I HAD A GOOD IMPRESSION of Mount
Bokatol after scaling it on the last day of December 2016. It is just a small
mountain that rises just 301 meters and is a good place to do a challenging
dayhike for it is steep. The summit used to host an old World War II bunker
that was enlarged by locals in the hope of finding that mythical “Yamashita
Treasure”. Sure enough, it was abandoned when they found out too late that it
was just a myth.
There are concrete markers on this
summit that defined the boundary of the Buhisan Watershed Area from common
timberland. One is old and half-buried while the other one is new and is as
tall as a man and painted with yellow bands. On one side, the one where I came
from, is a tangle of almost impenetrable jungle; but on the other side, the
side that was supposed to be a protected area administered by the DENR, is a
monocultured forest, a forest dedicated only for the eternal protection of an
introduced species: the Burma teak tree.
After my successful Thruhike of the
Cebu Highlands Trail last month, and after a very fulfilling tree-planting
activity yesterday, I decided to visit her again today, March 5, 2017. As was
the last time, I would not be alone. Joining me are the prized jewels and
roughcuts of the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild. Our local guide would
not be around this time and it was unnecessary for him since we already know
the trails to there.
Organizing this day activity is
Jhurds Neo, the head shed of Camp Red. Going are Aljew Frasco, Ernie Salomon,
Dominic Sepe, Jonathaniel Apurado, Bogs Belga and Justin Abella. All these guys
are proof of the outdoors philosophy that I introduced here in Cebu and I am
proud that some of them are creating a name for themselves and some would soon
be. They all are products of the different editions of the Philippine
Independence Bushcraft Camp which I convene every year.
Ernie, the oldest guy, is one of
the original participants of the first PIBC held in 2011. His forte is outdoors
cooking and he has no equal here in Cebu yet. He dabbles in DIY projects and is
very resourceful in “dumpster diving”. Jhurds of PIBC 2012 is my understudy.
Has shown good leadership potentials and has ably administered four PIBCs as
camp ramrod. Can organize events on his own footing and is sharp with facts and
very animate in bushlore.
Aljew, the esteemed gentleman from
Liloan, took PIBC 2013 and had migrated from just a simple knife collector into
someone who found a holy grail – making the perfect knife for other people. His
masterpiece knives on his DIY forge and metal workshop is coveted by among the
bushcraft and survival community. His first inspiration, the AJF Gahum, is now
my trail companion. Jhurds has as his own the AJF Puygo and Ernie the AJF
Kusina. Likewise, Dominic with the AJF Hudson Bay.
Dominic is a product of PIBC 2012 and is another gem in the making. Has the ability to absorb my teachings quickly and his entry into the government would make his skills more relevant. Someday, he may become an authority in bushcraft and survival. Jonathaniel belonged to PIBC 2015. He is a member of my Cebu Highlands Trail exploration team and is now adept at navigation by maps and by traditional means. He is my only companion in the Thruhike. Justin is PIBC 2014 and Bogs PIBC 2015 and both are still probing for their specialties.
Today, I would do an improvisation.
We would not be walking upstream a long ways through the Sapangdaku Creek to
get to the trailhead at Amia. I found another better path going there and we
have to hire motorcycles from Guadalupe and drop us on a place where there is a
small road that goes to a bamboo bridge which I passed from underneath last
time. I arrive there first and waited on the road corner. One by one, they
came.
We walked for a while and talked to
the folks before arriving at the bamboo bridge. We do not use the bridge. It is
just a landmark. We go down a path beside it and walk underneath it and follow
the creek upstream. There are big boulders on the streambed and it is devoid of
people. We arrive at Amia and I noticed dead fighting cocks hanging on trees
across the stream. Two are most recent, another older one is decomposing and
two were already bones.
Seeing the sight of that, the guys
began to remember the old man living alone up the hill and attribute those
signs as his doing. According to the guide who brought me here last time, he is
a witch. A warlock. For that matter, some of those who came today, just wanted
to catch a glimpse of the man. I would not name the old man but he is a sort of
an urban legend around here. I watched the guide as he put some distance
between himself and the old man during their conversation.
There is a gamebird farm near here and those fighting cocks possibly came from there. These cocks may have died from a type of bird virus. Yet I cannot understand a lot of gamecock breeders choose to hang dead ones instead of burying it so the spread of the disease would be prevented. I am no connoisseur when it comes to gamecock breeding but these breeders have their own personal beliefs which is illogical and unscientific to a layman.
There is a small stream that
connect to the bigger Sapangdaku Creek and, today, it has running water. The
water that were dumped by rain for two straight weeks in early January have not
disappeared. This mountain stores rainwater! It will continue to store
underground water unless some ignorant nincompoop cut bare the mountain of
trees and bushes and turn it into another abominable Italian-sounding upscale
subdivision.
Ahead of the trailhead is a small
house. There are occupants this time. They have no electricity but they have a
lantern charged outside by solar energy. There is a spring beside the house and
I counseled them about the presence of chemicals up the trail. Mango growers
regularly spray the trees with pesticides and other catalysts so it would bloom
and bear fruit more than the natural cycle of only one. Aside that, they leave
containers and bottles and the harmful residues filter in to the underground
water system.
The morning heat begins to be felt
as we enter the jungle. The sky is partly overcast but humidity from inside the
tree cover keep us sweating. I walk point and I kept the pace as comfortable to
everyone as possible. There is no sense of hurrying. Slower pace means you are
using common sense and you have so much time to absorb the essence of the
place. Make it fast and you will not enjoy and you will miss out the best
details like a dozing cobra in your path.
A lone local hunter greeted us as we neared the “waste dump”. He is carrying an air rifle slung on his right shoulder and holding a live jungle fowl. He caught it with a snare. It could be one of the gamecocks that came loose while young and gone feral. It is big for its size. Native jungle fowls I usually saw are so lean with very long legs and tails. Amazing how our local jungles could breed and host life easily that made it as home.
We arrive at the waste dump. The
cheap tarpaulin that served as canopy to a shelter have slumped from its
support and are torn into pieces. Weeds have grown thick and have covered some
of the empty bottles and containers that used to be filled with chemicals. The
water reservoir made of cheap tarpaulin is now empty of contents except with
debris. It used to store the chemical-laced water but a big hole on the bottom
made it unusable.
There is a natural spring somewhere
and part of the place is inundated with water. Come mango blooming time, this
place would be tidied up and becomes a hub of spraying activity. Although not
all chemical compounds are banned, just the same, these are harmful to the
environment and to ground water. It also alters the blooming cycle of the mango
trees and causes mutation of genes of other plants, insects and birds that may
be in contact with it.
By now, the warlock’s house would
just be nearby now. We only need to cross a narrow gully and follow one of the
many trails crisscrossing each other here. The place where we will spend our
noonbreak would have to pass by his house. What seemed to me a loose line a
while ago, becomes a tight and close formation. Only a meter or two separate an
individual from another where, before, it was about five meters or more. At
closer distance I could hear somebody’s heart pumping double time.
The house is closed and looked empty. There is a puppy leashed to the house peering from a hole. Then I heard dogs barking from afar. The barking gets nearer and nearer. People behind me are getting impatient. I was laughing and everybody laughed. Four dogs appeared and keep on barking. The warlock may be working somewhere on his farm and from the noises made by his dogs he would surely investigate.
I quickened my pace and then I
missed a trail and we took a steep and difficult one. That happens when you
hurry. You miss the finer details. You miss the landmarks that memory would
have recognized. Anyway, we reach a windy place where there are big mangoes.
Here, we stay still to recover our breath. Flat stones are placed in the
middle. Then the Yamashita Treasure tales gets resurrected. One of them
detached one and looked its underside for signs.
After five minutes of rest and
laughter, we walk on. Finally, we reach our harboring site for lunchtime. There
is a small house but it is abandoned. The are two makeshift shelters, long
bamboo benches, a few rope hammocks and abundant breeze. Ernie the fixer starts
his magic with Jon as his yeoman while Aljew the king maker starts a fire on
his fire basket. I mixed the Swiss Army emergency burner to boil water for
coffee. Jhurds and Dom starts their funny tales while Justin and Bogs break
firewood into smaller pieces.
After grabbing my share of the
coffee, I walked to a copse of tamarind tree where there are long benches. I
took a nap here last time but this time I just want to enjoy the silence. Not
everybody could savor the view of Metro Cebu under shady trees slurping warm
coffee while reclining on a cool bamboo backrest. This is so cool. There are no
man-made structures save the bench. I sit here for a long time until someone
far behind me rap a spoon on metal cup.
Ernie and Jon made us dine like
kings with three dishes and one dessert. They are my secret urban legends
together with the rest of Camp Red. After two hours on this hidden hideaway, we
start packing back our things. It is time to take another hike and scale Mt.
Bokatol once again. We follow a single trail that follow over a ridge amid
wilder vegetation and a few aging trees of grapefruit, mango and jackfruit.
This lead to a slope where there are neat rows of horseradish and cassava.
I did not take the old path but walked the contours so those who are with me would not be in a difficult bind. It might be longer but it is safer and easy on Ernie’s and Jhurds’ knees. We arrive at a saddle and begin our ascent. It is steep but the ground held fast unlike the last time where it was dry and loose. We got plenty of handholds as the path I took last time stayed visible and parted since it was made by sixteen sets of shoes.
On normal occasions, I would have walked the contours instead of this straight path. Since it is shady and it is not high, I let it be. It demanded some effort for the physically challenged. The last man arrived inside of 15 minutes. The hole on the ground is there, the concrete markers remained unmoved while the other side of the mountain is strangely bare, this despite a forest of Burma teak. Beside the tall marker is a banana bearing fruit which is now about to go ripe.
There is no view to gaze about and
beyond since it is well covered by thick vegetation, to include on the other
unhealthy side, which we are now about to enter and go down the mountain. There
are no handholds, the ground is loose, dry, dusty and slippery. I run on short
bursts making each trunk as a stopper to arrest gravity. The others are in a
crawling peace, one sure step after one sure step.
This was the hardest for the day
and we stop for a while on another saddle. There is a small habitation nearby
but it is abandoned. I know this place very well as this used to be in my range
of pure recreation. To the northwest of me is a trail that follow a mountain
ridge which goes down to Napo. To the south of me is the road that goes down to
the Sapangdaku spillway or up to Pamutan Junction. We strike to the road.
The plan is to walk the trail to
Guadalupe over Baksan and “heartbreak ridge”. We still have a lot of daylight
left and it is a luxury to just walk on a slower pace and talking amongst
ourselves while on the move. We stop on the middle of the trail at that bare
ridge to cool for a while and got into a friendly conversation with a stray
American hiking alone in a late afternoon. We completed our day. Maybe next
time, you get your chance to face the urban legends.
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