BUSHCRAFT BUHISAN XLVII: Mending Fences

THIS IS A NON-BUSHCRAFT article or entry. I just placed this activity under the “Bushcraft Buhisan” series. This is a guided hike which I am doing for my friends from my former club, the Cebu Mountaineering Society, on December 28, 2017. Yes, it comes at an inopportune time after Christmas Day and before New Year’s Eve. I may want to spend this day like other normal person would but I have my own reasons to go out of the lazy zone.

We met at McDonald in Mambaling, Cebu City in the early morning. Boy Olmedo, Lilibeth Initan, Mon Corro and their three new members were there and we walked to Punta Princesa to ride a tricycle to Buhisan. It turned out the tricycle was only good on level ground and refused to accelerate on steep roads toward the Buhisan Dam. We were walking towards the watershed area when a government vehicle stopped to accommodate us after trying to hitch a ride.

After thanking the people who rode on the vehicle, we start to follow a path among a man-made forest of mahogany trees. This used to be my playground more than 25 years ago but I did not find it suitable as good for outdoor activities, for the very reason that it was dangerous here due to rampant hunting of birds which could easily injure you from a wayward bullet. This is also used as a refuge of people running from the law and becoming a convenient garbage dump from a nearby community. Lastly, the forest itself is fake. 

I was just here for this day upon the request from my friends. They are preparing for a climb to Mount Kinabalu and this is the first day of their training and wanted to take it slow on the first time and gradually become harder on the next few weeks. Yes, they would also avail of my terrain knowledge for another session next year, that would be just a few days from today. Anyway, I just follow an unfamiliar route and I believe it would connect to another bigger trail, which it does.

We crossed a small stream and came upon a wide level area which, I also believed were used as a picnic area for locals. Upon a small ravine, I saw a tiny waterfall and it has a lot of empty shampoo sachets and stones which has bits of soap that had adhered to the irregular surfaces. Come to think of it: the Buhisan Watershed Area is the source of potable water for 15 percent of Metro Cebu’s total household consumers.

The Metropolitan Cebu Water District neglected to protect it from vandals and pollutants and this is criminal. Or is this the mandate of the Department of Environment and Natural Resources? Whichever, this has happened for as long as I could remember and both entities has people that are all suffering from an extreme case of bad eyesight, close to blindness. If these were a forest that bear money, I am sure they would have built a high concrete fence complete with machine gun posts.

By this time the stream joined another stream and the trail forked out into two. In the denseness of undergrowth, I could not assess of what is beyond on one easy trail but the higher of the two would make it possible. I followed that and it goes on higher ground and I could see the man-made lake of Buhisan full of water. At other times of the year this is bare. It is so strange seeing the Buhisan so watery today. Its edges are marshy and this is referred to by locals as Pagatpatan. This is where hunting is rampant.

Most common tree that could survive and thrive in watery ground is the Leichardt pine (Local name: bangkal), whose flowers resembled that of pin cushions. I saw this same trees growing in the same conditions in Lake Lanao, Daanbantayan. Just the same, it resembled that of another hardy tree called the hambabalud (Sp. Neonauclea formicaria), which grew in rocky hillsides and bare soil. Far from the water’s edge are many young Philippine ebony trees (kamagong, mabolo) planted in between other common species.

We were now on drier ground now and more trails forked but I always took the leftmost, to be away from the lakeshore. I was rewarded of a familiar view of the catchment basin and we are out in more open terrain and sunshine. We followed a dried-up stream but I know there is another stream underneath us. We followed upstream and came upon three smaller rocks stacked above a bigger one. People do not really know the purpose and meanings of leaving trail signs.

Using the rock as a trailsign is adopted in the Boy Scout and leisure hiking. It is borrowed from the “talking rocks” used by Southwest Desert Native Americans when communicating with each other. It is left alone until such time when the recipient received the message. What the Boy Scout failed to appreciate was how to dispose the rocks after the recipient of the message – the last person – received the instructions. It is not left in eternal splendor. I threw the rocks aside because it is the most proper.

Right on the sandy ground are vandal lines which formed into a word, to which I do not like to perpetuate here in this article because I have better breeding, unlike that embarrassing cockroach that ruled this country like a madman. Two canines “ambushed” us for company and scouted the yards ahead of us. They really thought we would reward them with food with their unsolicited “help”. Sorry doggies. Thank you, but, no thanks.

Water appeared suddenly and it became a real stream finally. Why is this place called Buhisan? There are many versions actually and one version came from the word “buhis” (tax or tribute in Tagalog) which is very absurd. Buhisan actually refers to an old and large python that rarely moved because of its size. Because of its age and sedentary nature, moss and fungi grew on its scales and created a camouflage effect. It hunts by simply waiting for a prey to pass by. It lies itself like a log or hanging like a vine.

But the old folks called this place as Lensa instead, which in Cebuano is referred to as the rainforest. By this knowledge learned from the locals, I named the stream from its original name of Lensa Creek and the circuit of trails found here as Lensa Trail, instead of something Greek. There are many secret places in Lensa and they are given names by the locals who made their living here and I know some because bushcraft is not just a skill but also a repository of wood lore and history.

Upstream are many boulders and a big pool, made deeper by damming with stones. This is also a popular picnic area by locals but, today, they are absent. I looked up at the sky and I frowned at the sight of dark clouds passing. Droplets of moisture drop on you but it is not rain. It is just the behaviour of a rainforest. We move on and arrive at place where Lensa Creek divides into two. A headland between two forks, there is a trail and we would be in safer ground. For a while.

We may have to pass through another mahogany forest, this time with those treacherous rattan palm tendrils which could freeze you on your tracks. The barbs are very painful if it is caught on your skin and disastrous for a branded dry-fit top. It passes on a narrow path with nothing on one side but space and rocks below. Slowly we reach the same stream and walked back a little downstream to gawk at the bottom of the Buhisan Waterfall from its headrock. That legendary snake was found somewhere near here long ago.

This is now the limits of my new playground. I do not do anymore a walk on lower ground and among streams here and today is but an exception. We walk upstream and a smaller tributary joined the bigger Lensa Creek but it is not yet the one. Trekking on we reach the fork of the Banauan Creek but it is difficult terrain. The next stream – Creek Bravo – would be better. We took it and walked a little upstream and took a rest.

I just test their local knowledge here and one of their member could not retrace or remember the route and it made them disoriented. I took over again and led them to higher ground and better trails. Although I am very protective of my camping grounds but, this is one of those times where mending a fence with my former club takes importance. I usually do not take people here outside of my circle in bushcraft. But not so today.

 

We climb up a ridge and once there we follow the back of the mountain gently and easily  in a forest of mixed exotic and native trees and shrubs. Birds flew in and out and sang of their presence. The trail climb up more gently and gently until we came upon a rare open space. We are now on the sacred ground of the Camp Red Bushcaft and Survival Guild; the fabled place called Camp Damazo. They saw for themselves how a Moluccan ironwood tree (ipil) looked like and what distance you would give to a stinging tree (alingatong).

From Camp Damazo, we go straight ahead and took a trail on the right that goes into thick jungle vegetation. I showed them Caramon Spring, a good drinking water source which had provided my bushcraft camps water for more than five years and it had not changed in volume since I found it in 2012. We crossed a stream, climbed up a steep trail slowly and safely, crossed another stream and followed the rolling terrain until we reach a road: the Baksan-Pamutan Road.

I showed them another trail across and it goes downhill among farms and orchards and quite tame from the ones we walked before in the morning. The dirt path goes down to Lanipao and then a road that goes to Napo. The day ended at 12:00 noon which was a good workout, inhaling good rainforest air. From here we transferred to Guadalupe on motorcycles. I promised my friends to bring them to another playground of mine next year.

Document done in LibreOffice 5.3 Writer

OLD MANILA: A Gleaming Pearl After Dusk

AFTER MY ENGAGEMENT IN Rodriguez, Rizal on December 10, 2017, I went directly to Navotas City, into the home of Jay Z and Carla Jorge. That very evening, I am again treated to a sampling of the best of Navotas cuisine by the couple, right in their little restaurant – Pacing’s House of Barbeque. Tired as I was, the ambiance of the place and the food revived my soul to appreciate life better and to toast to the goodness of human character.

 

On the table was one of their specialties – spicy fish tofu served on a hot plate. Along with that was plain rice and their best-selling pork barbecue bathed in a glistening splendor of sauce, a well-kept family secret formulated by Jay Z’s late grandmother – Pacing. Grilled tomatoes on a stick completed the fare. Where I have taken off, a pint of Arce Dairy Ice Cream landed on spaces where these heavenly food used to be. A cold creamy ice cream mattered very much to a comfort-deprived heathen.

A book, just off the printing press, by the smell of the pages, passed on to my hands as a gift by the Jorge couple. Fine weather, cool ambiance, hearty reception, the best food in town, a special ice cream and a Guidebook on the Proper Use of Medicinal Plants. What else would a bushman want? These unexpected rewards somehow dampened my disappointment earlier before I came here. At least here, I am much closer to home. I got real friends.

The Jorge couple’s hospitality extended for a couple of days before I departed for Cebu. The most memorable of this was seeing the Manila that I have not seen before. That came on a late afternoon of December 11. The couple was celebrating their third wedding anniversary (I was their absent ninong) and Jay Z insisted that we dine at Barbara’s Heritage Restaurant where their wedding reception was held then. I went for a ride and found the establishment still closed.

It was at that moment when I was entering an old building of colonial proportions and beauty that I was transported back in time. Back to that time when Manila was a glistening pearl and a prized possession of Spain. The electric bulbs glowed majestically muffled, blending perfectly with the natural light of dusk. Shadows and lines and curves were at its exact places in the design of time and light and aura. It projects something unworldly yet understandably clear for the senses to enjoy.

Come to think of it. This was the same Manila that I totally disdained many years ago because of its uncontrolled development, overpopulation, high crime volume, grime accumulating on your nostrils and collars, high cost of living, floods under the slightest of rains and that ever constricting vehicular traffic. My idea of Manila expanded after EDSA '86 and became the National Capital Region. Manila, to most Visayas and Mindanao residents, is Luzon and where the conversations in Tagalog start.

Inside the courtyard of the quaint building is a beautiful fountain. Across it is a stone staircase leading to a veranda and above me are the finely-wrought windows and eaves that spoke of its Andalusian origins. I would be wrong if I have not seen this scene before in another time but in the comforts of a cushioned seat inside a cinema theater, back then when FPJ lorded it as an all-time box-office hit. 

Walking on the cobbled streets of Intramuros under twilight, devoid of vehicular traffic, was very soothing to the senses. A horse-driven carriage passes by, uprooting your mind from the present time to days when colonial life were centered around the protection of walled communities and watchtowers. Intramuros, the Old Manila, was the biggest of them all in the orient and it is here, at such hours, when the gran hombres and their doñas socialized as if they were in their home countries.

The approaching Angelus of the hour brought magic and charm all to its own reminiscent of the times. At such hours, the tropic heat does not bite anymore. The breeze from Manila Bay dislodged the warm air that radiate from the mortar walls and pavements. San Agustin Parish stood before me and, farther away, is the bulk of the Manila Cathedral. Into the great door of the San Agustin I entered for the very first time and I could smell the many years of nostalgia that had stayed up the high ceilings, which also host a mosaic of shades and tones of the different centuries.

In a cacophony of bells, a Eucharistic celebration started as I eased myself in one of the pews. I noticed older women of European descent, attending to worship, only suggests that at its height of liveability, Old Manila may have hosted a considerable population of Spanish and other nationalities, as well as Filipinos of respectable wealth and influence, doing business or serving for the Crown. I might have dreamed but in my dreamy state I locked out the tensions that separate the colonizers from the local populace.

The electric bulbs and street lights now dominated the darkened skies and the old walls looked surreal in their unnatural glow. People walked on the cobbled streets and there are too few people here, an unlikely sight of that usual densely-peopled Manila street that I came to know of. Most of those I saw are students, laughing on their way home. Then there are the office workers, still in their uniforms, walking singly to the same direction where the students went.

Jay Z and I went back to Barbara’s. Hungry acids pierced my insides as the waiters arranged the food on two long tables. They served buffet food. Toned down music of smooth melodies sprinkled the ancient room in a totally relaxed mood and, at a signal, the chairs dragged backwards and reverberated inside the dining room as the diners prepared the short walk to the buffet tables. The ladies went first, while the gentlemen among us sat and waited for our turn.

Food for the taking were Filipino and continental dishes. I went in and choose braised pork, pinakbet, kangkong adobo, fresh lumpia and pork inasal. Popular Filipino delicacies are many and I helped myself with biko and on as many pieces of fried banana. A five-piece string band regaled us with their select traditional Filipino favorites. This same banduria provided the music that were interpreted by sets of cultural dancers swaying to the tunes of Tagalog, Bicolano, Visayan and Maranao numbers.

It was a memorable night indeed in the Old Manila which I now began to appreciate as a legitimate daughter of a Spain that was then at its height of power in the Old World, a good 250 years before the coming of the Americans. This same city shone a hundred more times in the Far East under another colonizer and could have been a shining beacon in the Pacific, on the verge of surpassing of even the greatest cities of Asia, were it not for World War II.

Though her identity was usurped by many, she retained her own destiny within the confines of the playgrounds where she frolicked, danced and sang long ago. She is a free spirit and she enjoyed her past with much more vigor than people thought of her as a modern metropolis. I came to apologize on that thought and I was gifted with a rare charm that has no equal, even from my own beloved Cebu.