Warrior Pilgrimage: PINOYAPACHE GOES TO MASINLOC

I FOUND MYSELF STILL awake at midnight in Baguio City. After emptying the last ounces of the last big bottle of Red Horse Extra Strong Beer, me and Michael Schwarz decide to say goodbye to Gary, our host here in the City of Pines. I am tired and sleepy but tried not to think about it. In a little while, we would be in the bus terminal hoping to find brief solace on a trip for Olongapo City.

It is now March 13, 2017 and Micheal has plans for this day and the next few days after that and I will be his guest in his playground somewhere in Zambales. We found a 01:45 bus and, immediately, the soft-cushioned seat of the Victory Liner gave me an idea of what will be my Dreamland Ride hereon. Sleeping while sitting jolt you a few times to consciousness and mild confusion. Curtained windows gave you imaginary privacy.

The bus arrive at 05:45 in Olongapo. We took a hasty breakfast in a fastfood chain and returned to the same bus, which would go north to Pangasinan. By 06:30, we are on the road again. We passed by the last town of Bataan and we are now in Zambales. Never been here before but, new places to see and experience, somehow remove the cobwebs of dull attention that sleepiness impose.

Tired as I was, I could feel the adrenaline rising as sure as the heat rises in rhythm with the orbit of the sun. Outside glare from gaps between curtains began to harass my droopy eyes trying to retrieve what was once known as sleep, even in its imaginary state. After about two hours we stop at a terminal in Botolan and transfer to another bus bound for Masinloc. After a short wait, we left and there is no turning back to sleep.

At Masinloc, we set foot on the town square. It is 10:30. We waited for Jed, an outdoor accomplice of Michael, who arrived a few minutes later. Across us is the Masinloc Mall and the police station and a street going to the public market. We need to buy food ingredients for our meals that would nourish us in the mountains. We will navigate the tight spaces and lanes with our big bags. It becomes an acquired skill when our police deny safekeeping bags while doing our marketing.

From the market, we transferred to the village of Sta. Rita by tricycle. Waiting there is Pips, the last member of Michael’s triumvirate of “lazy campers”. Yes, Pedro, they have a Facebook group called Lazy Campers Bushcraft. They are serious outdoorsmen and they are equally serious in introducing dirt time in Luzon. Recreational bushcraft is more enjoyable than racing with the sun and counting peaks. Like me, these guys practice Zen regularly in the outdoors.

Michael the Prussian Drillmaster is the ringleader. He is a free spirit of the woods and had found his specialty: sharpening edges. He cannot imagine hiking the mountains without his Granfors and his cache of sharp tools. His passion always clashed with the mainstream and he hates sheep. His radical ideas and the dose of temper he dealt with those that do not agree with him somehow got tamed by his girlfriend and a little bit with my guidance.

Jed is a natural bushman. Originally from Cebu, he adapted well with his new home in Zambales. Shy, silent and strong, he could do things on his own and has enough imagination to turn a bland day into an exciting one. Pips is another natural bushman. He is a pure Zambaleño and is a volunteer ecoguide and responder when requested. Influenced by Michael, Pips developed a skill in making bolos on his DIY forge.

I am the pampered guest who is about to witness their playground in the coming days. I need to stretch my time so I could be in another outdoor activity in Antipolo City on March 17 and the trip to Zambales is most welcome. After securing our food good for “one month”, we rode another tricycle and arrive in another village of Bunga. From the community, we hiked for about two kilometers to a campsite in Bunga Creek.

I analyzed the stream’s highest waterline and we choose a campsite on a higher ground. We placed our campfire instead among the rocks near the water’s edge. Under the shade from the fiery sun, the best thing to do is boil water for coffee and talk about things to do for the rest of the day. While the residents of Luzon cooked rice, I, the Visayan, cooked milled corn. Jed almost cried seeing my milled corn since he had not eaten that for ten years! I gave him the ones I cooked and more of that good for ten meals.

Pips and Michael cooked our main fare, a native chicken adobo. Yes, we dined like royalty. After dinner, Michael, Jed and Pips scoured the stream for something edible. I joined them with my generic LED headlamp sputtering to stay bright. I was not successful but the trio got two small shrimps the size of a small finger and promptly dispatch it on an ember. The humidity was so pressing hours before, so I decide to cool down and bathe on a chute of rock where water runs swift and massage your flesh vigorously.

I slept and shared space under a Deer Creek canvass shelter with Michael. I brought my Therm-a-Rest sleeping pad for this occasion. It was a gift by Michael so it would give me comfort and blissful sleep during my 27-day Thruhike of Cebu early this year which it did. He is happy to know that and I laid it side by side with his own but differently designed Therm-a-Rest. Michael lent me his power storage battery so I could pump direct current into my Cherry Mobile U2. The night was cool and it aided a good night’s sleep.

The second day, March 14, saw Jed cooking his milled corn breakfast paired with egg omelet. Yes we have ours too but with rice. I ran out of water and I used my Lifestraw to suck water from the stream. We start breaking camp. Michael has other plans. When we were all packed, we collect litters left by picnicking locals into our garbage bag. It is Michael’s gesture in paying back a nearby community which uses this stream as their water and food source.

We returned to Sta. Rita riding on an empty three-wheeled hog carrier and crossed a bigger river. After a very soothing cold Red Horse, we proceed to the town center to eat lunch in one of its food stands while waiting for a public jitney that would take us to another location. You get to know the place, they say, when you visit the market or eat their food. I have seen the market yesterday and it is more of the same with other places. One food gets my interest. It has an ingredient from a tree. Perfect!

At 14:00, we leave Masinloc for the hills where I know not. The old jitney brought my eyes to view a beautiful meandering river filled with emerald water and dotted with rocky and sandy beds and embankments. It has beautiful forests all over the river dominated by casuarina trees (Local name: agoho, maribuhok). The tree sometimes get mistaken as a pine tree since it has needles instead of broad leaves and has small pine cones for fruit. It is a hardwood variety though.

After an hour, we arrive at an abandoned mining complex. Used to be operated by Benguet Consolidated Mining Corp., it had seen better days. It even has a small airstrip. Along one side are heavy equipment and machinery parked and stacked neatly. Dilapidated buildings that used to energize this big mine loomed from afar with their smokestacks. A detachment of security guards still manned the facility. A gate ushers us inside and we were required to register our names and purpose. Then the jitney proceed to the township.

Rows of well-kept staff houses are still used as homes by former employees and their families. There are two public schools – one for elementary and one for secondary, a basketball court, a huge Catholic chapel, a couple of convenience stores, a refreshment parlor and an empty community center which may have hosted noisy parties and discos when the mine was at its peak and very profitable. Now, it is almost a ghost town save for the schools which still accept students.

The jitney brought us to an explosives dump. We are on our own now, Michael, Jed, Pips and me. We walk towards that beautiful river in the waning afternoon light. Greeting me is a silent amusement park and empty resort cottages which could have been full during the height of the mine’s productivity. Upstream of me is a span that used to be a low hanging bridge. Steel and cables are twisted beyond repair. A great flood could only cause that and we are just in a tributary.

We cross this stream along a causeway to another bank where the bigger Lawis River is found. We settled on a point where the two streams meet. The river is free flowing and the water is crystal clear that I could see pebbles on its bottom. Sometimes, I could see flashes of silver indicating fish. The beach is sandy and clean and strewn with pebbles. I could just lay flat a ground tarp and Therm-a-Rest and slept under the stars but the sight of that hanging bridge gave me a cold sweat.

I choose a high deck with a roof. The floor is wood and it is empty save for two sets of bench and seats. I would settle here for the night. Brought out my tools, a headlamp, pots, instant coffee and the Swiss Army emergency burner after I had placed the ground tarp and the Therm-a-Rest over it. Prepared also a small lantern and place it for easy access when darkness comes. I go down to the campsite, foraged dry grass and twigs, and started a fire inside my burner. Coffee first for me.

Tempted by the cool water of the river as against the humid air that begins to be felt in the low afternoon, I swam into its depths. I stayed long enough until I felt my body in a shivering stage. Going back to the fireplace, Pips had started a fire on wood supplied by Michael the Prussian. These are dry casuarina wood cut neatly by Michael’s shark-toothed camp saw. Meanwhile, Jed had just butchered two live fowls and start dressing it.

I cooked the rest of our day’s rice in my pot. We have clean piped water provided free from the resort’s reservoir. I believe we will enjoy another feast fit for the royalty in a short while. One free-rein chicken is cooked as soup which we will dine on tonight while the other one is preserved for tomorrow’s meal. The place is deserted and very silent. I just love the ambiance. In the waning light, our campfire emerged as a source for company.

I woke up very early on the third day, March 15, and it is silent. No voices from the trio. I went down the stairs to and investigate last night’s campfire. The ground is cold. A snore emanated from one of the tents. Bored, I go back to my Therm-a-Rest and chase more sleep. I woke up again just when sunrise had crested over the mountain across me and flood my eyes with golden sunshine. Made some noise chopping wood with my small Knifemaker Camp Knife.

Made another small fire inside the burner for another day of coffee. The camp starts to stir. Two zippers made their long arching runs and out came Pips and then Jed. Michael do not need any. He loves old camp setups like the heavy Deer Creek canvass sheet. All the air in the world. Varmints too. A good fire emerged spurred on by the heat-efficient casuarina. Rice, coffee, sliced gumbo adobo and leftover chicken from last night.

We break camp and followed a path up a slope. It used to be a road but nature reclaimed it. Vegetation is different here. There are fruit-bearing trees, stringy bamboos, grass and more indigenous vegetation. Beside this old road is a raised concrete trough that transfers running water down to the old township. A juvenile monitor lizard escaped as potential food using the trough, nimbly flowing with the swift current.

Rusting sluice valves are placed along the paths of small streams that run down the mountain, crossing the road, and into the main river. These may have been part of a flood control system used by the mine company, diverting excess water to where it is most needed. Michael wanted Jed to cook the preserved chicken wrapped in leaves so I foraged the broad leaves of a parasol-leaf tree (binunga).

I see traces of a horse leaving a shod hoof print on mud that hardened with its signatory droppings. Walking on a warm morning is eased by shady areas and a constant flow of breeze. We may have walked four kilometers and we stopped beside a cashew tree. Not that it is shady, but because it had dropped plenty of ripened fruits on the ground. Jed collect the fruits on the ground and removed the exposed seed from the yellow flesh. He crushed the flesh and a fluid is directed into his mouth. I did the same.

I see recent animal traces which could only be made by a wild boar. The cashew had been its food source. Nice to learn more wildlife habits. Michael saw a good campground across us on a distant riverbank shore and how he wished to be there if only there is a path. It is indeed a perfect place to camp. It is just a matter of finding a path down to the stream from where we stood which is just too steep. I analyzed the terrain and it is an obstacle.

It did not turn out difficult for me though. I did not even exert enough effort. When I saw a bare patch of ground under thick vegetation, I followed it and discovered a staircase hewn out from the bare face of solid rock. When presence of people began to disappear, wildlife used the path down frequently to the stream else vegetation would have been parted. You would not know the presence of this staircase if you do not know traditional navigation.

I went back up and called the trio. Excitement are written all over their faces. There is a wide ledge of solid rock and it have not had a visit of man for so many years. What I found are recent droppings of a happy leopard cat (melò) which may have all this territory to himself and a shrub which bore black berry-like fruit. I followed the invisible paw prints on rock, mere scratches that you can see in a different angle, and it went into a small hole among a jumble of rocks. The awful smell defines its lair.

As I was doing my small discoveries of wildlife, the three found a good place to cross across the wide stream. They were now considering making a camp underneath a copse of casuarinas but I found the ground too soggy. They are on the path of a small stream! I passed by them and drop my bag on the actual place from where I first saw it from across the stream, before I discovered that stairway. It is a raised sandy area and shaded by broad-leafed trees.

The river is so beautiful and clean. Rocks are sun bleached and plenty. Wherever you view it, downstream or upstream, you cannot believe that this is in the Philippines. The former mine administrators rehabilitated and designed a first-world country landscape when they started to stop operations. Casuarina trees project a false pine forest to a naive visitor and it is nice to gaze at. In between these are other trees native to Luzon. I wished they had also planted bamboos.

There is a natural hedge of katmon aso on one side of our camp while a fallen log protected us on the other side. There is a lone tree growing at the edge where sand meets slope and supplied us the shade. Near the log is a ditch that had been carved by running water as it made its way down to the river’s edge. Michael pitched his canvass shelter on the raised sand and I assisted him. The canvass shelter, even if it is dark blue, is a natural.

Jed retrieved yesterday’s dressed chicken and prepared it for cooking. He wrapped it with several layers of binunga leaves and tied it with natural fibers. Then he dug a hole on the ground, placed the wrapped chicken inside and covered the hole with sand. Jed and Pips made a fire over it after we found enough dry firewood. With the same fire, we cooked rice and part of the marinated pork which Pips cooked in oil and will become our spartan meal.

Michael, meanwhile, prepared a tripod. He would use it as a platform to dry the rest of the marinated pork by exposure to the sun and by radiated heat from the campfire. I watched the trio and, at the same time, suggest them with wrong ideas to mislead them. It is cool under the shade while a few meters away, on the bare sand, it is very warm. Over that bare stretch is emerald water, as inviting as ever. I will have that after my tummy gets filled.

The log, with its dead branches pointing to the skies, are full of cicadas. The same with the green branches drooping to the ground from live trees. These underground residents have reached the end of their 17-year cycle and would soon be mummified to where they were last found. Michael claimed the coolness of the water while Jed and Pips focused their attention on their own shelters. We let the embers burn and fed with a few firewood.

I did a little exploration upstream and found a lot of wildlife activity. Plenty of paw prints on the sand, from a gang of monkeys and individual leopard cats. One even left urine and stained a rock. My tracking skills followed an invisible path which bound from stone to stone and clung on to a low branch which it used to go over thick grass to a rock on a slope. The branch is smoothed by many claws and the debris fell to a bleached rock.

I went back to the camp fully satisfied with my discoveries but a small stream nearby snared my attention. I go up several small levels of rocks and discovered boar droppings, a week old. I go back when the stream becomes difficult to navigate but the stream would satisfy our water needs should we run out of our supply. Jed and Pips had already joined Michael in the water and are frolicking like children. I took a bathe after they were done.

The disappearing light of the day turned our attention to the campfire. We fed it with more wood and cooked rice and milled corn. We retrieved the dried meat and cooked it in saucy adobo. A full bottle of local brandy fueled the campfire stories. The full moon shone at its brightest and the riverscape is a beautiful sight to behold. On the river’s edge, I expected nocturnal creatures to thrive but I was disappointed. There is something wrong.

On our last day, March 16, I would find out why the river is devoid of other life except a few fish. I saw a school of six fish the size of a child’s palm on the stream’s transparently clear water. Why only fish and just a few? I go back upstream carrying both my AJF Gahum and Mora Companion on my belt. I need to explore more. I got past the stained rock and I am now scrambling over obstacles, stepping over gaps and cross dry watercourses choked with rocks.

Squeezing past a notch, I saw a fruit bat clinging to a wall of rock, its back facing the early sunrise. It had not noticed me and that is strange. It should have flown away but it had not. I looked closely and it is emaciated. Blood dripped from its snout. It is dead. What caused it? Disease? Perhaps. Some parts of the stream, where it is deeper and still, there is presence of algae. The river is healthy and free-flowing yet it had lacked something that may contribute to a healthy ecosystem.

Or there is something that hindered it. Heavy metal? The upper slopes were mined years ago. Who knows what did the miners used to separate the minerals from the rest of the ores. This place is rich in chrome, copper, nickel and gold. It had been extensively mined until such time all the rich veins had been exhausted or that the drop in prices does not justify anymore the expensive maintenance and operation of the mining complex. But they left the land recovering.

I retraced my path and stumbled and fell. Just a split second before I hit ground, I maneuvered my body so my back would take the impact. I fell on a rock and it did not hurt. I listened to my body for a full thirty seconds and I noticed pain on both my shins. Of course, I snagged on a rock and it scratched my shins. Feeling a bit dazed, I stood up and started. Suddenly a snake that I had not noticed came alive just a meter away from me and made its escape. I gave chase with camera but lost it when it swam effortlessly in the stream, crossing on the other side.

When I returned I had a cup of coffee and talked about my encounter with a dead bat and a strange snake. Rice is halfway through its course and everyone waited when it would be cooked. Remember, we buried a full chicken underneath the fireplace. How does it appear and taste takes up space in our thoughts. Finally, the embers are cleared and the chicken wrapped in leaves is retrieved. Who wants sandy chicken?