Chapter 7. Laughing Our Way Back Down.

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum

Going down a mountain is often described as “the easy part,” but anyone who has felt their legs shake on a steep descent knows that is only half true. After spending some time at Puncak Botak, enjoying the view and taking our photos, it was finally time to head back down toward basecamp. The excitement of reaching the summit slowly shifted into a different kind of energy: a mix of relief, tiredness, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that the hardest climbing was behind us. We adjusted our backpacks, tightened our shoelaces, and turned our faces away from the sky and back toward the trail that had brought us up.

The first few steps down felt almost too easy. Gravity, which we had been fighting all night and morning, now worked in our favor. Our feet moved more quickly, and our bodies relaxed a little. But very soon, the reality of descent made itself clear. The same steep sections that had made us breathe hard on the way up now tested our knees and thighs in a different way. Each step required balance and control. If going up had been about pushing forward, going down was about slowing down, choosing each step carefully so as not to slip on loose rocks or damp soil.

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum

As we continued, the trail passed familiar spots we had met in the dark: open patches of grass, clusters of trees, and narrow, winding sections that cut across the slope. Seeing them in daylight felt almost strange, like meeting old friends whose faces you had only known in shadow. The views that had been invisible on the way up were now open and bright hills layered in soft greens, valleys stretching into the distance, and small hints of villages far below. Yet, even with such beauty spreading out around us, most of our attention stayed on the ground right in front of our feet. Tired legs and a steep path are not the best combination for daydreaming.

About halfway down, the real comedy of the descent began. The muscles that had carried us all the way to the top started to protest with every step. My legs, in particular, began to shake uncontrollably, as if they had decided to dance without asking for permission. At first, it was a little worrying, but the way they trembled so dramatically made my friends burst into laughter. Their laughter was contagious. Soon we were all laughing together, even as we carefully picked our way down the trail. It was one of those moments when exhaustion and joy mixed into something light and unforgettable.

We stopped at Pos 3 for one last proper break. Dropping our backpacks to the ground felt incredibly good. We sat down, stretched our legs, and opened whatever snacks were still left in our bags. The mood was different from our earlier stops. There was less nervousness and more of a “we really did it” feeling. The conversations turned playful and a little silly, fuelled by tiredness and the relief of knowing that Basecamp was getting closer. We finished the remaining biscuits and sweets, not wanting to carry anything extra now that our bodies were busy complaining.

Then came one of the funniest moments of the whole trip. Just as we were getting ready to continue, my cousin suddenly stood up with a very serious expression and announced that he really needed a bathroom. There was no proper toilet in sight, only the trail and the trees. Without waiting too long, he hurried off down the path at surprising speed, almost sprinting compared to our slow, careful descent. The rest of us looked at each other and then burst out laughing again. Watching him disappear down the trail, driven by pure desperation, turned our tired steps into a moving comedy show.

We followed at a more reasonable pace, our laughter keeping us awake and light-hearted. Moments like that are what turn a simple hike into a shared story that friends will retell for years. The descent, which could have felt long and monotonous, became one of the most memorable parts of the trip precisely because of these small, imperfect, human moments: shaky legs, sudden bathroom emergencies, and jokes that made our sides hurt more than the climb itself.

As the trail grew gentler and the forest began to thin out, we knew that basecamp was close. The air felt warmer, and the sounds of birds and distant voices replaced the quiet, high-mountain silence. When the first signs of Perantunan basecamp came into view, a wave of relief washed over the group. Two hours after leaving the summit area, we finally stepped back onto the flat ground of basecamp tired, a little dirty, but deeply satisfied. We put down our backpacks and lay under the shade of the pine trees, letting the cool morning air brush over our faces.

Lying there, looking up at the branches above us, the whole night and morning replayed in the mind like a film: the dark start, the pine forest, the sunrise at Bondolan, the wide view from Puncak Botak, and the hilarious, wobbly journey back down. It felt good to know that our bodies had carried us through all of it. This chapter belongs to this return journey the part where the mountain gently hands you back to the world below, not with silence and seriousness, but with shaking legs, loud laughter, and the kind of tired happiness that only comes after a long, shared adventure.