NAPO TO BABAG TALES CXXVIII: Breaking In a New Pair

SHEILA MEI LOST HER OLD PAIR of Merrell during the last few kilometers of the last day of Segment I-A of the Cebu Highlands Trail, right after the 90-minute trek and forced river immersion along the length of Biasong Creek on the way to Bonbon, Cebu City. That happened in February 2018. Good thing it did not gave her a problem on the first day.

One sole got detached from the upper fabric and I have to tie it with a cord so it could still serve its purpose. It did not halfway through. Sheila Mei has to remove the pair and changed into rubber flip flops. That was the end of her storied Merrell. She carried it home and may well be buried in a special cemetery for shoes.

 

On March 11, 2018, Sheila Mei came back with a vengeance. She has a new pair of Merrell and she has to break it in. Gian Carlo, her partner and accomplice for Adrenaline Romance Blog, motivates her from behind, smiling devilishly. Their common friend, Halourd, is with them. All came to train and prepare for an adventure outside of Cebu. Was it the Bakun Trilogy? I think it is that.

I choose a route for them that has no hiker traffic on a Sunday. It is found on Tagaytay Ridge, one of the several east-pointing ridges of the Babag Mountain Range, and there is a beautiful path there called Manggapares Trail. It starts right away, upon crossing a foot bridge by way of Napo. The path goes through a small community which changed into steep flower farms.

I really love to hike this trail and I rarely bring people here. For the Adrenaline Romance couple, along with Halourd, it is a must that I show them the other least known side of the Babag Mountain Range. Only a few hikers walk here and they named this route as “7 towers trail” as a reference. In my walks here I only pass by five towers and disappear through another path.

Of course, that secret path would also be visited by my guests today. Tagaytay would connect with the main ridgeline of the Babag Range. I intend to bring them to Mount Babag and go down back to Napo on another route. That is my plan. Once we got past of the small flower farm, we huff and puff into a hole among the greens. It is so silent here and so cool but we sweated, nevertheless. The path is forever ascending.

We were just walking slowly but the weather had become so humid after many weeks of mild temperatures. The tropical summer is now felt abruptly. It is just too early for that and I missed the times when it came slowly in the middle of March. Must be climate change or is just that this is just a natural cycle when the globe warmed up before it gets super cool again. Anyway, sweating is a fact of life here.

Worming our way through the green tunnel, we finally come out on open ground and standing before us, from our point of view, is the first steel behemoth. Still far away is the second and the third. It rises more about a hundred feet above us with high-tension cables connecting from faraway Naga City to a distribution terminal in Mandaue City.

The presence of the steel towers became reference points of sort along the trail and I would know how long would I have to walk more or where am I on these parts. You can anticipate and conserve energy, take a rest or proceed up the ascending ridge just by counting the towers. I would know which part is the most difficult to reach and which one is not.

The second tower is far from the first and it is on a hill. We get there, nevertheless, but the next one is much higher and more difficult to approach. After willing our bodies to go up the hill, we were winded. I am now facing an easy trail and the walk to the fourth tower would not be of a problem but we have to take a rest first on another landmark, an abandoned backhoe.

As I have said before in another blog post, the junked heavy equipment is a natural magnet of conversations. It had been left by the contractor who erected these steel towers and, until now, I do not know why it had been so. From what I heard from the locals, they were quite surprised also that it was left behind when it was still in good condition, despite rolling down the ridgeline twice.

As we continue, we go past the fourth tower, I break off from the trail and followed another one. I have never shared this path except to my adherents in the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild. But, today, I make an exception. The uphill walk had cost us almost three hours already and it would be best that we have to stop to prepare lunch, preferably, a place where there is a water source. I know of such a place and I have been there many times.

The trail is wild since it is seldom walked. It cross a dry gully where there is a crooked coconut tree guarding its approach then you walk on a wide and flat grassy area where there are more coconut trees. There is a pointed iron bar standing from the ground and there are coconut husks strewn everywhere. This would have been a perfect bushcraft camp if only it had a water source nearby.

We pass by below the peak that hosts the sixth tower and goes into a saddle and up a hill where there is a mango tree. According to local lore, there used to be two mango trees growing close together here and looked almost the same that it became a reference point for locals and called this path as “mangga nga pares” (English: twin mango trees). The other tree had died and only one is left standing.

Unfortunately, someone had placed barbed wire fences on the trail along the saddle. This is not a popular hiking trail since it is not known. There could be a good reason why a farmer would fence off a land. It could be to prevent farm animals from straying in or out of the farm or it could be built to keep off-road motorcycles away. If it meant for the latter, it serves them right. However, the fence has a narrow passage good for a person to pass.

Over another peak is another waist-high field of grass where it is a favorite nesting ground of grass owls. I once spooked unaware a large owl among the grasses here and it flew away when it noticed my presence. The owl kept its eyes on me as it circled above me twice before flying over to the forest that I just left behind. We were staring at each other and it was such a fantastic feeling. A feeling of kinship.

After we go over the hump, we go down a path where there are bamboo groves on both sides. At the approach of another saddle, dried bamboo poles were intentionally stacked over the other over the trail as a sort of crude fence. A person could step over and squeeze under these poles with not so much difficulty but farm animals or motorcycles could not.

When we got past that, a path led to a garden on a hill and then a small house. I have known the couple living here since 2011 and they make their living by farming. They have water which they sourced from across another hill and it is a good place to stop and cook a meal. There are plenty of firewood and tinder but Gian Carlo and Sheila brought with them their butane burner.

I promised them that I would be the one to prepare and cook pork adobao so I let them enjoy the spectacle of the garden. The farming couple grow vegetables, root crops, flowers, ornamental plats, fruit-bearing trees, bananas and pittaya. Their dragonfruit is of the deepest red in color and so sweet. Everytime I visit the couple, I always brought with me pittaya fruit and stems for propagation.

Not this time. Their pittaya farm suffered from a recent typhoon where the structure that held the crawling stems collapsed and rendered the stems waterlogged and unproductive. This is an introduced plant that originally grows in the barren plains of Central America and an abundance of rain is just not what it needs. The stems above the ground could still be salvaged and propagated.

Harold has other ideas. He bought several of the healthy stems from my pensive farmer-friend so he could compliment his white and pink pittayas with this deep red one. He is into commercial farming and awaits his first harvest. Not everyone has this very red species and it commands a better price, I think, than its paler cousins. Sheila joined the hunt for plants and settled on ornamental and flowering plants.

While they were busy, the farmer gave me a medium-sized local blade which he called as a “binangkito” when I asked the name of its shape. The blade has a chisel grind which favored a right-handed user. The handle is wood with intricately-carved designs, the bolster tightly wrapped with copper wires. The sheath is made of the same wood with a different carving style and three sets of rattan wicker cords are woven on three different places.

 

Sheila, Gian Carlo and Halourd came back from their green search and settled with several plants being readied for transfer down the lowlands and into their homes. I am afraid there would not be a hike on the rest of the route anymore. Rather we have to take an exit to Bocawe and then to Pamutan Junction. But first, we have to eat our pork adobao and rice.

After the meal, Sheila, Gian and Halourd decide to remove most of the soil from the plants because it is heavy, retaining only that had adhered and hardened among the roots, as well as the plastic that held once the full soil content. With plastic bags, they pressed as many of the plants inside. The pittaya stems were held by layers of banana trunks and secured tightly outside the backpack.

We go down a trail and then on to a set of concrete foot paths, crossing a small stream and followed an abandoned road until we stepped on concrete. It is early afternoon and it is very warm on the pavements. While we were walking uphill, we meet many hikers. From the shapes of their bodies and the way they dress, they were all novices. Most likely, they are from call centers, forced to go with their peers under the assumption of “team building”.

 

We reach Pamutan Junction and it is difficult for Sheila, Gian Carlo and Halourd to heft the plants to more distances like going to Guadalupe on this same road. The walk from the hidden garden to here had already taken their toll on their arms and hands. The most likely action next would be to hire motorcycles. It took us a half hour or more to haggle and to look for three motorcycles. We all need to leave all at the same time.

But, once we did, the motorcycles go by way of To-ong, Buhisan and, finally, Punta Princesa. From there we transferred to public utility jitneys going to the downtown area. Halourd dropped off at Labangon while Gian Carlo and Sheila Mei has to go to SM to transfer to another passenger van. As for me, I disembark at the road to Pier 3 and walk the short distance to home.

Gian Carlo and Sheila Mei wrote about this episode in their Adrenaline Romance Blog as:

    ManggaparesTrail: A Practice Climb and a Closed Sale

Document done in LibreOffice 5.3

Some photos courtesy of Adrenaline Romance

NAPO TO BABAG TALES CXXVII: Three Raptors

FOR OLD TIME’S SAKE, I accommodated a request from my friends belonging to my former club, the Cebu Mountaineering Society. Actually, I had done so for them in July on a climb to Mount Babag from Napo and, again, just last December 28, on a hike through the Buhisan Watershed Area to Napo. This time, I would do so again for them from Napo to Bokawe to Guadalupe. Today is another brand-new year, January 2, 2018. Happy New Year!

The opportunity to go out again to the mountains instead of snoring through the party fats of the past few days brought about by holiday goodwill is most cherished. Without any second thoughts, I came first at the parking lot of the Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish and waited for my friends. They came and they were Lilibeth Initan, Mon Corro, Paul Morgia and two ladies who, I think, are new members, since it is the first time I saw of them.

It was already 08:30 when we start from Napo. I would surprise them today by bringing them to my playground. They were indeed surprised when I brought them to a different trail right after crossing the foot bridge. The Manggapares Trail, from its very trailhead, is known by the locals only and my people from the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild. It goes up upon the very moment you step on its path.

There are a few houses here and a flower farm at the beginning but, once you get past it, it is a very lonely trail. It is very shady. Mexican lilac (Local: kakawate), cassia (bistula), alom, beach hibiscus (malibago), Java plum (lomboy), mango, tamarind and bauhinia trees abound here. The ground is hard and rocky. Shrubs, herbs and grass line the path and elevation is forever rising.

Tagaytay Ridge is just one of the many ridges of the Babag Mountain Range that extend far to the east and it had been used for many years by the older generations when travelling to Mount Babag and beyond. Manggapares Trail is really an old trail that I once trod in the early ‘90s and have been forgotten when I laid low from the outdoors scene for years. I only rediscovered it in 2011 but, by that time, there was an earth-moving activity on the ridge. 

Yes, there was a crude road made so that heavy equipment and trucks could be brought up. Big holes were dug from the ground and a lot of cement were poured on it. These were the anchors for a series of steel towers that would soon be erected. My heart ached at the sight of these but, after many years, when the ground settled down and nature reclaimed what was theirs, I accepted the presence of the steel behemoths.

We reach the first of these towers. It now has high-tension cables over it, relaying electricity from a power plant in Naga City over the mountains and down the line from here across to Mapawon Peak in Kalunasan and beyond to the distribution facility in Cabancalan, Mandaue City. The second tower is on a higher elevation and is 200 meters uphill. We follow a path between a field of wild-growing sweet potatoes and yams, hoping not to disturb any reptiles snoozing among it.

The third tower is a bit of difficult to reach since a path to it is steep. Once you are below it, a row of Mexican lilac trees provide you shade from the sun. However, at this time of the year, there is no need for that. Northeast monsoon winds carrying the winter cold of Siberia, Manchuria and Japan reach the tropics making the weather very mild. The cooler wind is most welcome.

The path is now rolling terrain and we stop to rest at an abandoned backhoe. Why it had been left there to rust against the elements is a question which I have not had a credible answer as of this time. According to my local friends, it had fell twice on the side of the mountain but was salvaged each time. They were even more mystified than I am when the workers left it even if it was not broke.

It became part of the landscape and a landmark of sort. It is a natural magnet of conversations and people naturally rest here like we are doing now. We have just overcome the hardest part and it would be easy walk from hereon. Yonder is the fourth and fifth tower and a sixth on top of a hill. As we were going to the next tower, I happen to scan the sky and, above me, is the unmistakable silhouette of a rare Philippine falconet.

Tried to take a photo of the small raptor but the distance was just too great. My being close to nature all the time, have developed my observation skills to a finer edge. I can see many things that most people do not see, the finest details, and I am awed at such spectacles. The spectacles I yearned are not the landscapes and scenery but the ordinary ones which do not elicit a second look from a mainstream hiker.

Everything on my path is interesting and each rock, plant, footprint, soil, stream, insect, bird, or creature tells a story. It gives me joy to see all these in their proper order of things and that joy increases if you could see something beyond the ordinary. The outdoors is better appreciated if you would only relegate your ego to the background and put yourself into your most humble form.  

I am now approaching the fifth tower and, in a few seconds, would walk past it to the next one. If I was with my Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild, we do not walk past the fifth tower. There are trails here which we use just for ourselves. I do not often share these secret places to the mainstream, although sharing now the Manggapares Trail is already a favor. Must be their lucky day.

I walk to a high saddle where one of the peak hosts the sixth tower. It is a cloudy day and the lower hills and the metropolis are covered by fogs. The wind roared, bringing with it the cold winters of the temperate zone. Mon and the rest are trudging up the trail towards me. A familiar cry overhead changed my attention to the sky. Another raptor. It is not a Brahminy kite. Then it must be a serpent hawk! It is!

I am quite elated to see two different kinds of birds-of-prey today which are not so common in Cebu. Both were wedge-tailed and flew effortlessly! I developed a keen sense of amity for raptors after I had encountered a great Philippine eagle in the wilderness of Pangasugan in ‘92. It glided in my direction then under the forest cover and dropped a lone feather which fell on my opened palm. The ground around me dimmed when it passed by.

A path lay before me as I studied the landscape on the other side of the saddle. Bokawe. It is a big mountain district yet it is not a village. In fact, one huge part belonged to Pamutan and another smaller part to Sapangdaku. I could be wrong but the absence of boundary markers could be the reason. A road that I dread lay in wait for me below the mountain and I believe this path would lead me there.

We reach the road and, good thing, we walked just a couple of kilometers of paved concrete to the junction in Pamutan. Locals called this particular place as “bagsakan” - a term which meant as a place where the farm produce are collected, before being brought to the market. This is now a very popular place for hikers where they take rest and eat meals. There were five when we arrived and we took a table to feast on cold soda drinks.

More hikers arrived. A few recognized me. The shorts-and-black-leggings crowd. That is how they look now. Appropriate for a girl though, but… Only Paul and me are wearing long hiking pants. Mine is made in Cebu by Silangan Outdoor Equipment. Thin, stretchy and quick-drying, my pair of Silangan pants have proven its worth during my 27-day Thruhike of Cebu last year and to so many dirt times with the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild.

On this junction, four roads crossed each other. From the north is the road that we just walked in from Bocawe. From the south is the ones coming from Buhisan and To-ong. From the west – Pamutan; and from the northeast – Baksan, Sapangdaku and Guadalupe. We will go to Guadalupe and so we will take the last road. It goes downhill between a man-made forest of Burma teak.

The afternoon sun appeared faintly but we are now in a shaded road and would soon disappear into jungle. We reach Managobtob and transfer to a trail into the Buhisan Watershed Area. This is another of my well-kept secret paths which I am sharing to this group. I do not have to worry of their second coming, They cannot remember a thing nor any landmark anyway. This is the famed Lensa Trail which passes Camp Damazo.

Camp Damazo is holy ground to the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild and I have just committed sacrilege by introducing non-guild people here. It is okay as long as you do not tell them that. The path goes downhill and we take it very slow, warning them of the slippery surfaces. We cross a small stream and another before I let them rest near a water source to rehydrate.

Jungle travel is different from a normal mountain hike underneath a forest. In jungles, the air is stuffy, the heat so humid and your thirst doubled. Once we resumed our hike, I warned them again of harmful plants. There are so many on Lensa Trail and there are also many plants that they are not aware of but actually are growing here like the stinging tree (alingatong), Moluccan ironwood (ipil) and the Madras ginger (galangal).

The trail took us to a stream – Creek Bravo, and follow another trail that goes around a mountain until we come upon another stream – Banauan Creek. We take a rest here and showed them a small cascade, never knowing that this was the first site of the first Philippine Independence Bushcraft Camp held in 2011. I tell them tales to distract and to refresh them since a jungle environment can be so demanding on your stamina.

Tales should be craftily woven to suit to a certain mountain and a person’s experience and when that person is an acquaintance, the moment, or should I say a forbidding peak, then becomes light to surmount. The humour to the story is what goads a tired hiker to discover for himself or herself the actual physical attribute that have almost waylaid that certain individual. The interest offsets the fatigue. I am talking about “Boy T’s Hell”.

This is a low peak but steep and this is the best exit to take in the hours when the shadows are now longer. Inside jungles, 2 o’clock looked like four. I follow a path where I can only see and the rest followed me. The good thing about a high ground is that you get all the light you need. The shadows disperse and you can see the skies clearly, almost without obstacles. We reach the peak after two false ones and take a deep breather.

We must follow a trail east of us that has long grasses to reach another mountain. The trail follow a long ridge, steep on one side, and goes up to link to another ridge. The northern branch goes down to a phoney forest of Burma teak and then a road. We are now at Baksan and we have to walk a paved road for a few meters before electing to transfer yet into another trail.

Again, they do not know this trail existed and it would take them all the way to Guadalupe. The path goes to a mixed forest of native and fruit-bearing trees like mango, Johey oak (marang), cottonfruit (santol), Java plum, breadfruit (kulo), currants (bugnay), star apple, tamarind and coconuts. The forest becomes a stunted limestone forest. This time, vegetation are cleared and fields of corn, cassava, lime grass and horseradish tree are planted.

Then we come upon the bare slopes of Guadalupe Hills – the one I loved to call as “Heartbreak Ridge”. Another raptor appeared from out of nowhere and, this time, it is a Brahminy kite. This would be the third one and it is the least kind of raptor that I would want observed. This is also the most common and it does not instill a sense of awe that I would have given to other kinds.

We pass by a hole in the ground. I explained to them that this whole range we are on was a battlefield during World War II and the hole was a vent from a tunnel made by the Japanese. The dome of the Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish is clearly visible and anytime from now we would be back to the parking area where we met in the morning. We did reach that at 16:30 and everyone were very happy of the long walk. I am too.

  

The best thing is to reconnect with them for we are not getting younger. The more time we have for times like this, the better. Maybe in the next episode, I would tell them all the secrets I kept. But, for now, it is best that we toast this New Year as a Good and Happy Year.

Document done in LibreOffice 5.3 Writer

NAPO TO BABAG TALES CXIX: Kusina

THERE IS AN OVERCAST SKY. The ground is muddy. For some people it is not a good day to hike. Sometimes even a sign of rain is reason enough to abort an activity. I know of one club whose members does that all the time and to think that they have been climbing mountains for a long time. They still find it hard to fit in and understand that they were in a wrong hobby. I think theirs is more of a social club than as a real outdoors club.

I never would want to be like that. It is unmanly and it smacked of arrogance. For that reason, I organized the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild of some years back to steal the thunder away from some of these outdoor clubs. The guys took on the mold of what an ideal outdoorsman should be. They have no qualms of what the weather says and they rather spend all their time in our local mountains honing their skills instead of going out on expensive outdoor sorties.

Today – November 20, 2016 – is just an ordinary day. If the weather is somber, we matched that with our clothes. We preferred neutral earth tones because we do not like to stand out and looked like gadflies. We are serious outdoorsmen and do not come to the mountains just because everybody is doing it. We have our own playground and we stay long to gladden the spirits of our local hosts as we keep them company. We would rather be part of the landscape instead of as strangers.

Eight-year old Zachary accompanied his father. He too wore black t-shirt and khaki cargo pants and carried openly a knife like everyone, that including the ladies. Some of the guys came from the Boy Scout and have advanced through their ranks but, after graduating high school, all what they learned were wasted away by inactivity and absence of opportunity. The Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild gave them that chance to practice their skills and learn a lot more.

We just left Napo and Lower Kahugan Spring and are now walking a semi-wild trail along the Upper Sapangdaku Creek. Thick growth and felled trees had claimed part of the trail and we are backtracking to where we saw a branch of a trail that ascend to a low ridge. We pass by a few houses and gets to ascend some more until we cross a small tributary and then the Sapangdaku where everything becomes familiar.

The path goes up after passing by a copse of stinging trees (Local name: alingatong). Zach is tired and is now carried above the shoulders of his dad. Bona is not feeling well and she gives her best. Aljew never leaves her side, coaxing and taunting her. After 15 minutes, we arrive at the Bonghanoy Homestead. Automatically, the guys foraged the driest firewood possible for a good fire for coffee and for another small feast.

I get to meet my male turkey for the first time after several months. I had him transferred here for good. I brought him first to the Roble Homestead in January 2015 together with a female but bad fortune had hounded him. Unsuccessful breeding of his brood on three different occasions and the demise of the female led me to decide to transfer him to where he would be happy. A widowed female was waiting for him here.

Ernie appraised the ingredients before him. There is a kilo of raw pork liver, cereal wrappers, green pepper, yellow and ordinary rice, cucumber, a kilo of chicken meat, some green leafy vegetables, tomatoes and spices. He has Mirasol and Jonathaniel to assist him and my unceasing mockery to distract him. Aljew started a small fire in his collapsible metal fire box while mine coughed in smoky whimpers inside a Swiss Army emergency burner.

Knives appeared and are then used for all kinds of work: slicing meat, chopping firewood, opening green coconuts or carving an impromptu spatula. Each knife says about the owner. These guys do not carry just one even though you only see one hanging by a belt. Wait when he opens his bag and you would likely see that he has at least two more, even a half dozen, sometimes. Why that many? Like it or not, it is a source of pride for them.

Bieber, a local boy, came with a bunch of green coconuts. Soon it will be the object of our dessert. Right now, we are just waiting for Ernie and company to finish what they have started infront of their fire. To make good of the minutes, the guys talk about their blades and of the coming outreach event in early December. Such activity demands good planning and preparation with which Jhurds had been doing the legwork. I listen sipping my warm coffee and shared some of my seed collections to Bieber’s father.

Lunch is called and everybody made for the beeline to where the food was served in semi-boodlefight fashion. There is the chicken sinigang (tamarind-based soup), pork-liver adobao (cooked in oil with thick sauce), sliced cucumber and tomatoes in vinegar, yellow gourmet rice, ordinary rice and dynamite lumpia (fried green pepper rolls). The guys are up to the challenge of this small feast but I carefully stashed portions to Bieber’s family fearing of another wipeout.

Then the coconuts got cracked. Sweet coco water are just perfect to stymy the parched throats caused by this humidity. The soft meat is just as sweet and nourishing. What part uncarved are left to the mercy of the dogs, which happily carried it to their pups. Bloated, we spend a little time to settle our bellies. Bona is okay. She snatched a nap on a hammock. Zach is refreshed and have developed confidence despite getting cut with his knife, a natural bonding which makes you a better person.

Aljew, quite satisfied of the meal, especially the pork-liver adobao, decides to part his knife that he is carrying and using today to Ernie. It is a custom-made knife which Aljew himself made and tempered to his standard. He called this knife as the “Kusina”, a local adaptation of the Spanish cocina, or kitchen. Ernie, thus, would be the sixth bushman to be a recipient of Aljew’s work. Welcome to the AJF Knife club, Ernie!

We say goodbye to the Bonghanoy Family and climb a hill which is part of a ridge called Tagaytay and where a trail called Manggapares is found above its back. It is now in the middle of the afternoon and it would be lonely there. In all my years walking this trail, I seldom see people here, mostly in the morning. The afternoon belonged to us and the Manggapares Trail is ours for the walking. Zach, surprisingly, refused to be assisted by his dad. The kid has spunk!

We walk past the abandoned backhoe, the hulking equipment now a part of the landscape. We ogle at its components, good material to produce us enough blades from a bladesmith but it belonged to another man who, by this time, probably have not located his property yet. It is best to be an honest outdoorsman. Under my guidance, the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild would breed such men and women.

Overhead, above the fourth tower, is a lone Brahminy kite riding the thermals in circles. So late in the day to hunt for food but who am I to judge its wild instinct. Lately, I come to interpret the sight of raptors as harbingers of bad fortune unlike in the old days where its appearance would be gladly appreciated. I am a renewed Catholic for the past 15 years and the old magic do not work anymore to my advantage after the priest have cast out all the juju I acquired through the years. My trust, protection and hopes are to my God alone.

We descend on the third tower but I made it sure that I would not miss the correct trail after walking past the second tower as was the last time. I saw the path that confused me but it was a good error for we found a good trail to Lanipao. Somebody from behind egged me to try it one more time but today is not the day. I would rather be at Napo and early than tackling a trail that I am reluctant to walk this day. Remember the raptor.

Along the way, I plucked six wild-growing pomelo fruit to bring home. The Lifeguard USA rucksack becomes heavy again but I do not mind. It is now all downhill and we are on the verge of ending our dayhike soon. After the last tower, there would be a flower farm and then the first of the houses that carved a living community in this part. We arrive at Napo late in the afternoon and everybody were basking in their moments of unabated perspiration, glad of the exercise. From here, going to Guadalupe is not anymore complicated.

Document done in LibreOffice 5.2 Writer

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