Chapter 4. Stepping Into the Dark

 

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum 

At 2:30 AM, the moment finally arrived to trade the safety of basecamp for the mystery of the trail. The world around us was mostly silent, broken only by low conversations and the occasional clink of trekking poles. We tightened our backpacks one last time, switched on our headlamps, and lined up at the start of the path. The small circles of light in front of our feet felt like gateways, guiding us into the darkness that hid everything beyond a few meters. With our first steps, the night swallowed the sounds of basecamp behind us and opened into a new, quieter world.

The cool mountain air immediately wrapped around us, sharper than the air at basecamp. Each breath felt cleaner and a little colder, rising in small white clouds when we laughed or spoke. Walking in the dark required more attention than walking in daylight. The trail that might seem obvious under the sun became a thin, uncertain line under our headlamps. We moved slowly, finding a rhythm: step, breathe, check the ground, look ahead. The advice often given for night hiking keep your pace steady, use your light wisely, and stay alert to your surroundings suddenly made perfect sense in practice.​

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum

Even though it was still very early, we were not alone on the trail. Small groups of hikers moved ahead of us or behind us, their headlamps forming a moving chain of lights that climbed gently upward. Sometimes we passed other hikers and exchanged soft greetings; other times we fell into step behind a group, letting their pace guide ours. The presence of other people added a feeling of safety and companionship. Many guides recommend hiking at night with a group rather than alone, both for safety and for the comfort of knowing that help is nearby if something goes wrong.​

The path itself was easy to follow but not completely forgiving. Roots, rocks, and uneven steps appeared suddenly at the edge of the light. Hiking at night meant paying closer attention to every foot placement, checking the ground before stepping, and avoiding the temptation to rush. Night hiking tips often emphasise taking your time and not treating the trail like a race, because moving too fast can easily lead to a twisted ankle or a fall when visibility is limited. Our group adopted this mindset naturally, pausing often to make sure everyone was comfortable with the pace.​

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum

After a short walk, about seven minutes from basecamp, we reached Pintu Rimba as a symbolic “forest gate” that marks the transition from open area to deeper woods. The tall pine trees around us stood like silent guardians, their trunks rising into darkness beyond the reach of our lights. The air grew cooler and more fragrant, filled with the clean scent of wet soil and pine needles. In this part of the trail, the world felt both close and vast at the same time: close because our headlamps only lit a small circle around us, vast because everything beyond that circle disappeared into shadow and imagination.

As we continued, the trail guided us toward Pos 1 Watu Omah, our first small checkpoint. The path undulated gently, sometimes tilting upward in short climbs that made our legs work harder. When we stopped talking, the only sounds were the soft crunch of our steps and the distant, muffled movements of other hikers. Following common night-hiking advice, we tried to stay on the main trail, resisted shortcuts, and stayed aware of the reflective markers and signs that confirmed we were heading in the right direction. Each marker offered a tiny piece of reassurance in the dim light.​

Reaching Pos

Reaching Pos 1 brought a sense of progress. It was a simple spot, but seeing the sign and the small clearing around it made the climb feel more structured. We took a brief pause to drink water, adjust our layers, and check on each other. Small breaks like this are often recommended for night hikes, not only to rest the body but also to reset vision and awareness, especially when the eyes have been fixed on a narrow beam of light for a long time. After a few minutes, we switched our headlamps back to brighter mode and continued toward Pos 2.​

The stretch between Pos 1 and Pos 2 felt a little steeper and more demanding. Our breathing grew heavier, and conversations became shorter. Sometimes we joked to lighten the mood; other times we simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The darkness made distances feel longer, but it also removed distractions. Without views to look at, attention turned inward to the rhythm of the heart, the warmth in the legs, and the quiet thoughts passing through the mind. Many people describe sunrise hikes as a mental as well as physical experience, a moving meditation that unfolds step by step.​

By the time we reached Pos 2, the black sky had softened just slightly, hinting that dawn was somewhere on its way. We used this post as another rest point, pulling out snacks and taking a few longer sips of water. Eating during a night hike can be easy to forget, which is why many guides remind hikers to schedule regular snack breaks to keep energy levels stable and prevent sudden fatigue. Sitting there, we shared biscuits and small jokes, our headlamps turned to lower brightness so as not to blind each other. The tiredness that had started to creep in was balanced by a growing excitement: we were getting closer.​

Leaving Pos 2, we aimed for Bondolan, knowing it would be our first major reward of the climb. The trail continued upward, sometimes gentle, sometimes more challenging, but always manageable as long as we respected our pace. In the distance, we could already see a faint band of lighter grey along the horizon. That thin line of almost-morning pulled us forward. Chapter 4 belongs to this part of the journey: the quiet, careful steps through darkness, the soft circles of light on the ground, and the slow, steady realisation that sunrise and the heart of the mountain experience was no longer just a plan, but something waiting for us just ahead.