Julius used to be a porter, but now he is one of the English-speaking mountain guides who climbers are mandated to hire in order to climb the peak. Stocky and strong, the decades of summiting Kinabalu are evident in his wise and weathered face. We're supposed to meet Julius outside of Laban Rata at 2am to begin the frigid push for the summit, though between the waves of adrenaline and Laban Rata's squeaky wooden floors, there really isn't much sleep to begin with. Coffee is available in the dark dining hall, though the breathtaking blanket of stars is enough to energize even the sleepiest of climbers.

With the glow of a waning moon lighting the narrow path, the steady stream of travelers appear more as a river of ants marching towards a common goal. Needing to cling to ropes on the steeper sections and dodge the occasional icy puddle, Julius deftly navigates around the mountain's hazards despite the fact we only possess two broken headlamps and what light the moon has left us. Equipment failures aside, with aching lungs and seriously numb toes, a small band of intrepid Borneo travelers eventually stand together atop this desolate, windswept peak.

As the first rays of sun filter over the distant peaks of Indonesia, the profound silence is broken only by a sporadic gust of wind or the well-deserved click of a camera. Content and seemingly warm, Julius cracks a sincere smile as the sun crests from beneath the misty horizon, knowing that for the time being, we are two of a handful of people lucky enough to be standing on top of Borneo.