110kg of Dehydration

As our eyes and ears adjusted from our heavy slumber, we were awakened to another beautiful day in the Cameron Highlands. Breakfast was freshly made strawberry oatmeal porridge, put together by the nicest locals we have met thus far. They worthiness for a mention stems from the fact that they are both deaf, and do everything to communicate with us. The bond made with this lovely couple over our few days will be one that we will never forget.

Anyway, I digress. Our day would be spent on another treck in the highlands. Jim and myself set off for the tourist information booth to find another treck similar to our previous adventure of fallen logs etc. We were instructed to take path 10 and move onto path 12. Fine we say. As we walked back to our humble abode, we men beat our chests with satisfying might.

The path soon became nothing more than a narrow dirt track possibly made by a particularly large snail.

Getting our gear together, we set out happy and full of smiles and general banter. Upon starting, we soon found ourselves huffing and puffing up an extremely large and forboding mountain side. (we soon realised that we were on the treck for those who are well and truly physically fit. ( no need to let you know that none of us were able to fit into that catagory.) Ness and I were the first to experience Malaysian stinging nettles. (I can assure you, some choice Australian insults were spat out for the next 15 minutes waiting for the pain to subside.) Australia has beasts that kill. Malaysia has plant life.

Finally arriving at the mountain peak 5000 feet above sea level, we sucked in huge lungfulls of fresh mountain air as we waited for a heart rate to return to a non-audible beating in our chests. Once we replaced all the lost liquid from our bodies, we set off to find our way down the mountain. As the scout of the group, I set off to find the path to lead us back to civilisation.

Finding a slighly overgrown path, I called 'Team Bat' to continue behind me. The path soon became nothing more than a narrow dirt track possibly made by a particularly large snail. Sensing the need to go on, we persisted with small foot holes and even less to grip by hand.

The sound of running water gave hope to those in the group that started to panic. (No names, but I'm sure you can guess) Following the stream, we came to a vertical drop, with no way to go but back up. The group (except for the 110kg boofhead) found going back up a lot easier than going down. I was soon dripping with sweat, covered from head to toe with scratches from the vicious plants in the jungle. Seeing stars, I knew things were serious. My whole body ached and my mind was playing tricks.

The team pulled together and allowed me to set the pace.  Slow going, breaking the pain barrier, we soon reached the spot where we re-grouped initially. "Will I live?", I hear you say. Well I'm writing, arn't I? Knowing better than to play the hero male, I stopped, got my shit together, (for want of a better term) sipped my water, had some chocolate and told my legs that we'll soon be home. (even though I looked like I had been in the jungle for 2 weeks).

Back at the ranch, we got some food, drank some rehydration fluid and generally took it easy. Have no fear, my loyal readers. We still managed to drink around the bonfire till the wee hours of the morning. The show must go on. Cheerio!