MALAGARING TRAIL

I HAD BEEN MULLING for quite a while to walk alone the trail to that range of mountains where Osmeña Peak belong. Although I have been doing some solo walks to the peak in the past by way of Dalaguete, but I never have done so from Badian. I almost got there solo last August but two people got wind of my plan and scuttled it. However, today, November 17, 2013, that wish would come true.

Basak, a village in Badian, is an exit point whenever people visit Osmeña Peak (1,015 meters above sea level) from Mantalongon. In going down to Basak, people take the Malagaring Trail. This trail is torture to the knees and the shoes. It is rocky. Some sharp, some sloping and very slippery when wet. Although quite formidable, it is really a beautiful trail offering a breathtaking panorama of the narrow valley, of the coastline and of Badian Island.

I know this route very well but it is strangely unfamiliar when you do a reverse. Only fools would walk it from Basak. I am one of these then for insisting to do this for a second time and, for this occasion, under the unyielding torment of the sun. Why start from Basak when you could cruise easily from Mantalongon? The answer to that, my dear Pedro, are 780 meters worth of elevation gain. If you insist to be called a mountain climber, this is significant in your physical preparations.

I am a bushcrafter but, in the course of my outdoor activities, I climb mountains. Not because it is there but because it is just an obstacle to my route. My walk is the complete opposite of conventional backpackers’ route and my terminus would be at Mantalongon. I may not be the first one to do this alone but I may be the first one to blog this worthy activity and convert it into a trend. It should be documented and shared to all and, hopefully, would bring satisfaction to those who will try.

When I left the terminal bound for Badian at 7:00 AM, this quest is already half done. Even without breakfast, much less a cup of coffee. You know, I harbor grief and pain about the succeeding disasters that have struck our nation and I have gone to the very places where earthquake and storm came to give comfort to the affected. This walk is my way of releasing this melancholic stress; my own defense mechanism. This walk is dedicated to the survivors amongst us.

I am a survivor myself and the chance of being outdoors alone will solidify my existence and my link with Mother Earth. The bus arrive at 10:00 AM and, instantly, I procure the ingredients for my noontime meal at Badian market which I intend to cook along the route. More weight were added to my backpack but it is an essential weight. Before I leave town, I eat a piece of bread. This is my breakfast and I am experimenting how one bread, if bloated with water, would carry me through this journey.

I start my walk at about 10:30 AM after stretching my muscles at the very foot of the flight of stairs going to the Basak Elementary School. I am well-stocked with water this time – 2 liters or 2 kilos – and I am not known to use water excessively just to quench thirst. I know this would be a hot day since I start late but I have no misgivings. This walk is all about me and for the survivors of the recent disasters.

Once I am out of the settlements, I stop underneath a mango tree and retrieved my Puffin Magnum knife and sheath from the bag. I place it beside me hanging from my operator belt. I now carry my knife openly when I am outdoors and it is for a lot of reasons. Long ago, my old club used to discourage us about bringing a knife when climbing mountains yet I always had a small one stashed inside my backpack. I now defy that logic and today I spawned a breed of bladekeepers known as the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild.

I carried another blade – a very rare William Rodgers. It is also sheathed and the wooden handle is prominently jutting out from a hole where bag and shoulder strap meet for easy retrieval. A classic Buck 112 folding knife is safely tucked inside my beltline while another classic folder – a Case XX – is inside one pocket. Last, but not the least, is a Victorinox SAK Trailmaster placed inside the zipped pocket of the 40-liter Sandugo Khumbu bag.

I carried a lot, didn’t I? I can afford to carry that weight and these, too, are essential weights. All are given by my benefactors, except for the Buck and the Case which I got from trades. They are all handsome tools and it takes a special kind of person to understand blades and handle it correctly. You should know your knife rights too and, conversely, know the laws that govern the carrying of knives which I teach everytime I convene a bushcraft camp.

The limestone formation gave the Malagaring Trail a character all of its own. The narrow valley floors are tamed by man but the edges are teeming with wild vegetation eager to reclaim what was theirs. Many deep valleys are choked with hardwood trees and bamboos. Although the day is very hot as it is near noon, the shades afforded by trees are very welcome. I follow a beaten trail and onto the heels of two locals with big but empty baskets carried on a trumpline from their foreheads.

I come upon a narrow pass where the two locals rested and they, with due courtesy reserved for visitors, immediately leave and give me space when I take my turn to rest. The view below is just too enchanting; the azure sea of Tañon Strait so inviting. I am thirsty from the initial exertions so I take a sip and let water stay long in my mouth before swallowing.

My camera is busy taking all what I perceive as very significant like landmarks, hardwood trees, rare plants, etc. It is placed inside one of my pant’s pocket for quick retrieval. My dark blue Rohan hiking pants are a sturdy pair, quick drying, with thick fabric but very light. This pair had not failed me in all my outdoor activities. I also wear my old Rivers 3514M hike boots since there are not too many long descents but I am too careful with foot placements since soles are not that thick anymore.

I just follow the trail, guided by memory, onto enchanting places. I say enchanting because I am alone and my thoughts are not disturbed by a company of chatting people and that kept me away of worries by their presence. I am excited to see many bamboos in places where there are no human activity and I entertain the idea at sitting out the rest of the day cutting one pole and prepare my food on bamboo but it is still a long way so I disregard that.

I push on my ascent skirting farms onto long ridges wishing when this would end. Within the forest, I saw the stinging tree (Local name: alingatong). It had not been cut by people even if it is beside the route although its neighbors are slowly felled dramatically widening the trail. I first saw this tree during my first visit in August 1992 coming from an overnight at Osmeña Peak with my old club. It is like seeing an old friend again.

In my relaxed pace I reach the village of Patong at 1:00 PM. I boil water for coffee first before starting to prepare my meal. I cook the milled corn then the viand. It is a concoction of mushroom and mixed vegetables, fried first before turning it into a soup. No MSG. As I am in the middle of this, two locals join me and befriended me. I am offered a glass of fermented coconut wine which I accepted. The single glass became a repetition and my tongue is loosened.

I told them the tale of my experiences shuttling relief goods to Bohol during the aftermath of the 7.2 earthquake and to Northern Cebu days after Super Typhoon Yolanda left. They were greatly affected upon hearing of the plight of their fellow Cebuanos and would have helped if they would have the resources. Although they had not suffered much but they had felt the unusual aftershocks. I shared my meal to them before I left at 2:30 PM.

I pick my way among farms of cabbage, spring onion and vegetable pear which are hacked from rocky terrain. The soil is good with fine climate associated with high elevations. It is now colder but I have just taken a meal even as I am not wearing layers of clothe. As I near the ridge, I meet people going the opposite way. They came from the market in Mantalongon and they are carrying goods which they could not produce from their own farms.

The ridge bless me a view of the high valley of Mantalongon which is Cebu’s former breadbasket. In the old days, all the vegetables that the markets of Carbon and Taboan in Cebu City used to come from here until other places, much nearer to the city, produce their own. I slowly follow the route to the market and I pass by indigenous hardwood species, still untouched and in its blooming splendor like the yakal (English: golden mahogany), the bagras (English: Mindanao gum) and the bagawak (English: starburst).

The afternoon shadows begin to creep but I am on the way to the market which I reach at exactly 5:00 PM. Mantalongon is known for its men who carry their blades openly in public.  I keep mine and walked proudly with it. I get a lot of stares for I am different. Not because I am a stranger but because they are not used to seeing city people with backpacks carrying knives openly. I dare to be different and they better get used to it.

I stay for a while to return my Puffin Magnum and sheath and belt back to my backpack while the William Rodgers stay as its place. It is placed so for quick retrieval should I need it pronto. When I think that I have not sweated much, I replace my shirt with a dry one. I eat one bread from a mobile stall before hiring a motorcycle to take me down the main highway.

The road is good and wide but up ahead are recent landslides caused by the earthquake of October 15, 2013. Rocks of all sizes and dirt would have been all over the road but it was recently cleared. The motorcycle run with a dead engine as it negotiate the descent at moderate speed. When I landed at the highway, a Rough Riders bus came half empty and I can rest now - - - easy.

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BUSHCRAFT BUHISAN XXIV: Day of the Feathered Ones

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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NAPO TO BABAG TALES XXV: Freewalking Alone

I STARED AT THE far expanse of the metropolis and all its neighboring islands as I stood on the ridge of the Babag Mountain Range. It's just another regular Sunday for me hiking alone on the trails. It is September 6, 2009 and this is my twenty-fifth session here. Oh, I just arrived yesterday from Iloilo, crossing two bodies of water – the Guimaras and Tañon straits – and a whole day of travelling by bus over the great Panay plateau, the Negros central highlands and the Naga-Uling Road.

I should have rested this day but I have not. I have begun to develop a craving for Mt. Babag and I would miss her trails even for just one weekend. My self-imposed commitment to attain stamina have not wavered one bit. The trails in Sapangdaku and Kalunasan and, to a greater extent, the so-called Freedom Trail from Tisa over Toong and Baksan, is a perfect avenue for that.

And you may wonder why all my mountaineering-related activities are confined within the Babag Mountain Range? FYI, Guadalupe, from where I start my walk, is only two jitney rides away from home at Php6.50 a ride and that translate to only twenty-six pesos back and forth. Yes, a mere Php26.00 for the price of exercising your hobby to the max. Just a set of loose change in your pocket that you are ready to happily part with. A great bargain!

I am not a creature of comfort though and walking on the same trail doesn't matter to me either as long as it is realistic and attainable for my small budget alloted for leisure and exercise. I do not yearn anymore a once-a-month activity in faraway exotic places that doesn't sit well in my running a household in these difficult times. What I do need is a very good alternative that is conveniently located where I could repeat the process over and over and over...

Anyway, the weather is perfect for today. I did start at eight and found myself a small eatery in between Guadalupe and Napo and the lady cook there sold her food and rice at a much much cheaper price than what I paid for in the eateries of Guadalupe. I ate with gusto at the well-cooked meal and, after paying, I continued on my journey to Napo. Really, it is a cloudy morning and the breeze breathed in my face and hair. It is so refreshing even as I sweat.

I am alone today. I set my normal pace and, here I am, running in short bursts up a trail once my trail boots kissed the dirt trails. I am not here for a leisure walk but on a year-long intense training. I ran downhill when I could and shaved a little time. Long lines of “small people¹” crossed the trails and I carefully placed my steps not to disturb them. I carried a training load of about ten kilos and forbid myself a drink save at the spring, at Manwel Roble's place and on Babag Ridge during my lunch.

The best time to drink would be at Manwel's place. Not water in my bottle but water from young coconuts. Manwel's father prepared four opened coconuts and I helped myself with three. Afterwards, five hikers arrived and I shared the last of the coconut to them. Then we parted ways at 10:30 AM. They took the Babag East Ridge Pass while I went to the very steep Ernie's Trail.

Ernie's Trail is thick with vegetation today and it had not been used since June 21, 2009 - the day when I last passed by there. Otherwise, the trail is in good condition and I sweat hard trying to climb on all fours or keeping myself on balance with the heavy load on my back. The cool breeze soothed my body well and my hawk feathers on my head danced. The bamboo groves creaked and swayed as its leaves exulted at the rubbing they got from the wind

I arrived at Babag Ridge at 11:15 AM, just five meters behind the five hikers who went on an easier route. We took lunch together on a small store offering a good view of Metro Cebu. After the meal, I stood and looked at Metro Cebu at a high vantage. Then I took a rest and slept for thirty minutes and then went on my way back to Napo via Kahugan Trail.

It would have been a perfect day for me except along the trail where a hillside have been cleared of madre de cacao trees that have have grown thick. Tree limbs were cut into pieces ready to become another batch of commercial charcoal. I couldn't understand why low-level village authorities like barangay captains remained blind to these activities. I couldn't even understand the Environment and Natural Resources department so inutile in enforcing national laws. I left dismayed and nurtured a growing contempt for these lazy bureaucrats.

Again, as I have done months before, I ran in Kahugan. I put to good use my anger here. Kahugan is devoid of people after noontime. The trail is wide and winding along the river on a rolling terrain that is perfect for a good downhill run. I let gravity dictate my pace and my quick reflexes evaded obstacles and tight bends and I sweat so hard even as my hawk feathers trailed after me. My backpack moved from side to side but I tightened the locks placing the weight closer to my body. I moved in long strides until I reached the river.

I panted but I felt good and I took a deserving drink from a spring and then went on my way for Napo. I relaxed my pace knowing I burned a lot of calories walking and climbing the whole morning and running for a full 3-4 minutes in the afternoon gulping clean air and enjoying the sights. You couldn't experience these kind running inside an oval track or sweating on a treadmill machine inside of a sweat gym. My track and gym is the outdoors and it is FREE!

I reached Napo at two then I took a relaxing walk down the road for Guadalupe. The sun still refused to show his face and the wind have been following me ever since morning. It took me just less than thirty minutes to reach Guadalupe and that surprised me even as I was just on a “slow” walk. Hiking and climbing on a very cool Sunday and delivering a plastic bag full of bread to a poor family is an exceptional combination that is both good for your body and your spirit. I just did.

Happy FREEWALKING Day...

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1Black ants.

NAPO TO BABAG TALES XXIV: Full Circle

IT HAD BEEN A year already when I first climbed Mount Babag by way of Ernie's Trail, a steep and challenging route named after my climbing buddy – Ernie Salomon. That was on August 17, 2008. Since then I have climbed her twenty-three times alone or with a group. I aim to complete a full year cycle by climbing her again on August 23, 2009. This would be my twenty-fourth incursion there.

I brought two hawk feathers for this occasion to celebrate the passing of a year the old way. Two feathers for Courage and Generosity. The hawk feathers will now be a regular fixture in my head band everytime I climb Mt. Babag as it had been a regular fixture in my South African veldt hat that I carried on my head during major climbs. The feathers will dance with the breeze along with me.

Boy Toledo, another of my climbing buddy, completed one year yesterday on August 22. He have climbed the Babag Mountain Range many times more than I. Boy T is a stroke survivor. He now make things happen for him and of others. He climb here every weekend and you are cordially invited to chase him up a trail.

Those previous weekend hikes brought me to a lone house on a hill that became a refuge, a well-deserved stop-over, enroute to Mt. Babag. In it lived a family of four who are generous of their space and of their young coconuts. Ha ha, I paid for those. In return I brought them gifts, food, used clothes and books for the kids. I even nurtured a 13-year old boy, Manwel Roble, as a future mountain guide in this area. Others followed my trail and parted their charity to the Roble family.

In that sunny Sunday morning, I ate just two cinnamon bread for my breakfast and left Guadalupe at 7:15 AM. I brought a 17-meter kernmantle rope as my weight load and an extra dry shirt but I forgot to bring my Nalgene bottle and that deprived me of water intake. The only watering area for me between Guadalupe and Mt. Babag would be at the river crossing where there is a natural spring and at that house on the hill. I walked on, reaching Napo forty-six minutes later.

Resting for a few minutes, I continued on my journey by crossing a river and, forty-one minutes after, I arrived at the spring and drank. I tarried a while there enjoying the cool shade and the silence. The moment I will leave this comfortable refuge, the sun's hot rays will be upon me again. But I'm used to the heat. My body have developed acceptance (or resistance) to it. I have received this fate living near the equator and I have accepted to hike without hats, sunglasses and those greasy sunblock creams.

It is still 9:30 AM when I got caught in the middle of Busan Trail under the mercy of the sun. I ran in short bursts uphill and it felt good. I perspired more than what I have swallowed and I felt the tiredness of my body as I gasped for breath and rested more often. My breakfast were inadequate and my body took its toll. God, it is hot and I thanked my reddened eyes for spotting the crest of the great tamarind tree that marked the house on the hill. I am now very near for the next stop-over.

My throat is parched dry and I'm dying for a drink when I got there. I waited for Manwel to arrive. He is servicing yet the Ewit Mountaineers who have stayed overnight at Manwel's Peak above us and isn't available. Meanwhile, his mother offered to slay and cook one free-rein chicken for me. I told her that I have a packed lunch with me. Nevertheless, it was the wish of his husband and I could do nothing but be swayed over by the opportunity of eating native chicken again.

I reclined on the cool bamboo bench under a duhat tree and slept for an hour until a nudge from Manwel woke me up for a well-deserved lunch. My thirst already gone, I slurped the hot soup seasoned by lemon grass and bunched-onion leaves. Ahh...heaven. I ate on their dining table together with Manwel, his mother, his siblings Juliet and Jucel, and his uncle and aunt. We talked as we ate. I took several servings of rice to accompany the choice cuts reserved for me.

After the meal, Manwel climbed a coconut tree and collected five young coconuts. How in heaven could I consume five coconuts? Manwel opened three fruits for me and I drank its sweet liquid. The rest of the coconuts, well, I reserved it for my wife and placed it in the bottom of my backpack to bring it home. I slept again slapped by the cool breeze. It was already one after noon when I decided to move on. I have a very full stomach and I think I could not make it to the summit of Mt. Babag in such a bloated condition.

I decided to follow Jucel, Juliet and Manwel instead down a short-cut route for the Kahugan Trail. For the moment, the downhill hike is a better alternative to digest my food in a moderate pace. It was hot and we snaked among tamarind, mango, santol and other endemic trees as well as groves of bamboo. The Kahugan Trail were as wide as ever but I did not run the trail this day. My feet - the toes - are hurting. I bade goodbye to the Roble children and followed the downhill route.

I arrived at the river crossing where there is a spring and drank the cool water. After a 10-minute interval, I am off again on my way to Napo. The main trail is of rolling terrain and I met just a few locals going in the opposite direction. It is ten past two in the afternoon when I arrived at Napo and drowned my thirst with a bottle of soda drink. I stayed maybe twenty minutes on the newly-constructed community bamboo benches beside the river.

Passing by were three youths on a hunting spree for catfish. They were armed with minute spears and one of the boys carried their prize. I went down and took pictures of their catch. Wow, it was wonderful to see the river coming alive during the rains and giving up more bounty. The river packed a lot of water today and I saw small fishes upriver frolicking in great numbers. A cycle of rebirth have just started.

Leaving Napo again, I started for Guadalupe on a hot 2:30 PM sun bouncing its arrows upon the concrete and asphalt pavements. At this hour, the shadows are sparse and far between each other. My feet soles ached walking on the hot surface and I find remedy walking on weeds growing on the curbs and pebbles and dirt accumulating on the street. At least, the temperature there are a degree or two lower. My shoulders are numbed by the added weight on my back but I have to go on.

Finally, I have reached the end of my journey of a year. A full circle has been completed. Twenty-four episodes in twelve months that makes it two climbs per month on average. Not bad for a forty-ish guy – an old man, if you may – who have developed the courage to defy the monotony of the same trail for a year. In these same trails, I have accomplished another virtue far more valuable than all the others – generosity.

I brought two hawk feathers for this occasion to celebrate a new life the old way. Two feathers for Wisdom and Perseverance. The hawk feathers will now be a regular fixture in my head band everytime I climb Mt. Babag as it had been a regular fixture in my South African veldt hat that I carried on my head during major climbs. The feathers will dance with the breeze along with me.

I am now a part of the mountains and forests. I have gone native.

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NAPO TO BABAG TALES XXII: Father's Day Special

IT IS FATHER'S DAY, June 21, 2009.

I am going up to Mount Babag today and I am alone.

Yeah, alone...

...again.

I have no problem walking alone. I find good therapy in the silence and I love the sound of my voice. I talk to myself. Yes, hum a song. Imitate a bird call. That's what you do when you're bored.

From my home, I rode a public jitney in the early morn for the downtown area then another jitney for Guadalupe. I arrived in time for the Holy Mass at six at the Our Lady of Guadalupe de Cebu Parish. The mass ended at 7:15 AM and I bought fifty pesos worth of bread from a nearby bakery and went to the back of the church to eat at an eatery.

Securing my packed lunch, I left the eatery at 7:45 AM and do the customary warm-up walk on the concrete-and-asphalt road to Napo – a distance of about 2.5 kilometers. I walked an easy pace and arrived at 8:30 AM and, without taking a rest, proceeded to cross the first river crossing.

I arrived at nine at the second river crossing and fetched my drinking water at the nearby spring. Saw a man fording the stream with his son above his shoulders. Ah, what a perfect scene for Father's Day. I rested for about ten minutes and resumed my trek.

The sun shone hot this day and I slowly climbed the ascending trail to Sitio Busan then to Manwel Roble's place. I arrived at 9:40 AM.

I brought out my bread and gave this to Manwel's younger brother, Jucel, who jumped up and down upon seeing me. I rested at the long bamboo benches and savored the opportunity to enjoy their company, the view and the breeze. Overhead, I saw clumps of ripe duhat and my taste buds began to crave the sweet purple fruit.

Instantly, father and son climbed the tree and collected two plastic bags, half-full, and I enjoyed munching the ripe fruits. The duo told me that Boy Toledo, Ernie Salomon, Glenn Domingo and Jecris Dayondon were here yesterday and ate also of the duhat fruit. And jackfruit too. They tarried long at the benches and ate their packed lunch here and, afterwards, drank Tanduay Rum chased with powdered tea and young coco water. Then they forgot to climb Mt. Babag, maybe too drunk to go on.

So, that's why there's an empty bottle of Tanduay and an empty pack of Nestea under the benches. Leave no trace, my ass! I told you it would not apply in these islands. Not with Boy T around.

I stowed the picked duhats inside my backpack and went on my way to Babag Ridge via Ernie's Trail. I left at exactly 10:30 AM. I followed the trail for the uppermost part of the Sapangdaku River and saw that the vegetation along the trail were greatly distorted and smothered away from their original positions.

I was greatly annoyed by the appearance of the trail until Manwel came after me and gave me the answers. He averred that there were twenty-six campers passing by last night and he saw no familiar faces in the group. Jeez! Some people and clubs are downright irresponsible. See? LNT wouldn't work here. There are too many nincompoops who would rather practice their ignorance and carelessness. What a shame.

Facing a grove of bamboo uphill, the trail followed by last night's group veered to the right of the true trail named after my good friend, Ernie. I am glad that our trail remained pristine when I passed by. Shame again to them. They should have availed of Manwel's services¹ to guide them safely to a good trail. They missed the best trail here and, besides, their kind don't deserve to follow Ernie's Trail.

I enjoyed the moments of silence as I slowly ascend the mountain trail with Manwel following me. I thought I heard a melody of a black shama and they were quite near. Three juvenile black shamas appeared with their unmistakable black feathers and I feel fortunate today. This is the second time I saw this endemic bird here in the Babag Mountain Range.

The sun was hot but the trail is quite shady so the heat never bothered me, although I was sweating hard. I arrived on the ridge at 12:15 noon and proceed to pass by the shoulder of Mt. Babag to eat my packed lunch with Manwel at a store 300 meters away.

I loaned my cellphone to Manwel afterwards so he could make use of a vacant time and play a game while I took a nap at the wooden bench where the cool breeze lulled me to dreamland. After an hour, I woke up and started on my way downhill back to Guadalupe. This time, I will tackle the No-Santol-Tree Trail and I will be guiding Manwel, for a change.

As we were still treading the Babag Ridge Road the heavens begun to rumble and big drops of liquid started to fall. Gosh, it'll gonna be slippery at the NST Trail today and I just hope that my McKinleys would hold its ground. As I feared, the trail IS very slippery. Rivulets of water made the trail river-like and the smooth rocks along it are just too dangerous for a misstep.

It was raining hard and lightning flashed so near and the thunder so deafening! I decided to stay for a while under the protection of the trees afraid that these thunder bolts would strike at us in the open. I was worried about Manwel. We both were drenched wet and so unprotected.

Nevertheless, we pursued our quest for Guadalupe and passed by pocket forests of tangguile and teak trees. The trails were greatly immersed with water and as I tread my shoes on it, the soil would gave way underfoot especially on the narrowest part of the trail where it is most dangerous.

My training shoes failed to grip the slimy soil and I used all ten fingers as anchors to dig the ground to keep myself falling. Rain stung my eyes partly blinding me to get a good view of the foliage around me. The sheer weight of water on the leaves broke whole trunks and branches blocking the trail. The rains made a raging river out of a dry water course.

Up ahead, I heard a roar of water before I saw it. I never knew a waterfall existed near our route and, there just across us, is a brown cascade of a great volume of water. Walking on, I saw glimpses of the swollen stream below me. Then we passed by Turtle Rock and Manwel was so amazed and mystified by the rock formation.

Finally, we reached a trio of tamarind trees marking the end of the No-Santol-Tree Trail and we went downhill amongst a field of cogon grass until we reached Kalunasan Road. The dirt road was reduced into a swirling river of rain run-offs coming from above the hills.

Some part of the road were partly blocked by landslides that occurred earlier and one stretch we passed by became a run for life when boulders from above us came tumbling down the road. We walked in the middle of the road just in case if the ground below us would collapse if it is undermined by water and be safe enough to look out for falling rocks overhead.

We walked and ran for an hour in which the rain never ceased until the time we reached the branch of the road leading to Guadalupe. We crossed the Harlemermeer Bridge and watched the surging current of the Sapangdaku River unfolding its power below us.

At 2:50 PM we reached the back of the Guadalupe parish and I parted ways with Manwel. His father would be with him any time soon. I finished this day's journey well ahead of schedule and looked forward to enjoy the surplus of time with Ernie. I was soaking wet as I rode the jitney.

Ernie went out to meet me while Boy T, who was visiting his grandchildren nearby, came later. We talked of my just-concluded trek and their yesterday's misadventure over cold bottles of beer. We three then went together to attend a fiesta celebration in the interior of Espina Village. And that wrapped up my semi-solo journey today.

Happy Father's Day.

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1Manwel Roble. Call or text him at 0932-483-9234.

NAPO TO BABAG TALES XXI: The Trailhawk

MOUNT BABAG IS ALWAYS there and I have no excuses why I shouldn't go there. It's only 752 meters above sea level and eleven kilometers away from downtown Cebu City if you draw a straight line. It's just a pygmy if you consider it against other Philippine mountains and a molehill if you have Mount Everest in mind. Nevertheless, it is MY mountain and you would find me and others tackling her trails there every weekend.

I am of the opinion that there is no mountain, even though how high, that cannot be overcome as long as you have the heart and the commitment to propel yourself up there. It is of my opinion also, that you cannot be an instant climber without having to go the rigors of basic hard training in a gradual phase and the discipline to withstand the monotony of the same trail. Be that and you will not be injured.

I am of the opinion too that Mount Babag has all the elements and challenges that you may need when you are on another mountain trail. You will find pure mountain trails here on its rolling terrain. Some of it are steep and slippery, some are too narrow and deceptive. There are rocky terrain, loamy soil, talus and scree slopes plus pocket forests of endemic and second-growth trees and ancient mangoes. Yes, lots and lots of mangoes. You may walk or carry yourself here on all fours or run.

By the way, Mt. Babag has a perfect downhill trail for running in Kahugan and it is for that reason where, on May 24, 2009, I decided to take a solo hike up in Babag upon knowing that Boy Toledo and Ernie Salomon are in the south in Osmeña Peak. It will save me the trouble of watching over them. I will run in Kahugan today without them. Oh, freedom...and silence! They're hard to come by these days.

After attending a Holy Mass at the Our Lady of Guadalupe de Cebu, I immediately went outside to buy fifty pesos worth of bread for Manwel Roble and his family. I bought also another set of bread for a street urchin sleeping on a wooden bench. My heart always bleed to see children who have less in life. I am a different kind of outdoorsman, mind you. I will give even sacrificing my shoe-string budget to accommodate charity.

From an eatery I bought a meal for lunch and packed this inside my plastic containers. My backpack is heavy. I carried an 11-mm thick 17-meter long dynamic rope inside the bag as my training load. At 7:30 AM I left Guadalupe for Napo and arrived there at 8:10 AM and five minutes later I was off crossing the Sapangdaku River. I arrived at another river crossing at nine and filled my water bottle from a nearby spring.

Refreshed, I continued on my way passing by an upland community and arrived at Manwel's house at ten. Delivering my present of bread to Manwel I rested for a while and savored the cool breeze and the view overlooking Metro Cebu. Later, four guys arrived and rested at the bamboo benches and I held conversation with them. They brought chocolates and some snacks for Manwel and his brood.

Instantly, they recognized me through my blog and were familiar with my advocacy. They have become regulars on these trails and have availed of Manwel's guiding services. I'm glad that my blog post about Manwel have rubbed off on other people. We capped our pleasant meeting with fresh young coconuts that Manwel and his mother have gathered. Ohhh, I've never tasted such coconut water in its most perfect state until now. They were so so so sweet! Wow!

At eleven, I bade them farewell and proceeded on my own to Babag by way of Ernie's Trail. The vegetation have become so thick it covered much of the trail. Without a trained eye you would find yourself losing your way. I have no trouble following the trail as I am very familiar with it; but what I'm worried of is that there might be some reptile curling along the trail beneath those vegetations, especially a Philippine cobra, which is very common in this area, that you might accidentally step upon.

Conserving my strength with just an easy pace, I tackled Ernie's Trail step by step, rock upon rock, stepping over dead branches and slippery boulders. During the most steep and slippery stretches I tried and practiced my old unorthodox foot placements which I have perfected on so on many different occasions in the early '90s with which technique have lain idle for so many years, particularly during my “warrior pilgrimage” years, that is from 1997 to 2005. With aching knees, I am still agile to do those old stuffs.

I arrived at the ridge at 12:15 noon and proceeded to pass by the highest shoulder of Mt. Babag that is not fenced and walked a couple of a hundred meters down a dirt road to a store overlooking the city and took my lunch there. After a while, the four guys whom I just left moments ago, came together with Manwel. They hired Manwel to guide them on another route – the Babag East Ridge Pass. They took time with me and ate their packed lunch at the store.

Over music of a local FM station, my digestive system began its work as I took a short nap. At exactly 1:00 PM, I bade them farewell again. I backtracked and went down for Napo via the Kahugan Trail with Manwel while they went the other way going the easy Babag Ridge Road towards Garahe in Upper Busay.

I began to walk and trot, hurrying down until I crossed a river. From the river I snaked myself amongst jackfruit, breadfruit and star apple trees that abound on this stretch of the trail and climbed a short uphill route traversing a ridge passing by the junction of the Babag East Ridge Pass where Manwel bade goodbye to me. Then I came upon a pocket forest of madre de cacao trees and there among its trail is a very deceptive route wherein loose talus rocks abound. I slowed down my pace when I heard the unmistakable melody of the black shama, locally known as siloy. Perched on a tendril of a thick bamboo thicket nearby another upland community is a juvenile siloy singing its song.

From there, I pushed on passing a trio of tamarind trees that marked the end of this difficult route. I reached the community chapel at 1:45 PM and, here, the trails of Kahugan widened; just wide enough for a solitary traveller running loose on the trail at break-neck freewheeling speed! As I took a little rest, I readied my camera and switched it to video mode, intending to record myself trail running and then have this moving image uploaded in my personal blog at Blogger and at the community website in Multiply.

It took me just three to four minutes to reach the next river crossing where a drinkable spring is located. After resting for a full two minutes I proceeded for Napo following the trail above the meandering Sapangdaku River. This time, I took an easy pace, intending to take time and savor the view the route afforded. I met many locals passing the other way and exchanged nods and greetings with them, at the same time, practicing trail courtesy.

I arrived at Napo at 2:45 PM and took just a very short rest before I proceeded for Guadalupe. The asphalt and concrete road at three in the afternoon were stifling hot and, at that angle of the sun, the shades from trees where not yet wide enough to cover the whole width of the street. Inconvenienced by that, I opted to compensate by protecting my feet and stepped only on soil, weeds and stones, usually found beside the street curbs. The temperatures here were ten degrees cooler than that on the pavement itself.

I walked on, never minding the heat and the numb on my left shoulder. My water is about gone but I never swallowed a drop. I am on training today; at least, my feet are alright. Finally, at 3:30 PM, I reached Guadalupe and took a rest at the parish grounds when Boy T called me on my phone just in time. I was awfully tired and, here he is, with his vehicle to ride on and a promise to douse my extreme thirst with ice-cold liquid, uh, like beer...and a lot of tales to talk about. Ernie joined company and made it sure that there will be many “tales to talk about”.

I have concluded yet another perfect Sunday in the mountain trails of Napo to Mt. Babag while Boy T and Ernie did also with their trip in southern Cebu. Yes, there were no stupid rules here and there and that made climbing mountains simple again.

Document done in OpenOffice 2.1 Writer.