I had thrown the packet of Heong Peah into the top of my rucksack rather absentmindedly: more as a way of getting rid of the ever-growing food store accumulating at home than as emergency rations. Now as the four of us threw down our bags from tired frustration at being lost in the jungle, the sweet crunchy pastry was what we chewed on hungrily before we backtracked on our quest to locate the waterfall and campsite known as Lubuk Kawah.
WA’s GPS, a whole lot of topographical guesswork, plus a stubbornness to tramp somewhat aimlessly on abandoned logging tracks was why the GPS screen in front of us had two points, one marked “Lubuk Kawah” and another that informed us very,very precisely how wrong we were currently positioned in distance and elevation. Don’t you love technology telling you not just that you’re wrong but exactly how wrong. Our wayward journey was thankfully halted when we came to the site of a massive landslide that covered the path like a giant foot on an ant trail.
Making a heong peah-fueled U-turn, we located the spot where we were supposed to have crossed the river. The rain however had swollen the river heavily and we decided to pitch our tents instead of risking a crossing in the fading light. We hacked our camp grounds out of the grass and shrub on the crest of a hill and in the middle of the logging track. The ground was rocky and tent pegs had to be weighted down with rocks as there was no way to drive them into the shallow soil. Yet, it was better than the muddy ground nearer to the river.
Our dinner menu read barbeque and the mutton and potatoes were soon roasting over a wood fire which my brother and sister fanned. It brought to mind our first camping trip with WA years ago and how we had reduced our lovingly marinated barbeque chicken to crunchy black wafers with the mistaken belief that anything foil-wrapped cannot get burnt.
The mutton was much better fare this time round, and we washed it all down with 2 parts milo and one part coffee, sipped out of rectangular, soot-blackened mess tins. There was a mild lingering lamb aftertaste in the milo as lamb-plate mess tin transformed instantly into milo-cup mess tin. Ah, the magic of camping.
Thereafter, a short trek to the river with the dishes in one hand, our toiletries in the other and our torchlights between our teeth. Rivers and camping are always governed by two rules: First, if upstream, be considerate of the poor fella brushing his teeth downstream. Do to others what you want them to do to you. Or in this case, don’t do. Secondly, do everything in proper sequence. And it’s not only sequential; it has to be logical. For us this meant the dishes first, followed by a short body dip and scrub, toothbrushing and finally collecting water to boil for drinking.
Now, for the logic part. Logically the water is cleanest when we first come to the river; before anyone has stirred the water. But then the pot hasn’t been washed yet, so it can’t be used to store water without the dishes being done. At which point, the pot comes in handy as a hold-all for the just-washed utensils. You can’t put them on the dirty floor. Then, of course since you’re already scrubbing and washing, why not yourself. A brief “I aaamm CONAN/ this is SPaARrRTA/ AAARRGGGhhh!!” (basically, anything to pump you up for the freezing water) and you plunge in, then scrub feverishly with soap and shampoo. After which, you brush your teeth as you won’t want to make another trip to the river in the dark to do so. Before heading up, you remember you need water for boiling so you transfer most of the utensils into the smaller mess tins/ hands and fill the pot up from where the water flows fastest (to reduce chances of soap and toothpaste contamination).With everything in hand, so its time to head back up to camp. Logic.
We noticed the water was receding and we were quite hopeful for the next day’s crossing. Lubuk Kawah was near, we could feel it!
