I
WAKE UP AT SIX in the morning today, September 8, 2013, and, I think,
I need to hike the backwoods again alone. I really needed that. I
just have had a stressful week and another one looming tomorrow.
Solo walks for me are now rare since the time Camp Red Bushcraft and
Survival Guild is now an outdoors fixture here in Cebu plus the fact
that Snakehawk Wilderness School is beginning to steal away my
weekend time.
This
is not a planned trip. It is a spontaneous self-eviction from my
comfort zone. More of like a rapid deployment exercise than an urge.
I will re-visit Camp Damazo and see for myself what is on the other
side of that strange trail that I have not had found the time to
explore. Today will be the day and that three-year-old question will
be unraveled later in the day. Perhaps. Crossed fingers and all.
Now
is the time to remove some kinks of my emotions and to exercise that
nagging knee. I hurriedly pack the things I need inside my Sandugo
Khumbu bag after I took a bath and I am at the street before 6:45
AM. I commute twice from residence to Jones Avenue and thence to
Guadalupe. The church is full and I believe that today is a special
day for Catholics. I show respect to my faith by genuflecting before
the Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish and uttering “Jesus, Mary,
Joseph; I Love You, Save Souls” several times.
After
I had a humble breakfast at a sidestreet eatery, I buy raw eggplants,
gumbos, bell peppers, an onion and a clove of garlic at the same
street for my lunch which I will cook later. I hire a motorcycle to
bring me up the trailhead in Baksan. When I got dropped off, I
re-fixed my shoelaces, adjusted my operator belt, wear a camouflage
hat and sent a final text message to someone that I am hiking solo
before turning off the cell phone. I tuck my William Rodgers
and sheath inside the bag’s double waist strap – frontiersman
style. At exactly 8:00 AM, I start the hike.
I
am testing a prototype outdoor pants from Silangan Outdoor
Equipment. Silangan is now experimenting the grounds of
outdoor apparel production right after their tents became an instant
hit among local mountaineers. This pair, colored gray, is currently
undergoing a series of tests on the rugged outdoors, which I am good
at, and on the streets. I have worn this to match assorted shirt
designs and colors even with different polo barongs. It had
its initial test during the Outlaw Bushcraft Gathering last week
where it was worn three days and three nights straight.
I
understand that it had rained regularly here for the past few months
and the last time I was here was during the Philippine Independence
Bushcraft Camp in June. The grass have grown long and wet; wild
plants are flowering; a lot of bird activity everywhere; mushrooms
opening up; the teak forests are healthy and you could tell patches
of it at faraway hills with their blooming flowers distinguishable by
its light green color. The forest is alive.
I
saw something unusual beside a trail and I found a compact disc which
has Guitar Rock 1968-1969 printed on it under a Time-Life
label. I pick it up and keep it not because I am doing trail
maintenance but because I believe that the CD contained the finest
collections of songs in the best years of the big-band rock era. If
I could only retrieve what’s inside after cleaning it, well, I
could then have a gem of a collection. That is if it is not broken.
I
pursue on my hike despite the long grass covering Lensa Trail. I may
need a wooden staff to beat the grass ahead of me to shoo away
whatever lurking beneath. It seems that the trail is cleared of
debris and firewood and I have yet to find me a staff when, not ten
feet ahead of me, a wild fowl flew suddenly in a trail of feathers
when it have known of my presence. I pause for a while to study my
situation and to observe the effect of its flight. True enough, a
second one erupted ten seconds later from the same ground towards the
route of the first.
Beside
me is a straight branch of a teak tree and I chop it down immediately
with my knife because I really needed it. I clear the leaves and
sharpen its bottom and I now have me a walking stick that doubles as
a weapon. It is good that, this early, only fowls make their
presence felt on the trail and not a formidable creature like a
Philippine cobra which, I believe, are still thriving in this
locality.
I
walk on slowly with the stick probing the ground where my eyes cannot
see. There is a fork on the trail that is very deceptive and, I
think, I am going the wrong way. I notice it after about three
meters so I backtrack and found it. I have to pay attention to the
slightest detail else it would be very frustrating, tiring and
time-consuming when you get lost; and you would never know what
dangers you may encounter in its remotest places when animal life is
so active as it is now. Of course, poisonous snakes are always a
threat but I worry more of stray bullets from a hunter’s rifle.
I
go down a low ridge and up a hill which I loved to call as “Boy T’s
Hell”. Three years ago, on this place, Boy Toledo almost fainted
of exhaustion and thirst while in an exploration hike with me and
Ernie Salomon. We were following a stream looking for a route and
changed to higher ground when I saw a grove of bamboo. From there, I
follow a trail east and come upon this hill but not after
encountering several difficulties associated with jungles.
I
am up on the peak and I inhale deep. The weather is good, very
cloudy, but I do not discount rain. I am not worried getting wet, in
fact, I welcome it. At least, in rain I could cover all the smells I
carry or produce and it hides my presence. Nearby, a wild hen make
its presence felt by announcing its territory. I smiled inwardly
that they are getting bolder today or maybe their population are
thriving.
I
go down and follow a ridge and, somewhere there, would be the tree
which I marked to lead me to a better way down the stream. I could
hear the water rippling and so wonderful to the ears as I slowly
watch everything in stride. I saw the tree and found another tree
that would be the springboard to a narrow gully where the slope
begins to go gentle. I notice that the twenty-five pairs of feet of
last June’s PIBC have created a temporary path from tree to gully
and I follow it easily.
I
reach the stream (Creek Alpha) after one hour. I take time to savor
the open space and the soothing rhythm of water running down briskly
among rocky channels. The place have not been visited lately and
traces of human feet are absent as seen on the moss that grew on the
rocks. I study a small tributary closely as a possible continuation
of the trail found on the other side of the bank where I came from.
I see a hint but, that would be on another trip.
I
follow the water downstream, careful not to disturb moss and leveling
each deep indenture caused by my own careless steps on sand or by my
weight. I always look back, very careful not to leave tracks else, I
feel, I am not doing it right. I am very particular of this and I am
proud and confident to walk where I please because I want to leave as
little trace of my passing unless I leave prints for a purpose.
I
found the other end of the trail beside a tree with an X and climb up
a short slope where the main route is found. I pass by the old
campsite of PIBC 2011 and it is slowly recovering its vegetation. I
push on following the path which, I know, will lead me to the second
stream. I reach that stream (Creek Bravo) at 9:15 AM. There are no
signs of surface water but there is one invisible stream underneath
me. This is the only place here where groves of water bamboo (Local
name: butong) are found.
After
this, my next destination is Camp Damazo and it would be a little
hard. I will be hiking up a ridge and I will be passing a lot of
rattan palms growing along the route. When I reached the ridge, I
pause to recover my breath. I did not touch my water but I could
have that luxury when I reach the campsite. Perhaps. But it is not
a hot day and rehydration is not critical since I just walk on a very
comfortable pace.
I
walk on steady inclines and wary of them rattan leaves as it try to
reach your shirt, bag and skin. I found one whole plant blocking the
path but I found a short detour and reclaimed the trail. Along the
trail are young coffee seedlings planted just recently. Well, that
would create a coffee industry someday here and, perhaps, Malayan
palm civets would sweeten the pot for that. Who knows?
On
a small clearing I see remains of a fire, empty coffee sachets and
feathers. I believe someone had caught a wild fowl, as I examined
the feathers closely, and cooked some of its meat here. How did the
hunter catch it? I see two young branches of a Mexican lilac tree
(Local name: kakawate, madre de cacao) getting bent out of
place supporting two banana leaves, now frayed and dry, as roofing of
a crude shelter. Obviously, someone must have camped here and stayed
beneath it waiting for his prey but where would the hunter have
guessed the prey would be?
I
looked around and above and I see a tall arbor tree stripped of its
leaves by caterpillars. You could barely see the top as it is
covered by lower leaves of other trees and common sense dictates that
whatever was there at the top could also barely see the hunter below.
It is plain obvious that the fowl had been foraging on caterpillars
when shot by the hunter and the rest is history. Smart.
I
take some feathers with me for my arrow projects and proceed on to
Camp Damazo. The “gate posts” give me a hint that I am near.
So, I am here again and it is like a homecoming. The fire ring
beside the tall Moluccan ironwood tree (Local name: ipil) is
still there as well as its “guardian”, the stingy stinging tree
(Local name: alingatong). The place is a natural campsite
since it has a wide clearing and made wider still during two
occasions of the PIBC with a water source nearby.
I
relish at this occasion and at the thought of being the one who found
this site. I stayed for a while and reminisced of the people I
brought here who learned, through me, about bushcraft and survival.
I have a lot of converts but few are jewels. These special kind
practiced what they learned and slowly made a name for themselves.
PIBC is an annual affair for everyone who wanted to learn
primitive-living techniques and wilderness survival skills and this
is the place where they started.
I
look all around and young coffee trees began to reclaim their
designated spots due to constant rain and few human activities. I
say goodbye to Camp Damazo at 10:00 AM and proceed on to the stream
(Creek Charlie) that nourished a lot of people on the night of June
11, 2013. This stream is a free-flowing stream with a lot of
boulders and very primeval. Too few people come here and it is
populated by thousands of fresh-water crabs during nighttime.
Before
I reach the stream, a black shama (Local name: siloy) gave off
its very distinct melody. It is an endemic bird and very shy. It
usually live and nest in groves of bamboo but its habitat had been
slowly encroached by humans until it disappeared from the lowlands
and had become rare. I have not seen an adult bird but probably have
seen a fleeting glimpse of it while on flight. Ironically, it was
not here in Cebu but in Bataan. Besides the black shama, I have also
heard cuckoos, native pigeons and a wild rooster crowing.
I
arrive at Creek Charlie and do a little investigation on the river
bed, especially upstream. I am armed with a small ballpein hammer
and a concrete nail and I hope to chip off chunks of a big slab of
quartzite partly buried in sand. But I found one small slab instead
mixed with other stones and break it into three pieces then wash it
on the stream and let it dry. Satisfied with that, I climb up the
bank and prepare my food ingredients for my meal.
While
doing that, I treat myself to jazz music coming from my
newly-acquired CIGNUS V85 Dual-Band Portable Radio set which
could also get an FM signal. I set the channel at 89.9 kHz and it
set my mood right. Like the Silangan outdoor pants, I am also
testing my new radio. I am still learning how to manipulate all the
buttons and I just prepare this radio unit just in case I will pass
the Class D Amateur Radio Examination next week.
I
start my mushroom-and-vegetables meal when I think the food is cool
enough to eat. Fortunately for me, I am the only one who liked my
cooking. The gumbos are a bit crunchy and I liked that. The milled
corn is perfectly cooked but, if I could only have the luxury of
time, I would have cooked all of these inside of bamboo poles and on
a fire given off by firewood. Anyway, good music made my dining
great.
I
return to the creek to wash the pots on the small cascading water.
As I was doing so, some brown butterflies are attracted to what I
wore. Maybe the smell of laundry soap has got to do with that. What
if these were hornets instead of butterflies? Anyway, I got startled
by one butterfly on my shoulder when I saw it in the corner of my eye
and thought the brown mass was a feral creature stalking behind me.
Just an imagination.
When
I got the stones, I start to pack my bag and retrace my path and
looked for the branch of the trail that had been on my attention. It
is 12:00 noon. As I go there, a strange tree grew in a dim part of
the forest. I had not noticed it before. The trunk resembled the
shape of a sitting giraffe complete with a long neck and two legs. I
am tempted to go near it to take a picture but it is best to leave
some things alone.
When
I thought I have found the trail fork, I go further back, almost to
where Camp Damazo is. Then I slowly walk again to the trail fork and
follow the one that is most visible going up. I follow the path but
it just disappeared when I reach a big upland marsh palm (Local name:
saksak). I cannot go forward for it is choked by a lot of
thorny vines and rattan palms. If that was not enough, the sky went
dark. Rain is ominous.
So
I backtrack, hoping I have miscalculated and taken the wrong path and
go back to the creek. As I was walking, I see a shiny black bird,
perching on a low branch inside the part where I also saw the
“giraffe tree” before. It stared at me, unbelief written in its
eyes, that I have come so uncomfortably close. Then it flew.
Obviously, it was a black shama! It is my first time to see it face
to face.
From
the creek, I retrace the trail again and again until I have no
recourse but to end this little exploration as the weather seem to be
becoming uncooperative. It is getting dark and I do not have the
appetite to go probing in half-light. I go back near Camp Damazo and
take the exit route towards Baksan Road. I will be passing a natural
spring and two small creeks and then a steep path. Then the sky
parted and the sun returned.
While
I am in the middle of that route, I stop to enjoy the spectacle of
two birds of prey gliding above and among a copse of trees. Then,
another one joined the two and I could not help it but be happy.
These are graceful birds and so different in the way they fly. It is
not everyday you see three eagles. You know what, today’s walk
have blessed me with a lot of bird activity. It seemed that the
forest had given me a big welcome.
Just
when I am about to proceed, a fourth eagle appeared to join the
three. All float in circles and dive in and out of the trees and
everything is silent all around. I am blessed with this rare moment
seeing all those four raptors. I believed I stayed for more than
fifteen minutes just watching this rare activity. Then all stop when
the biggest one fly high going west and the other three fly after the
leader.
I
reach the road and take a rest, enjoying the sight of sweat dripping
to the ground. I take two swigs of water and rest some more, letting
my body cool. Yonder is a path beside the road going down to Lanipao
and it is now easy. Somewhere in that little community is a small
store selling cold beer and I liked that idea very much.
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