MOUNT GILUWE
LAND OF THE GIANTS
At first I thought it was someone trying to gently wake me from my sleep.
My body rocked from side to side ever so slightly.
But the shaking became more violent and as became fully conscious, I felt the vibration again.
This time I could tell the epicenter was coming from just outside my tent.
It was then that I could hear screaming coming from the porters tent.
“What the hell was going on?”
“Ever mountain and peak for 100 miles around was visible above cloud-filled valleys. The morning sun created stark contrasts as it rose”
Michael Leahy 1934, PNG
Giluwe is PNG’s second highest peak standing at 4361 meters. But being second is never a headline and so Giluwe has another string in its bow, another claim to fame that makes it a mountain that must be visited.
Mt Giluwe is the highest volcanic peak in Australasia. For those that wish to bag the highest volcanoes on each continent (much like those that wish to climb the highest mountains on each continent) Giluwe is a prized possession. It is set deep in the Papua New Guinea Highlands, visited by only a handful of trekkers every year.
On my first visit to Giluwe, I quickly discovered the sheer beauty of the mountain, its brighter, lighter side and its harsh and potentially dangerous side as I was caught in a lightening storm on an exposed ridge at 3800 meters.
I also realised that there was not one man made object on the mountain. No huts, no seats, no camp fires. Nothing! For 200 square kilometers, Giluwe is a hermits haven.
So I returned, determined to do something that noone had ever done before.
Our group, made up of Australian adventurers and men from a local village, set out to not only climb to the top of Giluwe but then make a traverse of the massif. As far as my research had found, the massif had been climbed but everyone went up and back the same way.
The Leahy brothers; explorers and prospectors from the 1930’s were the first to climb Giluwe (then known as Keluwere), but they did the same as everyone else, up and back.
After engaging 10 men from Molge village at the base of the massif, my research was confirmed. They, nor their fathers had ever walked from one side of the mountain to the other. In fact they weren’t particularly enamored about the prospect, and over the ensuing days would privately try and talk me out of the idea. At times, their seeds of doubt did enter my mind, only to be shaken off by a determination to achieve our goal.
Ultimately our cohort of adventurers would be made up of Australians, Koiari men from along the Kokoda Track, Hagen men from Mt Hagen and Molge men from Giluwe. A patchwork of cultures and languages and beliefs. But it all seemed to work.
The Mountain
There are 3 distinct eco zones on the Giluwe massif.
From 1800 meters to 3600, thick jungle prevails. Cuscus, tree kangaroo and bird of paradise call these trees their home.
Without warning the thick and at times suffocating canopy ends at 3600 meters and open savannah spreads out for as far as the eye can see. Its is like watching a Super 8 home movie in the jungle and then suddenly one is thrown into an IMAX cinema as the trees stop and grassland spreads out from ridge to ridge.
The third zone is around the 4300 meter mark when the grass starts to fall away and the peaks explode toward the heavens in a rocky display, exposing their violent heritage.
During the last Ice Age 15000 years ago, Giluwe had the largest ice cap of any mountain in PNG.
Glaciers spilled down the mountain on every side, grinding huge valleys out of the volcanic stone that had been pushed up from the earth’s depths.
As the glaciers retreated, small mountain lakes and ponds, known as tarns, were left behind. Thousands of these can be best seen at sunset or sunrise as the light catches their surface and reflects the light, brighter than the darkened earth surface surrounding them.
Now there is no longer any ice cap, only an enormous bald massif and a summit that is soon to be summitted by our spirited adventurers.
Our Posse
An eclectic group of adventurers had gathered on the mountain.
There was Kathryn an Australian now living in Canada and working as a travel agent. She had done Kokoda with us and often travelled on her own.
Then there were Coral and Matt (a young outward bound couple). This was their first trip abroad and they were blown away by the sheer size and height of the massif. Everything was a first for them and as such blew their mind.
There was Bob from Perth, an old hand at PNG. Every holiday he had spare he would venture there to do a trek. He was one of the first to traverse Mt Wilhelm and the Kapa Kapa trail, a true pioneer and always ready for a chat.
Al Grasby and Nigel (Pearson) were also old hands of PNG, best of mates who both had very successful businesses back in Melbourne. Down to earth, they were out there living the dream of adventure before age caught up with them.
Finally there was Adrian, a young up and coming adventurer who had started his own expedition business. He was there to assist me in all things technical such as fire and climbing ropes. This was his first exploration trek.
Of the local men there were several that were important on the expedition.
The first was Jack, a Koiari from the village of Kagi along the Kokoda Track. He worked with me as our Public Relations Officer. He was a man of the people. I have been friends with Jack for many years and I am yet to see him out of his depth. No matter what the situation, he would assess it and then become involved in it. He was instrumental in negotiating with the Molgi landowners to access Giluwe and to employ some of their men folk.
Of the Molge there was Brockie (his real name was Peter). A quietly spoken man, he became my right hand man on this expedition, looking after a drone that I was carrying and giving me softly spoken advice about directions and at times doubt about the goal of the trek. He had never done the walk over “the other side” and was quite nervous about the whole affair.
Then there was the cheeky Ezekiel. He could be seen as a Jack equivalent without the experience. At first he was our go to man, though we soon discovered that Brockie and Isaac were the men with real knowledge.
Finally, there was Isaac. He was the last man we employed at Molge only because he had spent the night before in the bush hunting Cuscus. As we were leaving Molge village he was coming in and insisted he be part of the team. Fierce looking with tightly knitted hair, a wide nose and a rough appearance and demeanor, Isaac would eventually become the man we looked to for advice and direction. He knew the mountain, he knew the weather and he knew as we would find out later, the spirits.
The 3 Koiari men were there to get the basics done. Cook the food and rally the other porters who had no experience at carrying for largish groups. They gave me a sense of belonging as I had worked with them for over a decade, their familiar faces comforting.
Finally there were the Hagen men. 15 all up. None of them had ever been a porter and only few had spent much time in the bush as Hagen had become quite a large town (the third largest in PNG). They were tough men but they didn’t understand the mountain like the Molge men. They were high spirited, ever ready to help if only they knew what that was. Thus they were as out of their depth as the Australians, including myself.
At camp each group would form a small enclave, Hagen men there, Molge men there, Koiari over there and the white people over there. As the trip went on and people got to know each other, these invisible barriers slowly broke down.
Back to the Story!
The morning after we summited Giluwe, we were to set out on the great traverse.
One could feel the sense of unwillingness from the Molge men to undertake what we wanted to do.
Initially we wanted to go directly over the saddle that connected the two 4000m peaks that dominate the Giluwe massif. But after seeing what appeared to be an enormous cliff near the bottom of the valley we decided to skirt around this and take the next valley across.
Still, Brockie didn’t want to go, nor did Ezekiel. I could see them consulting Isaac constantly for direction. Although he had never been this side of the mountain he knew the general idea and gave the other Molge men some comfort in what they were doing.
The weather for the first 5 days was perfect, blue skies, cool nights. We set out in similar conditions, back up to the main trail and then headed south east on what would be an entirely new route.
Clouds started to roll in as we reached the ridge we were going to descend from. We spent at least an hour there waiting for the clouds to clear to give us a view down. None of the local men wanted to make a decision. So I made it for us. I could see a spur that spread far down the side of the massif, several hundred meters further into the rainforest than any other direction. We really wanted to stay in open grassland as far as possible so we could see where we were going so this was the way we went.
Our highly spirited Australians, buoyed by their summit day the day before, led the way.
By midday, drizzle had set it and then heavy rain. We couldn’t go any further so Adrian and I walked further ahead to find a place to camp. The ground was sodden everywhere. Small clumps were dry but nowhere was good for camp except for a small gully that had a slightly raised centre.
An outcrop of trees bordered it, making it the only possible place to call our home for the night. Everyone was happy we had settled on a camp even though it was early afternoon.
We all struggled to find our own place to set up tents. The Hagen boys started a small fire in the forest using a condom (the lubricant is very flammable) and started to chop down small trees for wood. Everyone was cold and wet.
By late afternoon the skies has cleared and the high spirit among the Hagen boys had returned. They were singing and laughing, warm, now they had set up a group tent just inside the tree line.
I could see Brockie talking with Jack about something and then Jack going over to the Hagen boys, I guess to pass on what Brockie had said.
They quietened down momentarily though within 10 minutes they were all laughing again. Everyone except the Molge men felt that we had finished our trip.
We could see the tree line and then from there it would be a 10 kilometer hike through the jungle. Ignorance is bliss! The 3 Molge men kept to themselves. I just thought they were exhausted.
Night has come
Al and Nigel went to bed early that night, tired from the previous days hiking. The remainder stayed awake dreaming of the next big adventure, Kathlyn was off to Iran to climb a mountain there, Matt and Coral started to see there was more to life than Outward Bound, Bob a walk in the Kimberley and Adrian some wild snow machine trip across Russia.
There were mixed feelings as we knew this was the last night above the tree line; something everyone enjoyed. The group savored the moment before heading to their respective tents.
Which brings us to where we started this story.
The Giant Has Come
The deep rumbling vibration passed.
The moist ground splashed on my tent like someone had thrown a bucket of water on it.
The screaming continued from the porters.
As I opened the tent zipper, the earth shook again, this time from near the porters tent.
More yelling, more commotion.
I finally opened both the inner and the fly and extracted myself in a not so elegant fashion from my tent. On all fours, with sodden hands and knees and almost out of breathe, I looked toward the porter tent to see it shaking.
And then as soon as it had started, it stopped.
No shaking. No screaming. No yelling.
I turned my head torch on and approached the Porters tent with trepidation, fearful of what I would see inside. I slowly slid my hand behind the blue tarp that was used as the roof and the door and then, quick as a flash, whipped it open hoping to catch whoever was making the noise by surprise.
What greeted me was a room, wall to wall, of snoozing porters. I had to rub my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. Only seconds before sounds of terror had come from this place and now everyone was asleep. Maybe I had dreamt all of this, imagined it! Wow what a dream.
I took myself back to my tent and for a while, with adrenalin still pumping through my system I lay there wondering what had happened. I could then hear Jack and the Koiari men softly talking in their tent. I am sure I heard Jack say “Has it gone”?
I fell back to sleep with the resolve to pursue an answer in the morning.
The Next Day
The sun rose with clear skies giving us unsurpassed views of Mt Wilhelm in the distance.
Porters emerged from their tents silently, not a word said.
This was very strange. No laughter, no joviality, no playful taunting. Hmmm!
Just then I heard the first sound of the outside world in days; Al’s phone. I looked toward him and saw his hand quickly grab his face as his body seemed to collapse beneath him. Sobbing ensued. Nigel placing his arm around Al’s shoulder.
Through tears, Al would tell us that his 22 year old godson had passed away overnight. Tragedy had struck Al’s life and now his surrogate Giluwe family would have to carry him through the remainder of the trip, to get him back home as quick as possible.
My focus now, was on Al and his mental state. It took us another 2 days to get off the mountain, two days that must have felt like eternity to Al.
On the last day we made our way toward the small village of Imbonggu, our final destination and a road. As we entered the village we were greeted with looks of bewilderment even astonishment. No-one had ever seen a group of white people come that way, let alone men from Molge. We met an old man in the village who once again reconfirmed our initial intention, that no one had traversed the Giluwe massif.
The Molge and Hagen men couldn’t believe what they had done. They danced and jumped in jubilation on the road while the Koiari took it in their stride.
Al was as upbeat as he could be and the other Australians stood around smiling, delighted they had undertaken such a great adventure. Before too long Al was on a flight from Hagen and home. The rest of us relaxed in a small village 15 minutes from Hagen town and the Molge and Hagen boys had returned home. By the time I had remembered my dream of the giant, I was back home in Melbourne.
Six Months Later
Six months later I returned to Papua New Guinea to start work on our next adventure, the first ever traverse of Mt Kabangama (4100 meters) and Mt Kubor (3969 meters), situated between Mt Wilhelm and Mt Giluwe.
Jack and I flew to Hagen and headed out down the Waghi Valley toward Kabangama.
While eating that night, Jack would tell me something I would never forget.
He started slowly with a tentative “Remember the camp site on Giluwe just above the tree line”?
He looked at me, unsure whether to continue.
“Well that night I was woken by big vibrations on the ground like a giant was walking outside my tent. Boom boom boom. I heard it three times Peter”.
He must of sensed my disbelief as he continued with conviction.
“It’s true Peter! I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to upset the trekkers. And then the porters told me something.”
“Yes” I urged him on.
“They didn’t want me to say anything and then when that terrible thing happened to Al, they certainly didn’t want anything said. But that night when the giant walked past my tent, one of the porters started floating above the ground and toward the door of the tent. All the other porters with him were yelling and screaming, grabbing him and pulling him back to the ground. And then it all ended.”
“But why did it happen”? I asked
“The Molge men asked the Hagen men to be quiet and not to chop down too many trees for fire. They didn’t listen and so the giant came to take one of them.” Jack replied.
So I wasn’t dreaming; something did happen that night on Giluwe. I didn’t tell Jack my experience, I’m not sure why. Maybe it was years of being the rational westerner that I was trying to protect.
Who knows, but as far as I’m concerned something very strange happened that night on Giluwe, something I can’t rationalise.
