Chapter 8. Finding Myself on the Trail.

Every journey has a moment when the body finally rests but the mind keeps walking. For this Mount Ungaran climb, that moment came after we had returned to basecamp, put down our backpacks, and stretched out under the pine trees. The hardest work was over. The cool morning air moved gently through the branches above us, and the noise of other hikers faded into a soft background hum. Lying there, with tired legs and a quiet heart, the whole night and morning began to replay in my mind not as separate scenes, but as one woven story.

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum

What started as a simple plan for a tektok hike had become something much more personal. Before the trip, I had thought mostly about the practical details: what time to leave, what to pack, which route to take, how much the ticket would cost. During the climb, my focus shifted to the next step, the next post, the next breath. But in the calm after everything, the deeper questions finally had space to speak. Why did this mountain feel so special? What had it really given me, besides sore legs and beautiful photos?

One of the clearest lessons was patience. On the trail, there is no shortcut to the top. You cannot jump from basecamp straight to Puncak Botak. You have to pass Pintu Rimba, Pos 1, Pos 2, Bondolan, and every small, hidden corner in between. There were moments when the climb felt slow and endless, especially in the dark, when it seemed like we were walking but not getting anywhere. Yet, step by step, the distance quietly disappeared beneath our feet. It reminded me that in life, too, progress often feels invisible while it is happening. Only when you look back do you realise how far you have actually come.

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum

Another lesson was about teamwork and companionship. This was not a solo journey. Every laugh, every shared snack, every “Are you okay?” on the trail helped carry us forward. When someone’s pace slowed, the others adjusted. When my legs shook on the way down, my friends’ laughter turned my embarrassment into a funny memory instead of a shameful one. When my cousin dashed down the trail in search of a bathroom, the story became a piece of collective comedy. The mountain showed how much easier it is to face tiredness, cold, and doubt when you are surrounded by people who are willing to walk beside you, not ahead of you.

The climb also sharpened my attention to small details. In everyday life, it is easy to rush and overlook tiny, beautiful things. On the mountain, those small things stood out clearly: the sound of pine needles under our feet, the thin line of light that first appeared on the horizon, the way morning fog moved like slow breath across distant hills, the feeling of warm tea in cold hands. These details might seem simple, but together they created a strong memory. The experience taught me to slow down and notice to treat each small moment as something worth seeing, not just something to pass through on the way to “something bigger.”

Perhaps the most important realisation, however, was about the meaning of adventure itself. Before this trip, it was easy to think of adventure as something dramatic: conquering a high summit, breaking personal records, doing something impressive enough to post online. On Mount Ungaran, the idea quietly changed. Adventure became less about conquering the mountain and more about meeting myself along the trail. It appeared in the decision to keep walking when my body wanted to stop, in the choice to laugh at difficulties instead of complaining, and in the courage to leave the comfort of routine for one cold, uncertain night outdoors.

Photos Taken by Nisa Arum

The mountain also whispered a gentle reminder about responsibility. The clean air, the clear paths, the quiet forest, and the wide, open views only exist because so many people choose to care for this place. Hiking is not just about taking memories and photos. It is also about leaving the trail better, or at least no worse, than we found it. That means carrying our trash back down, respecting plants and animals, being kind to local communities, and remembering that the mountain is not a playground built for us it is a living place we are allowed to visit for a short time.

When I think back on this climb now, what stays with me most strongly is not the exact height of the peak or the number of hours we walked. It is the feeling of standing in the thin, chilly air, looking out at the silhouettes of Sindoro and Sumbing, and realising that I had discovered a quieter, braver version of myself. The girl who left Yogyakarta that night came back a little different: more patient, more grateful, and more aware of how much beauty exists just beyond the edge of comfort.

In the end, Mount Ungaran did not just give me a story to tell; it gave me a small mirror. Somewhere between the city lights, the forest gate, the sunrise at Bondolan, the summit of Puncak Botak, and the shaky-legged descent back to basecamp, I found a piece of myself that had been waiting there all along. And maybe that is what adventure truly is not the act of standing on top of a mountain, but the quiet discovery of who you become on the way there and back again.