Sam Lightner Jr. - All Elevations Unknown: An Adventure in the Heart of Borneo

This book is dedicated to
the men who fought World War II
on the island of Borneo.

Contents

Authors Note

T HIS BOOK CAPTURES a number of the major splits in my personality. It is about a bunch of dirtbag climbers traveling through a remote and little understood land. It is also the story of one of the more colorful personalities to ever inhabit that land, and the people who welcomed him there. It is an adventure-travel story and a history book. However, true scholars and avid history buffs may be bothered with the way the history is told, and my approach to the subject deserves some attention.

My principal source of information on the Semut Campaign and the operations following Flight 200 was Tom Harrissons biographical account of that time. His book, World Within, is a wonderful read for both historians and armchair travelers. I also used the memoirs of Sgt. Keith Barrie, who was one of the seven original men to drop into the Kelabit Highlands with Major Harrisson (at the time of this writing he was one of three men of the group still alive and the only one I managed to track down). Mr. Barrie was assigned to a post west of the Highlands and thus did not serve the entire campaign with Harrisson, so he gave a different perspective on the mission and a different window into Harrisson as a character. He had originally written his own memoirs for publication, but for reasons unbeknownst to me that has not happened. He passed them on without ever meeting me, and for that I am grateful. Just before I finished this manuscript, another book by Judith Heimann (see bibliography) came out, and it too served as a reference for much of the WWII information. Additional sources were the conversations I had with the Kelabit, Iban, Berewan, and other tribesmen who fought the war. When I first began speaking with them I did not intend to write a book on their experiences, so I never took down their names or made any notes. Much of the history that unfolds in All Elevations Unknown comes from their recollections and stories. To say the least, I owe a great deal to all of these men. The WWII history of Borneo is their story, not mine, and I appreciate their help. To them I say, I only wish I could give all of you the personal credit you deserve.

I was not there in 1945, but I have tried to recreate how it all took place by gathering together various pieces of military information, the locations of various battles, information on the soldiers fighting the battles, and the approach these countries took to the war. An absolutely perfect rendition of this history does not, as far as I know, exist. Nevertheless, I wrote this book from a very intimate perspective. After reading their accounts, talking with men who were there, and getting as much of a feel as I could for the personalities involved, I created dialogue. The dialogue is fictional. No one knows exactly what Harrisson said to the man working the radio on May 1, 1945, at 10:00 A.M. , but based upon the way the war was fought, the way these men seemed to conduct themselves, and the way these events transpired, I have made an educated guess. And obviously, I have guessed at peoples thoughts and motivations as well. Although it is not pure history, it comes close. Similarly, if I could have ascertained the details of who had done what, I would have given them credit by name. For the most part that particular information is lost in time. Nevertheless, the battles, the dates, and the major events that transpired are not made up. As best as I can figure, this is how it all happened, though the people involved might have talked of it differently or gone about it in a slightly different manner.

Finally, I should point out that I changed the names of a few people. Their real names arent necessary and it may be that they would not want the fame that comes with being mentioned in a book.

PROLOGUE

March 25, 1945

A MAT WAS RETRIEVING HIS BUFFALO from the paddy when he heard again, in the far distance, the sound. The sky was clearing for the first time in days, but Amat hadnt noticed until hed looked to the sound. This same noise, a deep hum like the long bellow of a buffalo, had come from the clouds on many of the previous days, and numerous tribesmen had heard it, but no one in the longhouse could determine the source. Just as before, the sound was heard for a short while, then it disappeared. Amat shook his head at the strangeness of it, then went on about his work.

Amats only buffalo had wallowed in the deepest part of the old and unused rice paddy, and as usual it had gotten stuck. The animal didnt need much of a tug to come free as it was capable of getting out of the mud on its own power, but without Amats prodding it would sit there for no telling how long. For Amat the water buffalo was an integral part of life. When the buffalo wasnt pulling a plow, it tilled the soil, aerated the ground with its hooves, and of course spread around lots of fertilizer. Amat and the other members of his tribe, the Kelabit, could live without buffalo, but it would be a much harder life, with a lot more work and not nearly as much rice. The behavior of the buffalo, stupid and lazy, was a nuisance, but working with these animals was as necessary a part of life as planting and harvesting.

It had rained the previous night, and for many days before, so the paddy dikes were soggy and slippery. Amat balanced on a firm spot and pulled on the buffalos leash, a thick rattan cord that ran across the muddy water and through the buffalos nose, but the animal just craned its head a bit and let out a loud snort. Amat knew from experience that the buffalo didnt want to come all the way across the paddy, so he moved to the other side, closer to the animal and into the vines and bamboo that marked the edge of cultivated land and the beginning of the forest. He tugged again at the leash, its rough texture giving him a good grip despite the mud and slime. The buffalo let out a bellow, then made a few more grunts and took a few straining steps toward the edge of the paddy. Water and mud streamed off the animals round gut, and Amat could see that a few leeches had found a nice breakfast on its neck. In a few more pulls the animal would be out of the paddy and they could get down to the planned task of the day.

At just over six feet tall, Amat was average sized for a Kelabit, and like the rest of his tribe a lifetime of hunting in the forest and working as a farmer had given him a powerful physique. His bronze skin sat tightly against a muscular frame as he tugged at the animal, and his toes dug into the paddy dike to keep him from tumbling into the muddy water.

For weeks Amat had been wanting to plant in the older paddy, but there just hadnt been time. He and his wife had been harvesting rice from their other two paddies and helping other families from the longhouse do the same. With that harvest complete, the time had come to close one of those paddies and start work in this one, but it would take a while to get it ready for planting.

Amat pulled the buffalo out of the water and then looked out over the paddy, contemplating where to begin. This paddy had produced rice before, but when the rice grew weak and produced a smaller yield, he had switched to the second paddy. Growing rice had always been done this way by the Kelabit. His father, his grandfather, and everyone before had moved from paddy to paddy, keeping the buffalo in the unused areas while letting freshwater from the mountains circulate through the mud. Somehow, in a way that Amat never truly understood, rotating the crops between paddies kept the rice yield high. If they didnt move from paddy to paddy, the rice would eventually cease growing altogether. His family was very fortunate as they had three paddies; he could keep two working and leave one for the buffalo, and always have a good supply of rice. It was a good system, and far more efficient than that of the other tribes who lived below the Kelabit Highlands. He had heard that each year they were forced to clear a new section of jungle to create a new paddy. That was an enormous amount of work, and none of the Kelabit envied their lives.