URBAN LEGENDS OF MOUNT BOKATOL: 2nd Visit

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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MOUNT BOKATOL

I ALWAYS BELIEVED THAT WHEN you show goodwill among our brethren living on the mountains, trails and paths which lay unknown to you for years, would be given to you on a silver platter. You will be surprised because you will not be doing the asking. In fact, the asking will be from them. From them.

You might wonder why I have so much complete mastery and knowledge among our mountain trails here in Cebu? It is this line of thought that I follow. With all sincerity, of course. Since we transferred our May and December outreach events, respectively called Who Put the “N” in Nature and Christmas United, to Baksan in 2015, each year we get to explore a new route.

This year, which actually falls on the last days of 2016 – December 30 – I will be again following the wake of a local guide. Coming along is the full force of the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild. We would not be doing dirt-time this time but just a hike in the woods, an exercise to purge off party fats incurred during the Christmas season.

For me, it is an ongoing preparation for my Thruhike of Cebu which would commence in a fortnight or so. The opportunity of following the guide gives me the luxury of knowing the information about water sources, interesting plants and people, place names and the lore associated with the places we passed by. The same information that I would be doing for myself from no other than me starting January 17.

Right now, I am balancing on a series of boulders along Sapangdaku Creek as ably as my aging knees could accommodate as I try to keep up with the pace of the guide. The guide brought us upstream. People are washing clothes along the stream, some taking a bath. It is so interesting to see rural life this close in a city as big and modern like Metro Manila.

From the streambed we follow retaining walls wide enough to be used as a path by locals and reach the Sapangdaku Spillway. People are washing their motorcycles here and a petroleum tanker crew washed the insides of the big tank, the sludge and hydrocarbon effluents mixing in with the flowing stream towards where people are washing and bathing.

Nobody from the government have thought of watching the streams. Of even placing a simple environmental signage to create awareness among the populace. Cleaning a vehicle, much less, a petroleum tanker is a health hazard to the poor folks who still use the stream for washing and bathing. I have even seen an open well downstream which the folks still used for domestic use.

From the spillway, another problem emerged upstream. Asphalt slabs from a repaved road nearby were dumped along the riverside, constricting the channel and the flow of water. That is dangerous! It would create another water channel when a strong current of flood water cascades down from the mountains and there are a lot of houses infringing on the easements.

It opened my eyes to these problems here. Nobody was thinking. Not even the safety engineers of the construction gang nor the operators of the petroleum tanker nor the barangay officials who are supposed to look over these things. I pity at the standards of our safety education. People should be informed of these lapses in judgment and procedures, committing to that lazy Filipino trait of looking at and doing things as in “Pwede Na”. Good enough. Good gracious!

The broken asphalt pavements became another dry path to navigate the stream and we stop for a while on a local artisan whom I know simply as Paket. Paket is a wood carver and a furniture maker. His carved work, especially blade handles and sheaths are masterpieces which is appreciated in our small bushcraft community. We exposed his craft in Facebook and survivalists in Luzon begins to appreciate his work too and so have given him an extra earning.

Continuing our river walk, we pass by under a bamboo bridge that I had not thought existed. It is private property and we push on until we came upon a part where there is a tiny stream joining the Sapangdaku. The place is called Amia. There is a trail and the guide start to follow it. It is a good trail and only the locals knew of its existence until today. I saw some familiar signs that it had been used before by the “other people”.

We are quite privileged to have been led to this place and we will keep it a secret, hoping it would have a strategic importance to me if ever our country will be invaded by a foreign power. Of course, I have countless other locations, too numerous to mention, which I could convert into redoubts and can be connected with each other by a flexible line of communication. My trysts into the mountains is not just about recreation, it is also planning for the future.

I do not trust a big bully across the sea who keeps on gobbling up islets and rocks and reefs as theirs even though it is within our exclusive economic zone. Then we have a national leadership who seem to acquiesce to these dastardly activities by undoing the efforts of the previous administration before the International Tribunal of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea which favored our claim.

I intend to use these places when SHTF comes and I intend to resist invasions from there. I do not see a soul. Not yet. Maybe during the season of ripe mangoes and star apples. Moving up the trail, I see an abandoned camp. It belonged to mango sprayers. Mangoes in Cebu are sprayed regularly with chemicals to induce it to flower and bear fruit beyond the natural cycle of only once a year. They do it thrice and thrice the gain. Greed!

Over the years bottles and plastic packaging of chemicals are littered everywhere together with discarded rubber hose and empty plastic drums. A cheap laminated nylon sheet houses a crude shelter while another sheet is converted into a water reservoir filled with water from a small stream that is tapped through a PVC hose. I am tempted to burn the whole place but I would not compromise my guide’s goodwill. And I intend to go back.

I checked my temper but I took pictures. A lot of people surely would not like what I saw if ever I post this in a social network site. Maybe an environmental watchdog or NGO would notify concerned government agencies when they see these photos. Maybe not. But in Facebook, attention comes in short notice by the act of fingers doing the talking. Almost everybody has an Android phone and the dance of fingers on glass is swift and loud.

That done, we proceed. We pass by what seemed to be an abandoned hut but dogs barked at some distance and came hurrying to our location. A little later, the owner talked to our guide. Later, beyond hearing distance, the guide warned us that the man is suspected to be a witch. At this knowledge, the pace quickened.

We arrive at a spot where a motocross event was held last month. It is a good place for picnics since it has benches and net hammocks and kind of breezy. It has a good view of the city and has lots of shades. We are now on the other side of the mountain. This can be accessed from Baksan Road and a path had been widened to allow motorcycles here. This is perfect place to rest long and cook our meal.

Everyone retrieved their cook pots, the food ingredients and their prized knives. After dumping the ingredients and my blackened pots, I left them for awhile to have a look of the whole place. I found a bench under a wide shade and enjoyed the view of the metropolis, the harbor and the islands. There is a good supply of breeze and, instantly, I forgot everything. I could not resist Ms. Slumber.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, I awakened. I napped for about fifteen minutes and that is well. I rejoined the group and they were in the middle of their coffee time. A pot is instantly refilled with water and boiled. I waited for my own coffee time but, when it do came, I had it one after the other. Stories and laughter filled the ridgetop masking hungry stomachs whose owners took a lot of quick glances on the hearth.

In meals done by the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild, it is never a boring moment. It is always warm, cooked in real fires, and it is always a feast no matter if it is done on a beautiful day or under the onslaught of storms. There is the main dish of mixed-vegetable soup and pork liver estofado and the side dish of fried anchovies and raw cucumbers in vinegar with either plain rice or milled corn to pair those. And it is 13:15, perfect time to tease gastric juices.

After 15 minutes, I open coconuts with my AJF Gahum heavy-duty knife for beverage and desserts with its meat. Feeling refreshed and knowing that we must continue our journey, we cemented our moment here with our good old tradition of the blade porn. A decaying log becomes a spiny caterpillar with all those knife points pierced on its surface standing up. I am just amazed at how such a small activity could start a lively conversation all its own.

We begin packing and everyone are ready to walk once more and fulfill that chance to climb Mount Bokatol. This peak is a solitary one and no one except the locals visit the montain. It is steep on all sides but there used to be a trail according to the guide. We left this nice place and follow a trail that goes through a forested part where there are more mango trees, a concentration of grapefruit and star apple trees.

Then we came upon a patch of horse radish planted in straight lines. We have to weave among the trunks and branches on sloping terrain, afraid to disarrange a tangle of small leaves. The invisible path goes down a steep slope where there are no handholds except maybe some slender cassava trunks. The guide was walking it straight down. I find it hard to keep pace even if I am agile enough but I worry those who are not used to this kind of terrain.

We reach a saddle and Mt. Bokatol would be somewhere over the top but the path is strewn with thick vegetation and it is straight up. The ground is loose but we have handholds to halt our downward slide. A long vine becomes a lifeline of would-be Tarzans, sturdy enough to hold the weight of a man as heavy as my own. By 15:10, everyone have scaled the peak.

On any topographical map of Cebu City, it is measured at 301 meters, almost a thousand feet. Half-buried is an old concrete marker and there is a new one, as tall as a man, painted with yellow bands. On the side where we came from are a teeming ecosystem of jungle tangle and, on the other side of the tall marker, is a man-made forest of Burma teak, dead and silent.

Remembering the guide’s tale that it was used by the Americans as a machinegun pillbox, I looked for traces of it. A hole on the ground confirms my find. It was changed in size by “treasure hunters”, hoping to find that elusive Yamashita loot. On the government side of the peak is a trail going down to who knows where. We go down it and the ground is more loose in the absence of grass. Forests planted with exotic trees do not permit healthy diversity and it is bald forever under its branches.

I saw traces of recent motorcycle activity here. Somebody was trying to climb Mt. Bokatol using this route and failed. He could not get past another hole on the ground where a step-like two-meter high ground divides the rest of the trail. On foot it was easy to navigate because you can hold on to the trunks for balance. I go down another saddle and it looked familiar.

On this saddle lay the trail to a steep ridge running perpendicular to the Sapangdaku Creek and the Guadalupe-Kalunasan Circumferential Road which goes all the way to Napo. I found this place in 2009 and have used the trails here during some weekends, the last itme in January 2015. This used to be thickly forested but now only Burma teaks remain standing. A path gently goes to Baksan Road and we made our exit, going all the way to the Sapangdaku Spillway and, lastly, Guadalupe.

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