I woke up on the morning of Day 5 at about 2am. Kuya Ricky’s elbow was pinning down my right shoulder, his knee was jammed uncomfortably into my leg. A few experimental wriggles showed that if I were to move just a fraction left, I would roll into the sleeping SK, and of course Jo-Ann’s head was still about 10cm away from my feet.

So I lay there for about another 2 hours, ramrod straight and petrified to move, drifting in and out of sleep, listening to steady breathing and quiet snores, my feet cold and wrapped in the single blanket I’d brought up from Amas. At 4am I gave up and went outside.

I remember that the dog was sleeping on the table. Gringo has been following ARP expeditions up to Malia for nearly 5 years now, acting as a guide and companion. I can think of possibly 2 reasons why - idealistic (he likes the adventure) or practical (so he can eat our buko and leftovers). Maybe it’s both.

The moon was obscured by the clouds, but it was still bright enough that you didn’t need a flashlight to see. We stayed in the village communal hall, which has an outhouse, a faucet producing natural spring water, a table and a couple of benches, and (incongruously) a basketball net. Kuya Ricky, who climbed up to Malia (800m ASL) at least once a week for 2 years, is able to reach the village in less than an hour – enough time, he says, for him to start climbing after 4pm, and still have time left to play basketball with the locals before it gets dark.

This in stark contrast to our performance. We’d started the climb at 2pm the previous day and took 5 hours, finishing the last half-hour in total darkness.

That morning, the sun started to rise at about 5am. It was clouded over, cold and quiet, and I felt that as I sat alone in that village on a mountain, God was closer than He’d ever been before.