Next time I’ll look out for the owl

While the idea of going off in a blaze of glory may be appealing, heroic even, the reality is that when the time almost comes, it isn’t all that much fun as you see in the movies. I read somewhere that dying is like falling off a cliff in slow motion. Certainly quite romantically put. Still I was glad that although I almost fell off a cliff and it was almost in slow motion, the final thud did not arrive.

But first things first. Just across from the state of Perlis on the Thai side of the border is located Satun. A province of caves, islands and hills. Lots of them. At the said time I was with a group of journalists and travel agents visiting a cave situated some way up a hill called Tham Phu Pha Phet.

We arrived at about 11am at the base of the hill and were supposed to climb some 350 metres or so to where the cave was located. A piece of cake. After all, I usually walk farther than that playing a round of golf. This shouldn’t pose too much of a problem for one such as I. What I forgot was that golf is played on a relatively flat surface area with the occasional gentle slopes thrown in for good measure. However, this was going to be a walk that was more of a non-stop climb. It would have been little problem had I been 30 years younger. But for someone in his late 40s with just the extra few kilograms around the waist and a few other places, it can be quite an effort. A case of the spirit being willing while the flesh being most reluctant to go the same direction. Any climber would tell you that at least you should have put your body through some form of exercise to increase your fitness level before making such expeditions. Playing golf once every two months coupled with smoking two packets of cigarette a day was just not it.

There is a theory propounded by a smoker, naturally, that those who smoke are better able to climb than those who don’t. This is because smokers are used to not getting enough oxygen, and as you get higher the air gets thinner meaning there is less oxygen going around. I was about to debunk the theory in a big way. A height of 300 metres up is not going to change the level of oxygen very much. Lungs coated with 20 years of nicotine, however, was going to affect such efforts a great deal.

An acquaintance who just had a quadruple by-pass later told me that you need to set a rhythm in order to climb effortlessly. Kind of a breathe, climb, climb, breathe, climb, climb. He had a lot of practice climbing one flight of stairs that way after his heart operation. Without the benefit of this wisdom, I was sort of doing something like stop breathing, climb, climb, climb, breathe, climb, climb, stop breathing, climb, climb again. To my credit, even with the erratic rhythm I was able to make it up about 50 metres or so before things began to go wrong. And when they go wrong, they tend to go wrong very fast. The knees kind of got soft and the oxygen intake could not quite keep up with the sudden change in heartbeat and abnormal lung functions.

With the benefit of hindsight, I would have to agree that it was a most foolhardy thing for an out of shape 47-year-old to do. Both in attempting to climb and later in my choice of resting place. Any amateur climber would have told you that you should pick a safe place for a rest. Well I thought leaning on a rocky wall was safe enough. Taking a stance with my feet firmly on the ground about a foot away from the base of the rocky wall, I leaned back and closed my eyes. That was my second biggest mistake of the day. I promptly passed out. And honest to goodness, I was actually hearing this beautiful piece of music before I came to. And no, it wasn’t coming from a harp. Before you read too much into it, it was probably just the part of my brain in charge of music, finding itself with some idle time and deciding to churn out those beautiful tunes. I must say it wasn’t altogether unpleasant, so I was certainly irritated when I heard somebody calling my name and trying to take me away from that pleasant drifting sensation. I forced myself to open my eyes. It was one of the travel agents who was walking some way behind. Good thing it wasn’t an owl calling my name. (There’s an old Eskimo belief that when you hear an owl calling your name, then you know your time is up).

Good thing the travel agent arrived when he did too. I was told that only the whites of my eyes were visible and my mouth was foaming. I was bent over 90 degrees in the direction of the cliff. Good thing too that I was doing it in slow motion. Either I was not getting enough oxygen, the sugar level had dropped sharply or I was having withdrawal symptoms from lack of nicotine.

Anyway it wasn’t really a sharp drop off the cliff had I really fallen forward. There were several big trees and rocks to break the fall, but I certainly don’t think it would have been a very comfortable place to end up or down as the case would have been. I just ask for a drink of water and told him to go on without me. That was as far as I wanted to go that day. After a few minutes rest and a cigarette, I made my way downhill. Incidentally the word sampoerna (in Indonesian), sempurna (in Malay) and somboon (in Thai) actually come from the same Sanskrit root, meaning perfection. Now that’s food for thought.

It would certainly be a while before I decide to climb another hill again. In fact later in the day when the rest of the group went white water rafting, I didn’t feel quite up to it and decided to give this new task a miss. The upside was that there was this very pleasant lady who taught me how to peel a mangoesteen with grace and perfection. I know how to do it the crude way of course. Since then I had been able to impress quite a few people with the newly acquired skill. And the lady certainly didn’t seem as life-threatening as the cliff and the rapids. So I was more than happy to be her student.

But climbing a hill again or just strolling on the golf course, if I ever hear that tune again you can be sure I’ll looking out for the owl. This time if it is calling my name, I would hate to miss it.