BUSHCRAFT BUHISAN XLV: Rewilding

REWILDING IS THE RETURN of habitats to its original state, to include the re-introduction of wild animals that were once native there before its disappearance. My version of rewilding is the return of the wilderness into my system. Immersion in a jungle environment, on a place or a camp all to myself, far away from any human company, is my idea of rewilding and I have the perfect place for it – Creek Charlie.

I need to return to the wild alone today, October 27, 2017, and there is no other day. In a few days, I will be sailing to Mindanao so I could teach and share bushcraft skills for the very first time there. Whenever I do that, I always retrieve the essence of the forests, the jungles, the mountains, the streams and all that is in the outdoors for connection, inner strength and a renewed knowledge in woodlore.

I cannot explain that to someone who has a mindset that is so different from mine. I may dress and behave like anyone else but I am not what you think. I am now carrying thoughts borne out of my native origins which I have rediscovered and embraced long ago yet modern enough to write something complex as this article. Yes, Virginia, my philosophy of the world around me is in all my writings.

You know, I have been assimilated unawares to conventional ways but I cannot undo it. I do not hate myself for that nor feel uneasy of all these people around me whose mindsets are mechanically trained since childhood to think and act in a manner and behavior tailored-fit for Western culture. I could do nothing about it and I can live with that but it does not carry an obligation to explain everything to someone who is of not my kind.

However, you may understand me if you follow the gist of this article. So, rewilding is a sort of ritual that I have done countless times, before I proceed to do big tasks ahead. It had helped me release stress while I was in a corporate prison, working my ass off for my masters. Rewilding had enriched my spirit and my life, and lets me retrieve wisdom that are not available in conventional channels. 

Personally, I love solo walks into the mountains. The silence is something that I would not trade for a lively company or the spattering of friendly conversations. My kind of silence is the whisper of wind among leaves, bird songs, the frolic of water in a stream, the buzz of a fleeting bee, even the crackling of dry tinder before a robust flame. I longed for these kind of sounds. Primeval and distant. In silence, these are so sweet to the soul.

I followed a path that I know very well and the chance to tread on bare ground immediately connects me to sacred grounds. I became one with the forest. Unobtrusive in movement and clothes. Silent like a cat. No hurried steps, no pressure of time. Not even the presence of dark clouds overhead could alter my pace. I am that rare someone who found enjoyment in what I do – alone – even walking on the same trails and places.

My Silangan Predator bag swayed as I struggled for balance when a shoe failed to grip softer ground downhill, exposing my presence to whoever may walk this path. But I doubt that. I have still to meet someone who is brave enough to walk trails on a weekday. Alone. Too bad, everyone is a slave to the system and their time is programmed on weekends only. Cannot blame them. Better that way. I can have all the spaces without them. 

The sun warmed up the forest and steam begins to rise. I am sweating even when I am under shady trees. Wild gingers are flowering everywhere, even within the unwelcoming presence of a Burma teak forest. Long ago, our forest managers eat anything fed to them, planting exotic species, never knowing the troubles it brought to native species, insects, birds and soil. This man-made forest is a failed experiment even if the trees grew healthy. 

Creek Alpha is before me and the stream is full and merry. I followed it downstream, careful this time not to leave any trace. Common sense tells me to evade streams but I find good sense of forest people using part of the stream as a route. They know their own places and I am learning from them. I see where they placed foot on rocks and know what are they wearing for their feet. Because of them, Creek Alpha now has a name: Banauan.

I am leaving Banauan Creek and the phony forest and I am now on a trail in an environment that is much wilder. Presence of spiny rattan competes for your special attention apart from the softened trail. This path is one of the wonders of local knowledge. It simply followed a certain contour instead of cutting across a mountain. It benefits well my walk, rising gently to cross a saddle and going down gently to Creek Bravo.

Just like the first stream, Creek Bravo is also energetic and loaded. On a rock is a carcass of a juvenile monitor lizard which died several weeks ago. This particular stream is teeming with rocks of all ages and sizes, broken up by the force of water. Across me are the groves of water bamboos, fully recovering from wanton destruction five years ago. I have planned of reintroducing fresh-water shrimps here but I just could not source live specimen.

After that brief rest, I passed through an alley where “skin snatchers” abound. This trail is thick with rattan palms and their spiny tendrils, slender and barely noticeable, suddenly catches skin or fabric and you have to respect that. You take a few steps back and slowly remove the spiny whip. My copy of the Puffin Magnum knife becomes useful as it cleared a safe path for me.

The trail climbs up towards a ridge, leaving the marshy areas behind for stable ground. The ridge goes up gently but it is blocked by more rattan palms and by the equally thorny vines of the Asiatic bitter yam (kobong), which got cleared by my open-carried knife. At this instance, I carved a digging stick to extract from the ground a rootcrop from the wild yam which I intend to bring home. The thorny vines make a good hedge against intruders.

The trail led to a very beautiful forest. Both sides are steep but it is much vegetated. It goes up and up, but gently. I arrive a small clearing which I know as my dear Camp Damazo. It hosted recently the 7th edition of the Philippine Independence Bushcraft Camp last June. Twenty-six participants came to learn basic bushcraft here which I first organized in 2011. The PIBC returned here after three years in Sibonga and Liloan.

Settling myself on a cheap laminated nylon sheet, I prepared my Swiss Army wood burner. I intend to boil water for coffee for it is 10:45 anyway. Found dry twigs which I break into short lengths and started a fire by a gas lighter. Placed a cup of water over the rim of the burner and feed more fuel into the burner. Water finally boiled after five minutes and I poured instant coffee. Paired the coffee with bread and enjoyed the moment of silence.   

Camp Damazo has recovered in so short a time, thanks to the rainy season. The campfire area marked by a cairn has settled well and new growths of vegetation begin to reclaim around it. A remnant of a bamboo pot with its lid lies nearby a Moluccan ironwood (ipil) and the stinging tree (alingatong) where a mass of dirt are left by the now missing army of ants after gnawing off clean the leftover rice many months ago.

I looked around the camp area. Madras ginger (galangal) bears little round fruits at the tips of its stems, ripe and drooping to the ground. The yellowish-green fruit became a diet of a passing palm civet (singalong) and left black round scats over a tree root. Tall arbor trees provide second-tier shade and jungle fowls loved to forage there when caterpillars infest the leaves. Much more so with raptors and lesser avian.  

I rest for more than an hour at Camp Damazo. I would have loved to stay here but there is something wilder somewhere over there. I pack my things back inside my bag and proceed to Creek Charlie. It is now 13:00 and, to my estimates, too late to explore more places. But there is a place that I once visited four years ago. I marked that trail but I was wondering what happened of that?

I followed the trail going to Creek Charlie, passing by where an unusually-shaped tree that looked like a brontosaurus, complete with feet, a tail and a long neck. This tree I also discovered four years ago but did not have the courage to approach and take a photo of it. I respect the presence of something other than it. Through the years, I was able to take photos from afar, then point-blank, when I think it is now used to my presence.

I am not superstitious and do not believe in those “third eye” tales, but I am convinced of the presence of these rarely-seen elements. I have seen and encountered many of these kind, even at closer range possible, yet I do not show fear and I let them be as they are. When you are a renewed Roman Catholic you would understand and be aware of their presence but it does not mean that you are impervious from harm.

Vegetation near it was being cleared and a hunter’s shed is being built near the trail, already shriveled, exposing horizontal wood beams that had once supported a roof of abaca leaves and walls of galangal leaves. I looked around where the hunter might have set his sights and I settled on thick debris that was supported by tree branches of the brontosaur tree and its neighbors. It could host a nest, an arboreal hiding place of wildlife.

I could only shake my head. Why would I trouble myself waiting for a prey in an uncomfortable location so I could get off a shot when I could do better with indigenous methods, with myself comfortably waiting in the confines of my home? I would not have to alter the surroundings. The only alteration I make is introducing a cord and using a young sprout to bend to my whim. 

Creek Charlie, I discovered, is part of the right fork of the bigger Lensa Creek that supplied water to the catchment basins, marshes, the man-made lake and, ultimately, to the MCWD consumers. This is a stream of primeval proportions. The rocks are bigger, water fall in cascades. You get caught in a flashflood here and you are dead. It is never a good idea to use this as a route but I know of a trail across me.

It is steep and follow a very narrow ridge, steep on both sides with one side on a deep ravine. The soil on this ridge is soft and it is not good to bring a lot of people here, especially people who do not carry the same mindset as mine. I crossed over another ridge, which can be reached by a short leap. The trail suddenly dies out and I am facing three possibilities, once upon a time paths before these were choked by vegetation.

I choose the marked trail and passed by a hole filled with very clear water coming from a spring. I did not see this before. The jungle is unfolding and showing me things that were denied to me last time. Must be because I am very patient or was it my awe and reverence for this place? I passed by the first of two bamboo groves. Poles are left by a forest dweller on the ground but I place it standing up beside a trunk. I might use this someday.

I am going to my sacred place in a jungle where it faced a distant lone mountain and the rising of the sun. I have bamboos to make a shelter – a sweat lodge – where I can do meditations in the future and be away from the complexities of urban living. It is there among giant figs (tibig and talo-ot) with buttress roots as tall as a man. Then I saw movement. Timid, confident and unafraid. Brown fur and a thick tail. Squirrel?

The Philippine squirrel (kangsi) is a very elusive rodent that is common in Palawan. But on my visit to Mount Pangasugan in Leyte last March 2014, my guide showed me a live one staying inert on a branch from a distance of about 50 meters. I could only see a brown smudge among the greens but its shrill whistle pierced the early morning air. You would think that the noise they made were done by birds.

I believed Cebu was part of its habitat when it was still all forest and too few people claiming farm patches. In case you do not know, there is a place in Sapangdaku Creek and everywhere in Cebu that are called Kangsi or Kansi. Nobody remembers why it is called that but I know why? The creature I saw disappeared among the roots and I found holes underneath it, the entrances are well used, indicating a healthy family.

Yes the forest is unfolding and showing me its hidden features. I am quite satisfied of my finds that I did not tarry long. I found my sacred place and the second bamboo is still untouched by humans. I go back to where I came from and crossed Creek Charlie once more. I take another trail to drink from a natural spring called Karamon. I crossed the headwaters of Creek Bravo and Banauan Creek towards a mountain road.

Across me is a trail that goes to Lanipao. It goes lazily downhill to the Lanipao Rainforest Spring Resort, Cabins Resort and a store that sells cold soft drinks. Walking on, I found another recreation center – Motmot Spring Resort – that was not here last June. Not only was the forest unfolding its secrets to me, it also include this road to Napo. So much for mysteries. Ha!

Document done in LibreOffice 5.3 Writer