Mount Kinabalu, standing at 4095m, it is the highest peak in Malaysia, and one of Southeast Asia most iconic mountains. Located in Kinabalu Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in Sabah Malaysia, the mountain is famed for its striking granite peaks, diverse landscapes, and rich biodiversity. From lush rainforests at the base to bare granite slopes near the summit, every step reveals a different side of nature beauty. Climbing Mount Kinabalu is not just a physical challenge. It is a journey through clouds, forests, and self discovery.

My first mountain hike was a wild mix of emotions : excitement, nerves, and pure curiosity. I had no idea what to expect. It felt like I was finally ticking something big off my bucket list. I was eager to see how my body would handle the challenge. Would I keep up? Would I be gasping for air halfway through? No clue but I was ready to find out. One of my biggest fears was starting the hike in total darkness. Just me, a headlamp, and the unknown trail ahead. It was spooky yet strangely thrilling, like sneaking off on a secret adventure. That moment alone pushed me to face my fear of the unknown. The first of many mental hurdles on this journey.

The night before our climb, it poured. Not exactly the most reassuring sound to fall asleep to before a big hike. But by morning, the skies had cleared beautifully. The sun was shining. From the Visitor Centre, where we completed our registration and collected our badges, we were greeted by a stunning, crystal clear view of Mount Kinabalu. It felt like the mountain was calling us.

From there, a shuttle took us to Timpohon Gate, the official starting point of the trail. The hike began with a steady ascent. Countless steps through dense forest. It was manageable at first, but the high altitude kicked in fast, making us pant more than expected even at a slow pace.

The first four kilometers led us through lush greenery and towering trees. After reaching Layang Layang Hut, the landscape began to change. The forest thinned, and the path turned rockier and more uneven. The well-defined steps gave way to rugged terrain, demanding more balance and focus with every step.

Then came the rain again. It started light, then turned steady and unrelenting. The rocks grew slick, the soil muddy, and each step required careful calculation. Climbing uphill became a game of patience and perseverance. The final two kilometers were the toughest, steeper, rockier, and seemingly endless. Just as fatigue started creeping in, we reached Panalaban Resthouse, our shelter for the night. And almost as if on cue, the rain began to pour the moment we stepped through the door. Perfect timing.

After dinner, nature rewarded us with something magical. A golden sunset spilling across the peaks. The clouds parted just enough to let warm light wash over the mountains. It was the perfect way to end a long day of climbing. Dinner was simple but comforting. With the big summit push ahead, we called it an early night. The air was cold and crisp, and exhaustion made it easy to drift off despite the nerves.

The Summit Push

At around 1am, I was gently woken by the quiet shuffle of hikers getting ready. Boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, and the smell of breakfast drifted through the resthouse. The energy was quietly electric. Everyone preparing for the final ascent.

After a quick supper, we geared up and began our climb at 2:30am. The trail was still wet from the previous day rain, and with only our headlights cutting through the darkness, we could see just a few steps ahead. The higher we climbed, the thinner the air became, and each step demanded more effort. Above us, the sky was scattered with stars, breathtaking, but there was little time to linger. The terrain grew rougher, and in several steep sections, we pulled ourselves up with fixed ropes, one careful tug at a time.

Eventually, we reached the Sayat-Sayat Checkpoint, the final gate before the summit. We showed our badges to the guide and paused to catch our breath. After two intense hours of climbing, I took a moment to reflect and made the difficult decision not to continue to the summit.

There were three reasons. First, I wanted to conserve energy for the long descent back to Timpohon Gate later that day. Second, descending the steep rope sections in wet conditions felt riskier than climbing up. And third, rain was forecasted again, starting our descent early meant a better chance to avoid the worst of it.

So, we turned back from Sayat-Sayat. The rocks were slick, and my hiking partner slipped twice on the way down. Once we made it back to Panalaban, we tucked into a much needed breakfast, wrote a postcard at Malaysia highest mailbox, and began our descent around 9am.

The first two kilometers downhill were tougher than expected. The rain had made the rocky path even more slippery, and balance was everything. About two hours in, the rain returned, heavier this time. Our pace slowed as our legs trembled with each cautious step. The forest trail became a muddy challenge, puddles everywhere, rain soaking through every layer. Despite the fatigue, the weather, and the endless steps, we kept going. Finally, at around 3:30pm, we reached Timpohon Gate, Soaked, sore, but incredibly proud.

Even though I did not reach the summit, standing at Sayat-Sayat Hut (3,668m) felt like a huge personal victory. I had pushed myself through hours of steep climbs, endless stairs, and slippery rocks. I hiked in darkness, hauled myself up ropes, and endured rain on both days. More importantly, I overcame my fears of the dark, of slipping, of not being “fit enough.” This climb tested not just my body, but my mind. It taught me that hiking a mountain is not only about reaching the top. It is about the journey, the grit, and the growth along the way. I did not walk away with a summit photo, but I left with something far more meaningful: a deep sense of accomplishment, gratitude, and awe for what experienced. Sometimes, it is not about conquering the mountain, it is about discovering your own strength as you climb it.