I
FAILED TO WAKE UP to my preset alarm of 04:45 on March 2, 2014 and,
when I did woke up, it is already 06:45! I read an SMS message and
they are all waiting for me at Guadalupe. I have a training hike
today for the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild. I hurriedly
take a bath and snatch things into a recent acquisition - a Habagat
Mercury - for this day’s activity.
It
is not a backpack but a large utility-type bag with a single
adjustable sling to ride on one shoulder. I stuff three cooking pots
into the main compartment, as well as a 1.5 liter French Army canteen
set with water, a trauma kit, my fire kit, my AJF Gahum heavy-duty
knife, a stainless-steel cup, spoon-fork set, a 410 ml. can of
deep-fried pork shreds and an extra dry shirt.
Inside
the pockets are another 1-liter water bottle, my William Rodgers
Bushcraft Knife, my Victorinox SAK Trailmaster, my Kodak
camera, a bunch of keys, a Mรถrser
nailcutter, a Rui Xing Police LED torch, an aluminum card
case, a belt, a military meshed veil and an MP3 player. All weighed
a total of eight kilos.
I
reach the assembly area at around 08:00 and everyone is ready to go.
There is Jhurds Neo, Aljew Frasco, Christoper Maru, Kulas Damaso,
Nyor Pino and Mark Lepon. The ingredients for our noontime meal are
already packed inside their bags. Aljew gave us all a lift inside
his Toyota Lite Ace van as it cruise past the narrow mountain road
into Arcos.
From
there, we will walk down to Napo. It is 08:25 when we start to hit
the trail that followed the bends and turns of the Sapangdaku Creek.
It is a very warm day and there are no good reasons in pushing hard
to make up for our rather late start. I believe a lot of hikers are
ahead of us and a lot more coming but we will be taking another
route. Manggapares Trail is exclusive, for the moment, for Camp Red
only.
We
got there at 09:15 and I blinked at the distance to the first of the
seven steel towers erected in array at the spine of Tagaytay Ridge.
It will be a long long day. The sun will be unforgiving at the
exposed heights as it does even now along this covered trail where I
stood. Slowly, we approach the lower slopes. The moist from the
ground had disappeared as summer is near.
While
on the middle of it, we spend a short moment to rest where, before,
was deemed unnecessary. We pushed slowly after that and the sun
begins to cast its hot rays when tree cover had thinned. The ground
where the first tower stood is awash in full sunshine and I am
breathing hard as I look for a little shade to recover myself from
the exertion. One by one, they come.
My
eyes are cast to the second tower, standing 200 meters away. The
route will pass a low saddle where felled wood sometimes block the
route aside from thick bushes that almost obliterated the ground
where the path is found. I cut away branches that block the way,
especially those that has menacing thorns, with my AJF Gahum.
As
with every Camp Red activity, we always open carry our knives by our
sides like Aljew with his Fallkniven, Christopher with his
Ka-Bar Kukri, Jhurds with his Condor Bushcraft Knife
and Nyor with his Seseblades NCO. My AJF Gahum –
with its handsome leather sheath – hang by my side and shares the
belt with the big water canteen set which I acquired from a French
rescue technician during the relief frenzy that was Typhoon
Yolanda’s.
It
is a slow pace getting to the second tower and, once reached, the
third one is waiting, but higher and steeper. As the ground is
devoid of moist, the soil is loose, making an ascent a very tiring
activity, especially with my pair of old Rivers 3514M Hike Boots
that had seen some good days and had lost most of its teeth. The
meshed veil protected my face and neck from the sun while my arms
welcomed sunrays.
I
use my hands to achieve height and, once there, I stay under the
shade of a copse of Mexican lilac trees (Local name: madre de
cacao, kakawate). I sit for the first time, just enjoying the
freshness of the breeze and the water from the canteen that weighs
like lead at my side. I notice Jhurds is not in good shape today.
No matter, we need to tackle this ridge and take rest up ahead.
The
single strap of the Habagat Mercury places a strain on my left
shoulder. The uneven weight causes a new muscle group to develop at
my back whereby it puts pressure on my left lung. Breathing becomes
painful in my left lung as it cannot expand totally. I may have to
transfer the strap to the other shoulder once we start walking again.
When
I think everyone had rested, we go for the fourth tower. The
approach to it is barren and, coupled with the sun, torturous. It is
loose ground again and I need my hands to keep me grounded and stable
until I am able to overcome the slope. An unfinished road makes the
walk easier now but that only means that there are few trees to
shield us from the sun.
Up
ahead is an abandoned Mitsubishi backhoe and another abandoned
cement mixer. These are the landmarks which give a hint that we will
soon change route. Liboron Trail is on a slope below and, this time,
we will avail of forest cover. The terrain will now also be rolling
and mild save for a few difficulties which a very narrow path above a
steep slope always offer.
We
pass by a hidden meadow, wide and lush with coconuts and ankle-high
grass. It would have been a perfect bushcraft campsite if only it
has a water source. I will look into this place more in the future
and I might discover a hidden brook or spring somewhere near. We
cross this and proceed to thick forest again until we reach a saddle.
I
let everyone rest here and I learn that it is already 12:55. I saw a
hole in the ground used as a hearth like that of a Dakota fire hole.
Ingenious locals. Anyway, time may have been the reason why my
stomach acted strangely. Facing me is a low hill, barren of trees
but full of noontime sunshine. Formidable but not insurmountable.
We
climb it over and down into long grasses and groves of bamboo and
straight into a lone mango tree where there is a dry brook below. We
cross that going up another hill where a garden and some huts are
located. We reach the high ground at 13:15 and we settle down and
take time to prepare and cook our food.
I
prop up a tripod bound with vines while Aljew tease a flint spark
into fire. A blackened pot hang from the tripod over the fire to
start the cooking of colored rice while a stainless steel ewer is
filled with water and made to stand beside a roaring fire. Another
tripod set is propped up by Aljew to hang another black-bottomed pot
to boil and soften mung bean soup.
As
this is going on, Kulas, Nyor, Jhurds and Mark prepare the other
ingredients. They slice the onions, garlic, tomatoes and pork meat.
Christopher mix black coffee with boiling water in the ewer. Empty
cups are hurriedly filled while brown sugar are available for
sweetening. Coffee had never have tasted this good on this very warm
day! I add another cup for myself.
Kulas
prepare the pork adobo while Christopher start with the mung bean
soup. I forage more firewood to feed to the cooking. Jhurds supply
us music from his Samsung cellphone and his hilarious tales.
The rest watch the cooking and join in the conversations, turning
this sleepy place into a noisy lair. Kulas produce a big banana leaf
and transfer all the cooked rice from the pot; a prelude to a boodle
fight.
The
pork adobo and the beef jerky are laid on top of the rice while the
steaming mung bean soup get a lot of stares. Before the meal is
going to be snatched by everyone, the bushcraft tradition of blade
porn begins at the side at the instance of Jhurds, then the prayer
before meals which I lead. Everyone either filled their plates, cups
or pot lids for the rice and mung beans. Then more refills until
only the rice is left.
I
left the cooked rice, a piece of beef jerky, some pork adobo, a token
of fish paste (Local name: ginamos) and a small can of tuna
flakes to the owner of the place as appreciation for bearing with our
noisy presence. In return, he give me eight very sweet bananas,
organically grown and ripened, which all devour with gusto!
We
leave at 15:00 for Babag Ridge. It is another uphill walk through a
forested area where vegetation begins to choke on the trail. I walk
deliberately slow to allow anything that may be lurking beneath what
my eyes cannot see enough time to move away. The bushes are now
shoulder height and, beyond my reach, are birds singing at the
treetops in the middle of the afternoon.
I
hear again the unmistakable song of the black shama (Local name:
siloy). It is just nearby but invisible to observation. When
it sees that we are uncomfortably close, it moves away and continue
in its singing from afar. The Manggapares Trail ends when it meets
the Babag Trail. This trail is really an old path that follow the
ridgeline of the Babag Mountain Range.
I
see the telltale sign of a motorcycle wheel on the debris-strewn, but
firm, dry ground. The rider had braked suddenly on a steep part
where the result of its action caused dirt and debris to be mowed
forward while skid marks, almost invisible to the untrained eye,
trailed after it. So, they must had moved the obstacles away. The
tracks are very recent, a few hours old.
The
rattan palms are healthy as ever and one plant have almost claimed
the trail. You have to stoop down clear away from the spines else it
snag on your clothes, bag or skin. I wonder how an Enduro rider
would come out unscathed even with all his protective gear. A trunk
that had blocked the path had been moved aside and I return it back
to the middle of the trail.
It
is a beautiful late afternoon, still bright and sunny, on a trail
that exudes a mystical aura. This path tells a lot of stories if it
could only talk but hints suggest that it kept a lot of history. I
switch to a branch of a trail and show them again the cave that had
been used by Cebuano guerrillas during the resistance against the
Japanese in the early years of World War II and by the Japanese
themselves bracing against a large American force during liberation.
The
re-piled stones stood in mute testimony of the ferocity of that
conflict which took many lives on both sides. We walk on and arrive
at an open space that had served as a favorite camping area until the
time fences had been erected by property owners to block off-road
motorcycles access to their properties. I would have disliked the
actions of these land owners but their reasons are largely
justifiable.
The
new path is marked by my own trail sign and I follow it to a woody
area then down into a gully and up again to a hill where it give in
to more ascents until it reconnects to the old route. I rest on a
long bench and waited for the others to arrive. They came, quite
winded of the effort, and douse water into their parched throats. It
is 15:35 and I did not know that we walk that fast or we just keep on
walking without rest until now.
After
a short rest, we proceed on to Mount Babag. Some hikers had reached
the ridge and are showing off their prowess by posing before a
camera. They were mesmerized by our strange and unconventional sight
with hanging knives by our sides. We pass by them and take a short
cut to a road that lead to a store selling the only cold drinks in
these parts.
Jhurds
is suffering from hypoglycemia and it is imperative that sugared
drinks like carbonated soda be given to him so he could recover.
Three big bottles of cold Coca Cola are shared to all while I
opt to have the coldest San Miguel Beer Grande for myself and
Nyor!
After
disposing thoroughly of the liquids, we go back to Mt. Babag and
start our downward journey to Sapangdaku Creek. This is quite
challenging on my part since I chose to wear my old pair of shoes.
The soil is loose caused by absence of rain for the past two weeks
and so I use my hands for anchor and balance as well as using my long
experience in the outdoors. It is not unusual that my progress would
imitate that of a wave surfer in my effort to brake from a downward
pull.
Along
the way, I met another group of hikers going to Babag Ridge and
another group that has just recovered the true route after losing
their way among thick vegetation. Quite amusing but, seriously, you
do not roam the mountains without a guide. I reach the Upper Kahugan
Spring and help myself to its cool runoff and so do the rest. It is
almost sundown now and the Roble homestead is down ahead.
We
reach it after with daylights to spare. We take rest here and are
offered green coconuts which we accept with gusto! We pay for that
afterwards and go on our way to the shortest route to Sapangdaku
Creek. It is steep and the soil loose and darkness overtook us. We
reach Napo at 18:15 and we walk some more over the road to be at the
place where our vehicle is parked.
Document
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