Where Butterflies go to die… (A guide to climbing Adam’s Peak)

Majestically rising up from the southwestern edge of the hill country is the soaring summit of Adam’s Peak, which is not only one of Sri Lanka’s most striking natural landmarks but one of its most celebrated places of pilgrimage – a miniature Matterhorn which stands head and shoulders above the surrounding hills, giving a wonderful impression of sheer altitude (even though, at 2,243m, it’s actually Sri Lanka’s fifth-highest peak).

This impressive mountain is sacred to almost all religions, with Christians and Muslims calling it Adam’s Peak (the place where Adam first set foot on earth after being exiled from the Garden of Eden), the Buddhists named it Sri Pada (the location of the sacred footprint left by Buddha as he headed towards paradise) or Samanalakande (butterfly mountain, the place where all butterflies go to die) and the Hindus refering to it as ShivanolipathaMalai (the mountain containing the footprint of the Lord Shiva). It is also known under a variety of other local and historic names including  Ratnagiri (the jewelled hill), Samantakuta (the peak of Saman) or Svargarohanam (the climb to heaven).

Arriving at our ‘base camp’ in Dalhousie, the aptly named hotel, Slightly Chilled, we can’t help but sit and stare at the mist covered mountain. The temple at its peak occasionally appearing like a small glowing lighthouse amongst the sea of clouds. Smothered in fog, the summit looks ghostly — almost ominous but ethereal at the same time.

Climbing Sri Pada has been a personal goal of mine ever since I first visited this island nation years ago and now we were actually here. I felt genuinely awe inspired by what we were about to achieve. Thinking to myself that hopefully those Sunday morning climbs of Jacobs Ladder and regular indoor cycling classes might help.

The journey to this famed mountain over the preceding seven hours however was arduous enough. Our day had commenced with a short ride on the local bus from our warm cozy guesthouse to Nuwara Eliya. Though that almost ended before it started with Rachelle deciding to stop on the bus stairwell as soon as she had alighted, presumably to ask where we were going. Now Sri Lankan buses are not known to stand around waiting – time is money – no sooner had it stopped then it was off to pick up its next load of customers. With Rachelle’s backside conviently blocking the stairwell this meant I had one foot on the bus and one on the pavement trying to haul our backpack & myself onboard, with Rachelle casting me a death stare whilst I was yelling “Move your arse”, much to the other passengers amusement. At least for our next bus ride the vehicle was stationary when we climbed onboard. Our host had told us to make sure we were on the ‘inter-city’ bus, which I’m sure we were despite the fact that we seemed to stop at every stop where a local looked remotely interested in paying for a bus trip down the road. Another unwritten Sri Lanka bus rule is if there are fee paying customer then there is always enough room on the bus even when there clearly isn’t – I’m sure that no one minds sitting on a stranger’s lap. Our one & a half hour journey taking a lot longer because of these frequent stops on this supposedly express service. Clutching our host’s hand written instructions we wandered around the dusty Hatton bus station hoping that we were embarking on the right vehicle. The next three hours seemed to take an eternity until we were turfed out by the conductor who agitatedly pointed to an overcrowded mini-bus, “Dalhousie, yes, yes”. Remember time is money. Squeezing onto this next vehicle, overloaded with its burden of humanity, separated from our luggage and with my head banging against the low ceiling, we were off again. Finally we arrived at the end of the line, which we only guessed by the fact that everyone disembarked at this point, only to be waylaid by a series of tuk tuk drivers willing to drive us 500m back down the same road we just come along for an exorbitant cost and I thought that the tuk tuk drivers in Colombo were being exploitive.

According to the thousands of pilgrims before us any ascent of Adam’s Peak is traditionally made by night, allowing the climber to reach the summit in time for dawn, which offers the best odds of seeing the extraordinary views free from clouds.

So at 2:15am, with my sturdy hiking boots on and our backpack stuffed with cold weather gear, extra bottles of water and a food supply, we begin our epic trek. Looking up we can see a sparkling ribbon of lights in the pitch dark leading magically towards the heavens & our ultimate destination at the summit – we are inspired.

  

The track up the mountain starts at the far end of the village of Dalhousie, though it’s hard to tell where the village ends and the trail begins, as the path is lined by shops and even just after 2am a number of them are already opened and trying to sell tourists gloves, beanies, spray jackets, scarves and windcheaters. Is it really that cold at the peak? Amazingly enough we end up in the car park instead of the mountain path, backtracking we reach a massive green arrow pointing in the other direction – how the hell did we ever miss that? According to the guidebooks you first pass a large standing Buddha then cross a bridge and loop around the back of the large pilgrim’s rest hostel. Personally I’d just head in the same direction as all the other tourists. I mean we can’t all be heading in the wrong direction. The goods in those shops that are open start changing to souvenirs and hot cups of tea. For the first thirty minutes the path winds gently through the darkness, past Buddha shrines and under a big makara torana arch, which marks the boundary of the sacred area. Beyond here the path continues to run gently uphill to a large Peace Pagoda, built with Japanese aid during the 1970s.

Beyond the Peace Pagoda, the climb – and the steps, all 5,500 of them – start in earnest; not too bad at first, but they become increasingly short and steep as you progress. I am enjoying every bit of the eerie atmosphere, though: it is strange to be hiking in the heart of the night, surrounded by impenetrable darkness, seeing absolutely nothing beyond the electrically-lit path. Rachelle has a theory that every time your legs start to tire you should stop, rest, take in some water, maybe some food (preferably chocolate 🍫🍫) and allow the lactic acid in your muscles to dissipate. Hey I’m all for eating chocolate 😋 and trying to lighten the 10kg backpack I’m carrying. 😓😓 My theory is to set yourself a series of micro goals – rest at the next landing, the next tea house, those flags up ahead. The further you go the steeper it gets – this is nothing like Jacobs Ladder in Perth, the steps are different heights, lengths and generally uneven. The landings, if you can call them that, are sloping and there is no regularity to their spacing. Surprisingly enough my legs don’t feel sore at all. I’m not certain if it’s due to my theory, Rachelle’s theory or the fact I’ve been doing RPM classes at the gym for the last eight years but I’m not complaining. On the way we pass younger tourists huffing and wheezing with the effort,😆, we are however also passed by younger fitter tourists who aren’t taking a rest 😰. By this time my shirt is dripping with sweat, my backpack is saturated and I’m sure my socks would stand up by themselves if I took them off. 🌡😰😰

By the time you reach the leg-wrenchingly near-vertical section equipped with handrails you’re within about 1,500 steps of the summit, although by then it’s starting to become a real physical struggle. I blame the thinning air at such high altitudes. I can finally understand why some mountain climbers tell you at the summit of Everest each step takes five minutes or more to make. Okay this is not Mount Everest but it’s probably the closest I’m going to get to climbing the Himalayas.  The path is very secure and enclosed, so unless you suffer from unusually bad vertigo, this shouldn’t be a problem (unlike at Sigiriya, for example) – though obviously at night you can’t see anything beyond the path in any case, only the eery darkness that surrounds you.

 

Then suddenly you’ve reached the top! As it is the busiest part of the season, the summit platform is almost completely packed with eager pilgrims and tourists, we manage to find a few square feet just above the vertical staircase we’ve just ascended. After three and a half hours and fifteen minutes before sunrise we have reached the top, my breath is nowhere to be found; neither is my sanity. But who needs either of them when you feel this type of sheer exhilaration ?

An orange tint has started to appear behind the clouds. The sky slowly turns indigo, purple, pink… bright orange! I feel like I’m looking at infinity. The thin wispy clouds caught on the surrounding mountaintops seem to be sitting still, just like us, waiting for the sun to rise.

The atmosphere is electric: hundreds of people of diverse faiths (or none at all), both emptied and exhilarated by the strenuous climb, waiting together for the spectacle of the elements. A faint murmur arises from the crowd: wait — is it…? Yes! The sun breaks free from the curve of the earth, setting the sky on fire. A light of pure, liquid gold splashes onto the faces of all those present. Silence. Sometimes horizons have a way of shutting you up.

  

For a few minutes, time seems suspended. I have never seen anything like this. We are all opening our eyes as wide as we can, mesmerised by the miracle of morning, trying to engrave all the details of the moment in our minds.

And then the magic dissipates: within seconds the crowd starts dispersing, eager to get off the mountain as fast as possible. Hundreds of fidgety tourists and pilgrims form a giant human traffic jam as they all try to rush down the stairs at the same time, and get it over with the long migration back to where they started from.

I take advantage of the opening in the masses to climb the remaining series of steps that lead up to the sacred footprint, on top of a 4.0m rock. From the entrance I view the pilgrims clustering around, throwing offerings in to the hollow, before moving to the Saman shrine up another flight of stairs where thanks are given. Pilgrims who have made the trip more than three times then ring one of the two bells at the summit, each chime representing a successful ascent.

Knowing that the heat of the day will soon be upon us, we finally force ourselves out of the hypnotic power of the morning light and begin the descent. The downhill climb at first seems way easier than the ascent. Until, about less than a quarter of the way down, our legs just stop working, my knees ache and I’m covered in sweat again. Drunk on effort and sensory overload, we stumble down the rest of the stairs at an embarrassingly slow pace, carefully making our way down, like crabs, turned sideways to negotiate each step. Now that the mountain is bathed in sunlight the views across the valleys and down the slope are amazing. It looks and feels nothing like our earlier ascent, although my backpack hasn’t got any lighter and I’m now carrying Rachelle’s bag as well. I certainly don’t remember this many steps when we were going up. When we finally reach the base we are both more than willing to pay the exorbitant fee to the tuk tuk driver to take us the last 500m to our guesthouse.

If this inspired you – you may want to check out my self guided walking tour of Colombo Fort or my self guided walking tour of Galle Fort, which will allow you to explore both destinations at your leisure.