocious weather. My climbing partner Mitchy and I were alone and we fought rain and fog for nine days. We managed to squeeze in a first ascent of a 5.13c route called Alangga, Calm Skies after the Stor m, but the rain returned. I had hoped to take one day off and then return to Koduduo, but the crux was sopping wet. Despite the conditions I was deter mined to continue to work the line as I counted the remaining days on my softening fingertips.

Two days later I went back to Koduduo, but the crux was still wet and I thought it would probably not dry out anytime soon. I thought my battle with Koduduo was over, but I tr ied to take what the locals, who had survived Kinabalu for generations, said to heart and decided to do my best with the time that remained. I opened a new 400 metre, 5.10c, in the local paran paran, ‘slowly, slowly,’ style. All that night a cold wind blew, the weather cleared, and the rock dr ied. The next morning the cold wind was still blowing, so I told Mitchy that I would give Koduduo one last try.

As I took advantage of a break in chaotic weather and lowered in, it looked like the crux holds were dry. I got to work and practiced the

I SANK TO THE GROUND. THE LACK OF OXYGEN PREVENTED ME FROM TALKING. I LOOKED BACK AND REALIZED THAT I HAD JUST COMPLETED MY DREAM. I SAVOURED THE EXPERIENCE OF TURNING A VISION FROM A PHOTO I HAD SEEN IN 2003 INTO A REALITY. I WAS HAPPY TO THE VERY CORE OF MY BEING.

crux section for the first time on that trip. I climbed it without falling. My motivation skyrocketed and I started to plan my next try. Somehow the ever-present numbness in my fingers faded and I twice managed to stick my previous high point. Nevertheless, my dreams came crashing down as my left hand suddenly slipped off the crux hold.The trip ended.

Nine months later, June 10, 2012, we made our way back to Kinabalu. Other climbers had joined our tr ip, Daniel Woods and Chuck Fryberger from the U.S., Britain’s James Pearson, France’s Caroline Ciavaldini, and of course Mitchy.

Our approach to climbing on Kinabalu was to be different. After five hours of hiking we stopped at the Pendant Hut for one night to acclimatize. The weather turned bad and we hunkered down in our sleeping bags. Visions of the incessant bad weather from the previous September began rolling around in my head, but I didn’t want the others to think that the weather would remain so I put on a good face and said, “The weather changes quick here and even if it rains hard, you can always get about three or four hours of climbing in per day. ”Then the temperature in the hut dropped. I could see my breath, but I continued to look everyone in the eye and throw around positive sounding phrases, “When the sun comes out, it gets really warm,” and “Today is colder than usual.” Everyone seemed to be speaking nervously about the weather, but there was also an overriding sense of expectation regarding climbing at 4,000 metres that brightened their faces. It was under these conflicting emotions that we set off into the blustery storm and hiked to Sayat Sayat Hut at 3,500 metres.

We were stiff from the cold as we lowered our bags to the floor of the shack. There was nothing to do, so we waited for the weather to change and I could feel everyone’s unease begin to grow as the winds raged outside. We went to take a look at some of the cliffs when there was a break in the snow, but the weather wasn’t good enough to climb. “Yuji, what do you think will happen with the weather?”

everyone asked. I simply said, “I don’t know,” and then I prayed. That’s when a funny thing happened, spurred on by an overabundance of energy, after having not climbed for almost a week, Woods suddenly started doing chin-ups. I joined in and before you know it we were all doing them. James began doing push-ups and Caroline showed me a strange type of sit-up that caught everyone’s attention, it soon became almost like a competition and I really felt that this type of passion was great for the group. Once the energy level in the room dissipated we sat around chatting and there was a real sense of unity among us. It was great, but I must say that doing this type of training at altitude left some of us feeling a little sore the next day. The sit-ups in particular may have affected us negatively for a day or two. On the other hand, the pain associated with this type of ‘communication’ undoubtedly brought us closer together and I could sense that that was a good thing.

Then, at long last, on June 14, the weather cleared. With fears of poor weather still swirling in my head, I took everyone to the Donkey Ears. Given that it was our first day we decided to each bolt up an easy new line. Woods and Ciavaldini both bolted lines on Donkey Ears East. Ciavaldini seemed to have had some exper ience bolting, but Woods did not, so finding the line and placing the bolts correctly was a challenge. What was most interesting was the line that each of them chose. The lines definitely reflected their climbing styles and exper ience. Ciavaldini put four bolts into a shallow 15 metre corner that looked like it would go at about 5.11, while Woods dr illed a five bolt line up the arête to the left that targeted Ciavaldini’s anchor. To be honest both of these lines were on a section of rock that I hadn’t even considered on my previous tr ips and it was at precisely this point that I understood the char m and distinctive characteristics of each of these fantastic climbers.

The route that Ciavaldini thought would be a walk ended up spitting her off on the first few moves. After some work, Ciavaldini became frustrated and gave up. Pearson worked it and figured out the delicate moves. He worked his way to the top before throwing an unavoidable double-dyno from a precarious position. Pearson managed a perfect redpoint of the line later that day and produced the first route of this tour, Apuri Manan, which means Feeling, 5.13d. What was most amazing to me was to watch Ciavaldini complete the line, double-dyno and all, just a few days later. Her spir ited approach to such a difficult line really made me admire her.

Woods got used to bolting and, in the same way as with Apuri Manan, I began to see the brilliance of a line that I had previously ignored. His route, Enter da Void, 5.14b, is a slightly widening arête. In the vast expanse

that is Kinabalu it seemed appropriate that Woods, the boulderer, would find such a short and powerful route. He was inspired by Pearson’s ascent of Apuri Manan and sent on the same day, June 15.

On June 17, I decided to head to Oyayubi Iwa. After nine months I couldn’t quite remember all the nuances of the route: how to link the really technical sections, the cor rect breathing, and the proper mental preparation. I did remember the pain of only seeing the crux holds dry out for a single day, so I wanted to perfect all the moves as quickly as possible. I put in three hours to get the moves dialed. I worr ied that it felt much harder to link large sections of the route. I tr ied to stay positive and put it down to not being acclimatized, especially since this type of endurance route requires far greater acclimatization than a pure power line. After three hours I was making progress and decided that I would take one day of rest and give the route my all.

After warming up, I had Mitchy lower me down to the belay station. I focused on breathing deeply to compensate for the altitude and soon reached the rest at the end of the 5.13d section. I recovered reasonably well, but I knew that soon after leaving the rest I would feel the cruel pump associated with climbing at altitude. After a few minutes I left the rest feeling better. I put my heart and soul into the next 10 moves and I snagged the hold that had spit me off on most of my previous attempts. I was shaking violently as I barely managed to link the moves through the crux, but Fryberger later said “Geez Yuji, you actually shook out on the crux hold.” That is definitely not how I remember it. It was the once in a lifetime chance I had been training for, and I do remember that I didn’t want to waste it.

After getting through the crux there I made it to the second and third rest. I had to take longer and longer to recover and Mitchy later told me that he thought it might be over at the third one. My forearms were more pumped and tired than I had ever felt them. As I tr ied to recover at each rest, visions of the road that led me here kept swimming through my taxed mind. I latched on to images of the Great Easter n Japan Earthquake in 2011, the ter r ible weather and my failures last fall, and I knew that everything came down to that one chance. My forearms felt like lead all dur ing the remaining 20 metres of 5.13c. I made my way towards the anchor through a technical bouldery-section and a couple of balancy moves on slightly overhanging ter rain. The more moves I put together the more I felt my body begin to fail. I concentrated on putting one hand in front of the other and using my whole body and spir it to stay on the wall. Before I could comprehend what had happened I was at the anchor.

I sank to the ground. The lack of oxygen prevented me from talking. I looked back and realized that I had just completed my dream. I savoured the experience of turning a vision from a photo I had seen in 2003 into a reality. I was happy to the very core of my being. Before my breathing had returned to normal all I could think of doing was to tell everyone back in Japan who had shown me such amazing support, that I had succeeded. I wanted to light a fire in everyone’s heart. Mitchy looked as happy as I felt as he jumared. He simply said, “Congratulations,” as the thundering sound of my own heart slowly faded away.