NAPO TO BABAG TALES CXII: Technology Meltdown and Dragonfruits

I AM SAD AND I HAVE no more inspiration and inclination to write an activity which took place last July 24, 2016. It was the 112th episode of my long-running Napo to Babag Tales which started way back in July 2008. This would have not come out if the pictures I took were lost. The articles and images of seven equally adventurous episodes before this were lost to a corrupted hard disk drive with all the rest of my files.

In these times where technology has almost perfected everything, storage drives for computers and other devices left a lot to be desired. They had never perfected these. My original files were made from scratch in 2007 and then, again, in 2010. I thought my present files are feeling free and safe when this technology meltdown came again, one after another, hitting my external hard drive, my micro storage drive, my thumb drive and the danged HDD. I guess I have to start from scratch again. With great pains!

It is more than a year since I walked over the Tagaytay Ridge branch of the Babag Mountain Range here in Cebu City. I need to visit Julio Caburnay’s homestead and see how he is doing. My mind is not focused. I could not get over the idea that all my prized files are lost. I have people from the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild with me and a lady guest. I cannot show my frustrations now and I have to concentrate hard on the path before me else safety will be compromised. 

 

It had rained early in the morning before we came. The leaves are balancing moisture on their surfaces while the ground is damp. It is just a matter of choosing which surface to step on to prevent slippage. The vegetation is thick. It had recovered quickly from the grasp of that totally cruel El Niño that gripped the Philippines for over eight months. It was really really very warm. Springs and streams disappeared while the thought of running a farm would be totally insane.

When my files got lost, I thought of the same. Should I continue maintaining Warrior Pilgrimage without these? Warrior Pilgrimage is not only a personal blog but is also a conduit to people about my skills, my activities and my trainings offered to the public. A lot of people. Apart from the stories and pictures for the blog, a lot of those were lecture syllabuses. Even a future book and much more! It was where I based my livelihood. Now you know how I feel. Fate can sometimes be that: Cruel!

It is a very humid morning despite walking underneath a shaded path and protected partly by some passing clouds. Everybody is sweating and panting to keep steady their footing and balance on steep inclines. Manggapares Trail is a beautiful trail and would have been better where it not for the location of the five steel power pylons that had been constructed along it in 2012. The trail followed the ridge of Tagaytay from the ford of Napo along Sapangdaku Creek up until it joins the Babag Ridge Trail.

Few people, apart from locals, come here because this is not a route known to the usual hikers. We at Camp Red have identified the whole place as another of our playground but I know of a few hikers who have known of this and walked this trail after being guided by a local boy. They even named this as the “7 Towers Trail” to mystify this to their own kind. They exit to Bukawe through a dirt road. Our typical route would bypass Mount Liboron by taking a fork of the trail which led to the homestead.

We passed by five locals making a hut where there used to be thick vegetation. They have cleared it for charcoal. I do not have a right to question them because I cannot personally provide them alternative means of livelihood. The land is not mine nor theirs but they have the moral right to do so whatever they want it to because it is for their own and their family’s survival while I, on the other hand, is just a mere passer, hiking for recreation only.

A steel tower loomed like a Martian death machine – the second one of seven but, in our case, the first of five. On a hill is another and going there is an obstacle in itself because it is farther and the path is almost bare. When we reached our third tower, it would now be easy after that. We stop on an abandoned Mitsubishi backhoe, its yellow bulk becoming part of the landscape. We dared to boil water for coffee. I love coffee. Who would not be?

We resumed to our fourth tower and found our hidden trail and walked at it at a slower pace. There is no use hurrying up even though it is now almost noontime. Safety is observed better by walking slowly, the eyes sweeping in a wide arc, identifying hazards and toxic plants and venomous reptiles. This is a route not frequented by people and it is kind of remote although I see tracks of foot and hoofs of a few days old.

Lost in my thoughts was my lost files. I would need to recover those at all cost! I would need to bring the HDD to someone who knows how to stir the magic potion. I wonder how much would I pay or how would I sort the recovered files when each would now have a different name like it did in 2010? Thinking about it made me more thirsty and left me a half bottle of water for the rest of the day, including my share for the cooking.

We reach the Caburnay Homestead at last and a sentry dog announced our arrival. Julio already noticed us and I am glad to see him healthy and hearty. They suffered, says he, from the long drought spell. He has to source his water from far away and people were on their edge for the right to get a share of the water. He has to stop farming for a while and had to subsist on what plants that survived. Of course, he has a hundred square meters of fruit-bearing cacti - his prized dragonfruit - which can grow in drought or no water at all.

We started preparing our meal, Camp Red fashion. It would be cooked in real fires, no MSGs, always a royal feast, eaten while warm and we care not from bleeding violet-loving sissies when we post these in social networking sites. Never ever teach us outdoor ethics. We already saved you of a heartache because you do not have any idea where we do our dirt times. You just concentrate on your pristine landscapes while we take care of our own.

I leave the guys to the food preparation while I decide to test two home-brewed Slim Jim radio antennas. I may need a Slim Jim during the exploration hike of Segment VII of the Cebu Highlands Trail Project which would be next month. Communications is vital during explorations especially when in a remote area like a mountain range which is still unmarked and unnamed in any old or current map. I connect the antenna cable to my Cignus V85 VHF radio. It failed to transmit. Connection problem. Tried the other. Same result. Not fit for the exploration.

Cooking took a long time. We had our lunch at 15:30, as always, in Camp Red style. Fortunately, there is water gushing in the homestead piped from across a hill. We cleaned our pots after giving the share of our meal and the rest of the unused food ingredients to Julio and his wife plus a can of sardines. Julio never forgets to repay us with his kindness by sharing to us his sweet tiny bananas and his prized dragonfruits.

We left in a hurry as the day begins to give long shadows. We reach the Babag Main Trail. A few offroad motorcyclists left furrows on the surface and a broken piece of what used to be a covering that protects the engine and rider. Walking on we saw traces of one motorcycle falling on the steep side of a trail. I could not hide my amusement which I let the others know. They too could not help it but laugh when they see the side of the trail.

We have no more water but the concoction of juice from foraged limes and fresh cucumber mixed in warm water which we drank after our late lunch have removed our cravings for water. We were not thirsty but we could have water soon when we will tackle down the East Ridge Pass. We found the Upper Kahugan Spring alone without people.

Before we came down to the natural spring, we noticed the newly-opened trail smothered and very slippery. I learned later that more than a hundred people climbed Mount Babag from Napo that morning. This is a path for everybody’s use and I could live with that. What I could not live with is the corporate people turning Tagaytay Ridge into something like this. A crude water slide. No way.

That is why I am so choosy in bringing people there. I do not want people returning on their own without me and bringing others who also would come back without the very people who brought them there and bringing friends with them and etcetera etcetera... It is a vicious cycle and I have seen it many times. It turns the place ugly, developing animosity with locals and fellow hikers.

My idea of enjoying the outdoors is different from the view of the mainstream crowds who are, almost always, relegate theirs to scenic landscapes and the speed of their paces. For a lot of them, they cannot do repeats. It is kind of expensive and you have to pull an arm and a leg to get that much-desired approval for a leave. They can only pass a place once and disdain going to the same place or be dreaming about it which time they do not have.

I can, many times. So can my adherents at Camp Red. We enjoyed and will always enjoy and we feasted and will always feast every Sunday, be it four or five Sundays in a month. It does not matter. We treasure the locals we know more than the fleeting landscapes. We can see more by the number of footfalls we make and we can create a story by the footprints or animal tracks we saw. We know where to go instead of being led to.

We can accomplish much in a day what you would in a week’s tramping. In this case we can sit long and become part of the landscape while you are all spent up physically and financially trying to find that one great moment you believed existed and never have understood the environment you are trying hard to fit in. We can sit comfortably by the warmth of a campfire while you are busy spying neighboring campers for a misplaced candy wrapper.

When you are outdoors leave everything behind. Stress from your office work are unwanted garbage here. The same with personal turmoils. The outdoors, the mountains, the streams, the trees, all the sounds of nature, it heals. I do not care anymore about my files. I will start from scratch again if the recovery software fails. No big deal. The mountain had taught me everything to forget it. Warrior Pilgrimage will exist and will be there as long as Google will search for it.

We arrive at Napo at 18:30 and, slowly, one by one, we leave for Guadalupe on any available motorcycle with empty seats. I was the last to go. Nevertheless, we make it a day by spending a few hours at our new watering hole frequented by expats. These same faces that I am with on almost the same places never failed to inspire me. There is life after a meltdown after all and that is why this activity is published now.

Document done LibreOffice 5.2 Writer

NAPO TO BABAG TALES CI: Ever Fearless

I HAVE TAKEN TO a liking of the route that passes over Tagaytay Ridge which links up with the main ridge of the Babag Mountain Range. Going to the Caburnay homestead, which sits before Babag Ridge takes about three to four hours, so you can prepare a meal, is a perfect option. Water is nearby which actually is sourced afar. Besides it is shady there too.

I am going there again today, August 23, 2015, to loosen up some muscles so I could prepare myself for that very difficult Segment IV of the Cebu Highlands Trail Project, which is in October. Coming with me are my adherents from the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild namely Jonathan Apurado, Justin Abella, Faith Gomez, Richie Quijano and Nelson Tan.

I have last walked here in July 19. Jonathan and Richie were with me then. It had rained for many days but today it had not but I am quite sure the ground would be wet and vegetation would be thick. Once we cross the footbridge, we begin the ascent. Manggapares Trail is an old forgotten route which I began to revive when I rediscovered it in 2013.

I am wearing my worn-out 5.11 Tactical Series Shoes. It is almost disintegrating but I choose where I step and I have to be very careful. Upward we go into the back of the ridge yet it is very shady, almost gloomy. I have not met other hikers here except by a very few locals. I am following a fresh set of spoors made by a pair of rubber boots. Reading trail signs gives a different dimension on my purpose here and my mind work out the puzzles left by somebody.

I meet a mother and a daughter in their Sunday's best of clothes going downhill. Both carried baskets of mangoes above their head and both were sweating. Familiar faces and they were both smiling despite the toils they are having. I give them the privilege of the trail and on they would go to Guadalupe to hear mass. Me and my friends still have a long way to go.

We reach the first tower after an hour. We have started our walk at 07:30 and it is a good pace. For now. We will soon be exposed to sunlight but we will have a good view of the countryside scenery that goes beyond the coast and the harbour channel. The second tower stands very imposing at a higher height and I wish the clouds stayed as they had been when we started our climb.

We take a short rest after hurdling the second tower and our sights gaze on to the next three, which are not that difficult anymore. The relic of a backhoe is still there and I am quite surprised that people had not cannibalized the abandoned heavy equipment. So be it and I hope it shall remain as part of the landscape.

There is a trail up ahead that veer to the right and I go down to follow it then take another branch on its left. The second trail is very difficult to discover unless you are now very familiar to it as I am now or you know your lessons well in trail sign reading as I had done some eons ago. This is the Liboron Trail and I shudder at it everytime it becomes soft and muddy. But today it is not despite the heavy rain of yesterday.

I hear noises below us, some human activities. I hope it is not Timoteo Gabasan because I am waiting for him to make good his threats. I follow Liboron Trail as it weave itself in and out of the lower contours of Tagaytay Ridge until I come upon the hidden coconut plantation where there is level ground.

I saw a young man and I noticed that he showed fear and anxiety upon seeing us. I smiled and gave a morning greeting and walked directly to a tree full of ripe Chinese currants (Local name: bugnay) hanging down in its dark purple and red splendor. His tenseness is gone when he saw me and us as harmless and he smiled a little. He is with an old woman, who hid among tall grass. I wonder why they acted so strangely?

All of us plucked the ripe fruits of the Chinese currant tree and indulge at its tart sweetness. I wished Jhurds Neo was here. He would have brought all of the tree to town. We had a happy disposition when we enjoyed the fruit. It has dissipated our fatigue and little stress that we felt when we climbed up Manggapares Trail. When we were done with that we proceed to the Caburnay homestead.

There is warmth as we climb up a hill overgrown with waist-high grass. Once we top it, the path would swing down onto a couple of sentry groves of bamboo and then up another hill where the homestead is located. Along the way I foraged the driest tinder I could find so we could start our cooking fire. Julio Caburnay is around and he welcomed us into his humble place.

When we have settled our bags we begin the fire with the sparks of the ferro rod. Although we have matchsticks and lighters, it boosted our confidence to start a fire with the rod. It might be unnecessary but, when you are outdoors, you take that chance. Some sort of training. Everybody then pooled their hands in the preparation of our food.

Julio offered us his organically-grown little bananas, which everybody relished very much, and his red dragonfruit. We reserve the dragonfruit to Nelson. His wife is expecting their first baby and it would be good for the wife – and the child – to get some nutrients from this exotic fruit which had adapted well in our environment. Julio also parted a bunch of his recently-harvested corn.

Jonathan takes charge of the cooking. What's cooking then? We got rice, yes. Then that sweet smell of pork adobao wafted by your nostrils, while the rest help themselves in cooking the corn on naked embers. We got a treat, wow! Then you add a pre-cooked “pancit guisado” (Local noodles) that Faith and Justin brought and our lunch takes on a different dimension.

I keep a share for Julio and his wife plus sachets of coffee, sugar, salt, vinegar, soy sauce and a can of unopened tuna flakes which I intentionally brought for their consumption. After staying for more than two hours we are now ready to take on the rest of our journey. Before we leave, Julio gave me six stems of his prized dragonfruits so I could propagate it. I could give it to anyone interested.

It is cloudy and that is fine with us as we negotiate the last part of Tagaytay Ridge before it joins the main ridge of the Babag Mountain Range. The path is now thick with overgrown shrubs and cane grass and I unsheathed my AJF Gahum for this clearing work. A tree had fallen between today and the last time I passed by here and it blocked the path. I have to do a little detour and slash more shrubs and those hardy crawling bamboos (Local name: bokawe).

I follow the Babag Ridge Trail – a very fine old trail – which I lost long ago and rediscovered it in January 2013. I always love this stretch. It gave me serenity by just walking on it. This is a good place to reflect on things and too few locals come here. Unfortunately, off-road motorcycles and their riders pass by here every so often disturbing the calmness and the sanctity of the ridge leaving ugly furrows on the path.

More disturbing, is the presence of a habitation located before the old campsite. It had cleared vegetation along its premises for a small farm and it may expand soon when no one from the DENR is checking. I do not want this to become another “Forbidden Farm” which one homestead is claiming and blocking a route as theirs when you climb Mount Babag from Napo.

This is a historical place. Small battles were fought here between the local resistance and against succeeding colonizers from Spain, the United States and Japan. Then a bigger battle between Japanese defenders against the American liberation forces have made this mountain range famous. It is still home to an artery of war-time tunnels that had been exhaustively explored by crazy treasure seekers.

We are now going down a ravine because fences have blocked access to the rest of the ridge by one family who claimed a part of the path as theirs by mere possession of a tax declaration. This is government land classified as timberland and inalienable and the DENR is an inutile institution. These documents came from them and they cannot regulate the recipients who have been using their privileges the wrong way, blocking access to water sources and rights of way.

We climbed up from the ravine and continue on the rest of the trail. Before reaching the tower area, we slip down the East Ridge Pass to the Upper Kahugan Spring where there is a water source and where “Forbidden Farm” is located. Then we continue until we reach the abandoned homestead of Fele and Tonia Roble, where their children Manwel, Juliet and Josel used to live and play and study at Napo and at Guadalupe.

It is now silent except for a PVC pipe which pour water that is channeled from the Upper Kahugan Spring. Fele's brothers, Zene and Roger still clung to the place in constant fear of Timoteo Gabasan, who have been discovered to have prowled their place at nighttime by neighbors, still hoping to finish off the absent Fele. Anyway, I part a gift for Zene, courtesy of the guys from Camp Red, and two of the dragonfruit stems.

My pair of turkeys have successfully laid another generation of young ones but all died. I could do nothing more about it except wish that Zene and his wife focus more attention to caring for the chicks. I have given them the opportunity to gain from it but their half-hearted attitudes on the turkeys gets into my nerves to the brink of sheer disappointment. I am tired of giving the best advice and seeing the same results. I am tired of seeing this place!

The afternoon is getting late and it seems I have no more business here. I look at the unfinished house and it begets a frown and an anger from me at the sight of this failed project. I have involved many people and I was very optimistic about this when that tragedy on Fele struck. Because of overconsumption of alcoholic drinks which led one bad thing to another like the burning of their home. It destroyed the children's future and my hopes for them.

Yes, I have no business here. I just hope the dragonfruit stems would be taken cared of and bear fruit. That would be a good reason to inflame back a dying ember that I have felt of this place. If not, I leave the dust of my shoes and take my kindness elsewhere.

Document done in LibreOffice 4.3 Writer

NAPO TO BABAG TALES LCIX: Fearless

I AM IN NO MOOD to write this. I have arrived at an episode where I found writing an article on the same places on its 99th episode begin to look boring and provide me no inspiration. Why? That answer would be a no-brainer to a person who had no knack of sharing his joys and experiences to another. If he or she would be a blogger, they would have written one article for a particular place for one time only. Except for few tenacious ones, writing is fun, constant and a stress reliever.

I really do not know why? The “Napo to Babag Tales” had many sequels and its last was NBT 98: Rain or Heavy Rain. This time, the magic is gone. Would that, perhaps, be related to the tragedy that beset the Roble family? Probably, yes. Of course, it would have to be YES. The existence of the Roble homestead along the route to Mount Babag had inspired me to write these many episodes about the trail there coming from Napo or reverse.

I saw the transformation of the Roble family from its impoverished beginnings, hacking a living on the mountain fastness of the Babag Mountain Range, to the time when their very place hosted groups after groups of hikers finding a place to rest and to savor green coconut water on their way to the peak of Babag. Their place is a favorite among weekend hikers and these people have appreciated the family for the use of several bamboo benches, a hut and a platform built on a mango tree.

I have brought my adherents from the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild here long ago and we made the Roble place as an area where we make our “dirt time”. We honed our cooking skills here and feast on food fit for kings. We had made their place as a launch pad for the several editions of outreach events like the Who Put the “N” in Nature which is focused on the distribution of school supplies before the opening of classes in June and the Christmas United in December.

A few kind outdoorsmen provided them goats for breeding while I brought two live turkeys there. When their original house was brought down to its knees – typhoon after another, named Yolanda, Ruby and Seniang, the community of outdoorsmen pitched in to donate cash and material so a new house would emerge. Sacks of cement, nails and roof sheets made its way and a house was erected, although unfinished yet, a concrete testament to the spirit of goodwill and unity of hikers endeared to the good ways of the Roble family.

The Roble family is a good case study. If a family who had gained an income that was provided before by a destructive charcoal-making industry and if given an opportunity to earn an alternative source of income, would help create a better difference on the environment. That is how I see it and it helped to write about the Roble family and the Napo to Babag Tales over and over again. Like a novel. Then tragedy came.

Feleciano Roble was shot by a neighbor – Timoteo Gabasan – last July 3, 2015 at Kahugan with an unidentified vintage caliber .30 rifle. Although Fele survived the attempt on his life but he lost a kidney and their temporary shelter was razed by the same suspect a few days after. The clan to which the suspect belonged to refused to cooperate with the police and harbored the suspect instead. Threats were flaunted to the remnants of the Roble clan as well as to the hikers, especially to those who had helped Fele.

So that same threat is directed at me for I have helped Fele escape the finishing bullets which the suspect would have unleashed during the flight of Fele to safety and hospitalization. Same with Jhurds Neo and Ernie Salomon. I take no threats lightly. I had never changed my approach with how I dealt with those whom have issued threats directed at me. I walk into it. I will always take the initiative and bring that on their doorsteps.

Today, July 19, 2015, I will test how that threat will turn out. I will be the “white mouse” for that experiment which the suspect will impose. My plan is to take Tagaytay Ridge straight up right after crossing the bridge from Napo. I will follow Manggapares Trail and the Babag Ridge Trail before going down the East Ridge Pass into the abandoned Roble homestead. From there, I will proceed back to Napo.

Coming with me is Jonathan Apurado, Justin Apurado, Richie Quijano, Nyor Pino, Locel Navarro and Mark Lepon. I have a guest from Poland who does not want to be identified but he goes by the pseudonym of “Jologs”. Yes, he can understand Cebuano and can speak basic Cebuano words. We aim to cook food somewhere along Tagaytay Ridge and we provide ourselves ingredients for our meal.

Of course, we also have our blades carried openly like we used to do. It is standard fare for our tribe at Camp Red when hiking outdoors. It gives us a better purpose than not carrying one at all. It provides deterrence against those who have ill motives and it projects an image of a bunch of alert outdoorsmen. I have changed how people should enjoy the outdoors and, slowly, my tribe increased.

It is a beautiful morning as we slowly ascend the seldomly-hiked ridge. Clouds partially cover the sun and the path is quite shady. Meanwhile, a vagabond dog joined us. I do not know what is in the mind of the canine and what it perceive of us but I take it as a sign of good omen. Could be a blessing and protection from the patron saint of Napo – Saint Roch. Perhaps.

As I walk, I talk about plants. Jologs gets a good education of tropical plants. He gets to see and know useful and edible plants, as well as the ones you are going to evade. We meet a hunter with an air rifle. He has a live wild fowl with him that he caught with a snare. The Manggapares Trail is thickly vegetated and nobody lives there. The only structures found on this beautiful ridge are seven power pylons and an abandoned backhoe.

Cables are now strung to connect these from the power source in faraway Naga City, passing over Minglanilla and Talisay City and to here, then crossing over to Kalunasan and Budlaan, before ending at a distribution plant in Cabancalan, Mandaue City. We walked underneath five of these towers before switching to Liboron Trail. Nobody uses this scant path except the locals and me.

We reach the Caburnay homestead at 11:00 and Julio welcomed us. It is along a route to Babag Ridge but there is water spewing from a black PVC pipe which comes from a natural spring far away. The place is perfect since it has two bamboo benches and a center table. I have visited this place many times and the couple who lived here are quite accommodating, to the extent of sharing their organically-grown fruits to us like bananas, jackfruits, avocados and dragonfruits.

We immediately boil water for coffee since the uphill hike had cost us some reserves of energy. When coffee got served, the zest returned to us and we concentrate on the preparation of our meal. It is now almost noon and we thanked Providence for shading us most of the time from the sun going here else our pace would have been slower. Our regular chef is not around, so time for the rest to learn how to cook.

Jonathan picked up the chore and we will be cooking mixed-vegetable soup with some ingredients plucked wild along the way. As always, monosodium glutamate and those spurious food additives are not part of our cooking. We keep our food close to nature as much as possible. It is a skill that men should possess.

We left the Caburnay couple at 14:30 and continue on our journey. We reach the ridge of Babag after an uphill walk without trouble where shades abound to keep us from the intense heat of the sun. It is a long walk to the main peak but, along the way, I decide to visit a World War II ruin. This is the main entrance of the gamut of tunnels constructed by the Japanese in a losing but last-ditch effort against the liberation force of the Americal Division and some rag-tag Filipino guerrillas.

The wind played among the leaves trying to talk sense into me but I am an opaque card today, denuded of clairvoyance and hindsight. My thoughts are focused on our safety later on. I would find that out if Fele's tormentor keeps his word. I would not go to the peak of Mount Babag where the trailhead down to Napo is found. Instead, I would explore a beaten trail, if it is true, that it would lead down to the same trail to Upper Kahugan Spring.

It is steep and straight but very manageable. The ground is stable even if it is wet. It passes by a healthy grove of sand bamboo (Local name: bagakay) and goes down to cross a small dry gully and continues onto a field of wild taro (lutya) then to a very narrow pass. Along the way, I saw pepper vine (buyo) and a forest rat (balagtok), seemingly unafraid of human intrusion. It could well be that it found the spines of the thorn bamboo (kagingkingon) enough protection from us.

Anyway, I do like the trail and it indeed led to the Upper Kahugan Spring, which water I found very refreshing. Then I heard a shout from afar. It was unintelligible but it is directed against us. I shouted back contemptuously. I exchanged more shouts at that unidentified man and I decide we better leave towards the Roble homestead as shadows are getting long. There has been a problem with this farm owner. He frowns at hikers passing by his farm and block its access to Mt. Babag.

As we were midway to that place, a man showed up at the heels of Nyor quite angry that I have shouted back at him. It seems his right hand was hidden from view to project to us that he has a weapon but I am used to this kind of situation. Then he recognized me and became apologetic of his behaviour. He said he was shouting at someone not from our party but I took it as an affront instead on our right to roam on government land.

So many ignorant people here pretending that they own a piece of land even when they just possess a mere photocopy of a land tax declaration. They thought they own the place forever and block right of ways. The government should know these things, especially the Department of Environment and Natural Resources, because these documents came from them. I believe some corrupt government officials are making a killing here. So, for that matter, I advise people to refrain from passing by “Forbidden Farm”.

We reach the abode of Fele's older brother, Zene, and they are in a state of fear. I could feel their relief at seeing us. With our presence, they are safer, but it would not be long when their agitation at the thought of the suspect roaming free and stalking them in the middle of the night returns. I look at my adult pair of turkeys and it is alright. From its six young ones, only three survived. When the Roble home was burned, the perpetrator also slashed the necks of my two young turkeys and caused injury to a third.

Suddenly, I begin to feel a very familiar feeling that had been constantly present in my past. It is a rage that I have no assurance of control. I pick up a stick that is as thick as a wrist and about 20 inches long. Miyamoto Musashi had vanquished most of his adversaries armed with just a stick. They were the finest warriors of 16th century Japan who take pride of their weapons from swords to halberds to chain-and-blade with matching skills, superior than most, and whose reputations struck awe.

I could feel my blood boil causing my individual muscles to revolt. I need to release this bottled up rage and walking would only be a slight liberation from that but, at least, it is a relief. My eyes scan everything, ears up, while my mind begins to process all possibilities of cause and effect like a chess player would with his two knights. With a stick I had humbled some people even with superior weapons. Just give me the right distance.

The threat-maker chooses his time and place and he has the element of surprise. It is my disadvantage. As always. It had never changed, quite unfair, but just give me the right distance and my speed would do the rest. I once disarmed a spoiled brat with a rifle and a sidearm in a crowded bar in Urgello with just a stick; a hoodlum with a revolver in F. Villa; a serial killer in Davao City; and many others more but those are stories quite different from today.

The sight of the burned-down house had caused my temper to rise. I got agitated by noise caused by unnecessary talking at the back of me and I pleaded for silence and asked them to keep their eyes open. I am now in a different world and I see only black and white. You might call that paranoid but it is the way it is and I am still living because of it. I am only after my imagined adversary which I expect to appear anytime. Even so, I now have a strategy. If he appears and makes a wrong move, the stick will do my work.

I reach Napo at 17:00 and I still have the stick. The adversary did not materialize contrary to his threats. Might as well bring this stick home. It will be put to good use. I will need this in my bushcraft class in a few days in Capiz but it would have been better if this stick squash his thick skull. What a boring day.

Document done LibreOffice 4.3 Writer  

  

NAPO TO BABAG TALES LXXII: Trails Do Tell Tales

I AM ONTO THE FIRST of the many towers located over Tagaytay Ridge of the Babag Mountain Range today, January 26, 2014.  I am with Aljew Frasco and Christopher Maru and we take rest underneath it.  We are training for a climb of Mount Pangasugan which we will take on the last weekend of March.  It is my fifth time here and, for both Aljew and Christopher, their second.

The weather is mild but without the gentle breeze the last time around (NBT 71: Brave New Year).  But it is colder today.  My exhaled breath fogged as I chugged up the route to the lower ridge which I thought, at first, was smoke coming from Aljew’s cigarette.  I take a swallow from my water bottle, quite confident of my two liters I carried.  Up ahead, are five more towers and a dangerous hidden trail.

We pass by a lone local with a dog as we were going up to the second tower.  The sun is rising and give us warmth making us sweat.  We go down a saddle and up again to a third tower.  We take another rest underneath a Mexican lilac tree (Local name: madre de cacao, kakawate) and talk about guns and knives.  We all open carry our knives hanging by our sides. 

The Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild are quite proud of their blades and espouses the open-carrying of knives while outdoors.  We do this to encourage other outdoorsmen that it is alright as long as you observe safety carriage and know the only Philippine law governing the possession and carrying of knives – Batas Pambansa Bilang 6, from which you will also base your rights. 

My AJF Gahum heavy-duty knife on my side is a wonderful sight to behold and I am proud of that.  Someday, it may wear a beautiful leather sheath but, for now, it may have to do with plastic.  The combination of polished rosewood (Local: narra) and hambabawod (sp. Neonauclia formicaria) scales gives the knife a character of its own aside from its long length.  It complements perfectly my persona.

We climb up at the place where the fourth tower is found, the lone local we met behind the trail had overtaken us and it might be good to engage in a conversation with him.  He introduce himself as Vicente Bonghanoy and his family owns all the land on Tagaytay Ridge between Sapangdaku Creek and Lanipao Creek.  He is a good source of information and I am happy to have talked with him. 

We part ways with him as he is going up the ridge while we take a different route towards Bocawe.  I follow a thin path down the ridge where another path breaks off from it.  This path is called Liboron Trail and it is a dangerous trail as the ground is soft and it is not wide.  Aside that, the vegetation is thick, hiding a very steep hillside.  When I passed by here the first time (NBT 57: The Last Wild Place), I fell for about six meters and almost repeated it on the same spot three weeks ago (NBT 71: Brave New Year).

When I am about to take on Liboron Trail, I see a common rat snake blocking it.  It is brown colored and it has just recently shed off its skin by the looks of its shiny scales with a rainbow sheen.  So it is starving then.  I approach it slowly until I am one-and-a-half meters close.  It is about three-and-a-half feet in length and about more than an inch wide.  It is not poisonous but I am alert just the same.  I show it to Aljew and Christopher before I take a picture.

I stomp a foot and the snake made a U-turn and hurriedly slither down the hillside to keep as much distance away from us.  I advise Aljew and Christopher not to lower their guards yet as snakes are known to travel in pairs.  That goes also with centipedes.  I push on, taking notice of the details of the trail and the vegetation beside it.  I stoop, once in a while, to touch the surfaces of stones, showing Aljew and Christopher my habits.

I see a crop of bird feathers in the middle of the trail but there is no blood on it nor on the ground so it must have been caught live from another area by a hunter or a predator and it is important that Aljew and Christopher know this.  You have to re-create and tell a story on the circumstances found on any object or anything that do not fall into place based on your observation.  That is the essence of tracking; of Trailcraft.

We arrive at a hidden meadow planted with coconut trees.  I see remains of a small fire.  The ashes are still intact and not scattered by breeze nor trodden by insects.  I touch it lightly with my open palm and I could ascertain that it is just hours old.  The ashes are not warm but, just the same, I could feel minute warmth sucked by my skin.  Whoever made this fire, must have boiled himself or herself water for coffee since he/she did not use a lot of firewood.     

We move on and I watch out the spot where I fell.  A trunk of a jackfruit tree partly blocked it and you have to raise your foot high to go over the next ground which is kind of soft but, this time, I am more careful and concentrate my attention on it instead of catching details of the next fifteen meters ahead.  I paused and looked at the steepness of the terrain and I shudder at the memory of my fall which I halted with a self-arrest procedure based purely on common sense.

We arrive at a saddle and rest for a while to show Aljew the previous route I made through thick  jungle (NBT 70: Manggapares Trail) on the last Sunday of December 2013.  Infront of us is a lone mango guarding the approach of a hill.  We climb that path onto a field of razor grass.  When we are in the midst of it, a big owl burst from the grass five meters away from us.  It flew across us then it circled above twice before diving towards a safe place.

I was shocked at its sudden appearance that I failed to take a photo of it while it was very near.  I did take a shot but it was already far and just a speck on the camera screen.  I cannot forget the owl’s face as it stared at me while it took its sudden flight.  I felt a sort of  kinship with it.  The grass owl (sp. Tytus liberimus) are now a vulnerable species and its habitat are now threatened by human activity and there are now few of this in the wild since it is hunted by wildlife collectors.

Aljew was greatly delighted at the unexpected surprises along this trail and he hoped to chance more of these wild creatures here in the Babag Mountain Range.  I need to find where it roosted among the grass so we covered a wide circle going in a spiral pattern when we found it.  The flattened grass is still warm and a tiny feather is snagged on a grass leaf.  It is good to know where it stayed.

We arrive at the place of Julio Caburnay at exactly 11:00.  The place is abandoned.  I looked for him and I found him on a far field and asked permission to stay at his place.  Upon my signal, Aljew and Christopher foraged firewood and kindling and start making a fire.  I intentionally leave my butane stove at home and live off the land today with food cooked by firewood.  We boil water and make coffee.  Stronger coffee, I mean.

Then we retrieve rice and raw vegetables from our bags along with our cooking pots.  We had bought purple yam, red squash, sponge gourd, eggplant, gumbo, green pepper, bell pepper, onion, garlic, upland swamp radish and jute leaves from the streetside market in Guadalupe.  I did not buy some pork meat or dried fish but would use instead the wood mushrooms (Local: kwakdok) that I foraged at Tagaytay Ridge as the flavoring.

The rice and and the mushroom-flavored vegetables are cooked on pots suspended over a blazing fire.  The thick vegetable soup was done with just salt and a spicy powder and it tasted alright.  We all take several refills until we were all filled up.  I leave a kilo of uncooked rice to Julio as well as three sachets of coffee and ten pieces of bread.  We leave at 13:35 for Babag Ridge.

The rest of the trail is thickly vegetated going upwards.  The thickest poles of the crawling bamboo (Local: bokawe) are still found here, sometimes crossing the trail at some point.  I used my AJF Gahum here to cut several red cane grass (Local: bugang) blocking the way.  This is a beautiful trail that connect to an equally impressive Babag Trail.  I do not encounter an off-road biker this time nor I found recent traces of them which is good.  It means, for a good three weeks, wildlife and plant had not been stressed by their noisy and smoky passing.             

A lot of debris and some broken branches had cluttered the trail which I had not noticed the last time but quite perfect if it is just left alone since it will block access on those absent Enduros.  We walk over the ridge trail that goes on a horseshoe bend, passing by above Buwabog and then passing by a small cave that is covered with small logs until I reach a clearing overlooking the Bonbon River Valley.  I mark the connecting trail with my own style of three knife hacks on a mahogany tree and continue on.

We follow the route down to groves of spiny bamboo (Local: kagingkingon) but very wary of the barbed wire fence running along the length of the path.  It crosses a dry stream and climb again until we reach a rarely-used road of what used to be part of the Babag Trail.  We rest inside a fenced property whose gates are opened at this hour.  I could see simultaneously both the lowlands and coastline on the east and the central valley and highlands west.  We stayed for about fifteen minutes.

We reach the vicinity of the towers of Mount Babag and pursue our final journey down the ridge.  We pass by six hikers resting on benches and we startled them with our presence, especially when they noticed knives hanging openly by our sides.  They must have thought us as lawless elements judging by their startled expressions but we ignored them.  We knew better and people with sense ought not to roam mountains without a very important survival tool.

The trail conditions are now better than the last time we go down here or it could be that I wear my Columbia Coremic Ridge 2 shoes.  It is an all downhill route and I feel my knees begin to shake.  I have not had this feeling before but, today, I sense that age has finally come knocking.  Would this condition shorten my time in the mountains or would it limit my presence here to just a few sorties?  I do not know it yet, but that question is still confined to my Creator. 

I notice something wrong in my downward journey.  There are different shoe prints going down and not the other way if I would base my assumption of the six hikers I saw earlier.  Then there must be other hikers just ahead of us as the prints are very fresh?  When I arrive at the Roble homestead, that question is answered.  They belong to the group of Maria Mahinay, Neil Mabini and Jodel Seville, who all were with me recently in a reverse trek to Osmeña Peak.  Their group today number around fifteen.

We take a rest on an empty bench and another two hikers arrive coming from Sapangdaku Creek.  I am not the only one who felt an unsteady pair of knees.  Aljew also felt his quaver.  We remedy this by drinking coconut water; a natural electrolyte.  We stayed for a few more minutes even when all had left.  I presume the group of Maria will take the route passing by a small community, so I take the other route, fondly called as the “Padidit Trail”.

On that route, I see traces of many people passing here instead.  I see many branches broken, the result of inexperienced people walking on difficult terrain or wearing the wrong kind of footwear.  The trail is cluttered with traces of people slipping down and I show it to Aljew and Christopher and both are grinning at what they saw.  Obviously, Maria had played a joke on her group and amused herself when people stumble and slip.

My knees are in pain but my steely resolve to finish this trek is always a great consideration.  My gait betray the pain and I control the pace to lessen its intensity.  We arrive at Napo at 16:30 but Aljew’s pick up is parked at Arko so I have to walk almost a half kilometer of uphill road to reach the site.  It is good to sit down again.  Better still, Aljew treat me and Christopher to a sumptuous dinner and a cold bottle of beer at AA Barbecue Grill in Guadalupe.

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NAPO TO BABAG TALES LXXI: Brave New Year!

I TAKE OFF FROM home at 05:00 for the church in Guadalupe.  Today, January 5, 2014, is the start of another season of my outdoor pursuits and of the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild.  The Guild is the only one of its kind in Cebu, in Visayas and in the Philippines.  Nowhere else would you find a local outdoors club here whose main existence is primarily focused on primitive-living techniques and wilderness survival skills.

The weather is now colder but it came late.  I expected it in December but it never came and it is so unusual.  Credit that to climate change.  A good scenario to prepare for.  I have prepared for any SHTF situation and so do the rest of Camp Red.  That gives us advantage over the rest because we are regularly out there to hone our skills while all are beholden to their couch and the electric outlet.  Although some come to the mountains, they do nothing but take pictures, kill time and feel good.  That’s all.  Nada!

Today I will tackle again Manggapares Trail but I will switch to the dangerous Liboron Trail to reach Babag Ridge instead.  I came here last week with four others but we did not pass this route and I hope we will finish this activity today before dusk.  Coming again with me is Dominic Sepe; and first time for both Aljew Frasco and Christopher Maru.  We all leave Guadalupe at 07:00 under a slight drizzle for the trailhead at Napo after securing the ingredients for our noontime meal which we will cook along the route.

I am trying out a newly-bought Blackhawk! Warrior Wear Tactical Pants.  It is made of canvas cloth and is well suited for urban use but it might be good to test it on difficult terrain.  Taking a cue from last week’s experience with heat, I will don my South African veldt hat because of its wide stiff brim to shield me from the sun and its meshed structure to let air through.  I wear my old Rivers 3514M Hike Boots over a newer Columbia.  Although the new one gives good traction, the older one is comfortable.  I will use my experience instead to compensate what it lacked.

By 07:30, we are now at the branch of the Napo Trail where a connecting route to Manggapares Trail starts.  I open carry my big AJF Gahum knife by my side.  So is Aljew with his Sycko 911, Christopher with his older AJF prototype and Dominic with his Seseblade NCO knife.  It is all uphill now but, thankfully, the weather seem mild.  Might be because we start early.  The Blackhawk! pants seem to be a drag as I struggle with my breath trying to keep up with the pace that the three had imposed behind me.  Nevertheless, we reach the first of a chain of steel power pylons planted above Tagaytay Ridge and I pause for timeout.

I carried two liters of water and that is two kilos.  I am not known to use a lot of water to quench thirst but I insist to carry an extra.  Another cargo I have is a kilo of rice, fire kit, first aid kit and trauma kit, two cook pots, a skillet, a stainless-steel cup, spoon-fork-knife set, a spare shirt, a kilo of vegetables, a Victorinox SAK Trailmaster, a steel carabiner, a LED torch and a William Rodgers bushcraft knife standing guard above the Sandugo Khumbu 40 liter backpack.  This is just routine load yet it is like lead today.  I sip a small amount of water hoping that this lessens the weight.

The sun comes out of the clouds but the cool breeze, robust and strong, coax our determination to pursue the upward route until we reach the second steel tower.  Along the way, I forage wild pepper leaves to add to our vegetables and show them edible mushrooms that grow on dead wood and pluck out some to make our soon-to-be cooked meal sumptuous.  We came to a wide saddle that was converted into a camp by firewood gatherers.  It has bamboos and purple taros on each side of the saddle where ravines are located, a sure sign that water could be sourced somewhere along the length of each.

The third tower seems hard to tackle and I begin to notice that my heavy pair of pants is chafing on my inner thighs.  The action of walking on steep terrain had caused creases between crotch and knees and these keep on rubbing the skin which is now getting sore.  I decide to change gait, if applicable, towards the fourth tower and the unfinished fifth tower.  Beyond it are the sixth and seventh steel behemoths but I opt to switch route for Liboron Trail instead with dread.

In my first pass there last year (NBT 57:  The Last Wild Place), I fell on a spot where soft ground gave way to my weight and I rolled six meters down.  My timely presence of mind prevented my downward plunge with a self-arrest procedure.  It was a close call that I do not want to repeat on myself and on my trail mates.  I warn them of the trail condition and of my fall before we proceed.  This is a slightly better option though than following the back of an exposed ridge, skipping around Mount Liboron, and finding a long-lost trail to a saddle.  I do not want to waste time again by blazing a trail.

We stick to the old trail, almost missing it, and come upon a secret meadow where there are lots of coconuts of whose fruits are husked by an upright steel rod pointing to the heavens.  It would have been a perfect campsite if there would have been a water source.  We did not stay long and follow the path and, when I step over a tree trunk, the ground give way.  Deja vu!  I almost fell, of all places, on the same spot but on the other side of the trunk!  Just when I am being careful.  A closer close call.

We reach the saddle and climb up a hill and down into a pass choked by spiny bamboos, that sway and creak to the ever-present breeze.  We climb up a steep ground where there is a big mango tree, cross a brook, climb again a steep ground and reach the home of Julio Caburnay and his family at 11:00.  On this spot, we will prepare our meal for lunch.  But we will boil water first for coffee.  This is essential in recouping lost energy.  I request Julio of four young coconuts which we will consume as dessert later.

Dom and I begin slicing the vegetables while Aljew and Christopher gather firewood and set up a hearth to cook rice.  I soak the mushrooms in water and give instructions to Dom on the finer points of cooking mixed vegetables.  We did eat a sumptuous meal of mixed vegetables with mushrooms done without monosodium glutamate.  While most wanted an easy way out of their cooking by using MSG or of those “magic mixes”, the Camp Red way is just using the right frame of mind to achieve taste.  I give a kilo of rice to Julio before leaving for higher ground at 13:30.

We pause to savor the view above the Caburnay homestead.  It is just too awesome and I begin to entertain to set up an “outdoors education center” here.  Just like the Roble homestead at Kahugan, the Caburnays could provide coconuts and it would provide them some form of livelihood catering to hikers apart from their farming.  When we are now amongst thick vegetation, I hear the distant sound of small engines, unmistakably that of racing motorcycles.

I hasten my pace just in time to see the last two colorful riders astride their Enduro bikes on a trail I hold dear.  Julio talked to me last year about motocross riders passing by here and I find it unbelievable until I saw it today.  Although they have all the right to be here as much as I do but they leave tire tracks and deep furrows on the path.  This is a foot path above Babag Ridge and some people abuse that by using racing motorcycles here and that is why some property owners decide to close some places with fences where this beautiful trail used to thread that greatly altered the route. 

A lot of hikers, unable to find their way in the past because of these fences, got discouraged and opt to set up camping sites at a peak above the old Swiss Chalet Restaurant.  This trail is really the old Babag Trail that tiptoe its way from Garahe in the north to Bocawe in the south, even farther up to the Mananga River.  I used to walk this trail alone in a day in the early to middle ‘90s starting from Buhisan to Upper Busay when preparing myself for big climbs outside Cebu.  I thought this trail had been made into a road until I rediscovered it last year that it was not. 

Altogether, these fences might have caused a boon to conventional hikers, yet it helped to my own cause, although I will have to grudgingly share this trail to off-road riders.  Babag Trail is home to the stoutest poles of crawling bamboos (Local name: bokawe) and rattan palms.  These had been fixtures here since I first came here in 1993.  This is also home to other indigenous species and is a favorite roosting ground of the rare black shama Local: siloy).  The vegetation on both sides of the ridge are thick and I believed that the few outsiders who visit here the better would its condition be.  I would utilize the trail and the whole route, for that matter, as a training ground for bushmen.

Babag Ridge had been used by the Japanese Imperial Army during their last stand in Cebu and I showed Aljew, Christopher and Dominic of the places where they used to camp.  They converge around cave openings which they developed into a complex system of tunnels that dig into the gamuts of the Babag Mountain Range.  I take out my compass to find the north when I see five trees that fell down during Typhoon Yolanda.   The trees all fell in one direction – to the east – and the wind that caused it came from the west.  This wind is called by the oldtimers as “badlong” and they describe it as the wind that silence all winds.   

   

We reach the part of the trail where it is off limits forever by fences.  An alternate route had been made or been developed to through many years of use by locals and we follow it down a dry gully where the route climb up again for the high ground.  Along this is the track left by the motorcycles that dislodge soil, rock and debris causing the walking slippery on an almost toothless sole like my Rivers shoes.  We reach a part where the ridge is thinnest and this is where the local guerrillas had used as lookout point in World War 2.  From here they could observe enemy movement below and send signals to Cantipla, where it is relayed to the headquarters at Tabunan.

We leave at 14:30 after a good rest and go to the trailhead down to Kahugan.  We pass by Mount Babag and follow the long trail down, most of it loose soil and some steep.  Uncomfortably steep for my soles to grip on but I use both hands to grab for balance and to arrest myself against the pull of gravity.  Vision is good and no long shadows to hinder judgment.  I walk carefully, sometimes doing a reverse walk down when doing a normal advance seems impossible.  I persevered until I reach the Roble homestead and I need a rest especially when one knee goes numb.

Aljew take off his shoes and socks to let his feet breathe after that pounding caused by that difficult downward route.  We boil water for tea to replenish our energy as the meal we had eaten during lunch had, somehow, been used up by walking on difficult terrain.  It is 15:15 and we could finish this day at 16:00 if we like to but we have a lot of time so we rest long at the Robles.  After that, we walk some more downhill stretch until we reach the Sapangdaku Creek and cross it for the trail going to Napo, passing by the route that we used in the morning.

It was a “rosary loop” encrusted with “mysteries” with Napo as the “cross”.  Unfortunately, this will be for Camp Red use only.  It will remain a mystery to others though.  No waypoints would be uploaded in my Wikiloc account although it is openly shared and documented in this blog for your consumption.  For that matter, only the bold begets this treasure.  If you are bold enough, possessed with a good dose of wit and cunning, you may win this prize and my respect.

Godspeed to you whoever you may be!         

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