Philippines Adventure, Pt. 15

Climb the Second Highest Mountain in the Philippines: Check!

One of my goals for my time in the Philippines was to climb the second highest mountain, Mt. Pulag, which rises about 9,600 ft. above sea level. It is not the height that distinguishes it from other mountains because the height is not that impressive. Most of the Rockies tower above this “puny” mountain, but I have never seen a mountain quite as unique as this monstrous hunk of rock. There are three ecosystems—pine forests, mossy forests and grasslands with dwarf bamboo that can only be found on the hills of Mt. Pulag—that make this mountain one of the most enticing mountains to climb, and with four different trails of varying lengths to choose from, quite approachable for the majority of adventuring walkers. I had no choice which route to take because I opted out of the camping aspect. I thought to myself that all camping is about the same, so why camp alone when I could have the company of a lovely family
who invited me to stay with them in their home.

The family of one of the nurses with whom I worked at St. Patrick’s in Naperville, IL, lives in Kabayan, the municipality in which Mt. Pulag is located. I was really blessed to have them as a contact. The couple team was well connected: the husband is the tourism coordinator for Kabayan and the wife is currently a rural health nurse for the next few months. They set me up in a fabulous little log cabin where I peacefully spent two nights, reading and sleeping. We ate together both nights. They fed me royally, stuffing me full of “milk” fish, the Filipino national fish, mountain vegetables and even some American treats—brownies and apple pie—which are hard to come by and even when you find them, they rarely reach the same standard of the American prototypes. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that there had been two Peace Corps volunteers that had spent their two-year term in Kabayan, from whom my hostess learned to bake American goodies. Thank you, Peace Corps!!!

Let me back up a little. I got a little excited! So, this past weekend, I boarded a small provincial bus from a little run-down station in downtown Baguio to go to Kabayan. The fare was three dollars, and it wasn’t worth much more! The bus was dusty, stuffy, and packed past capacity. I learned something about rural mountain living: you take whatever transportation you can get, which tends to be few and far between since few vehicles relish the chance to traverse the horribly bumpy roads that characterize this mountain area. The roads are truly horrendous! I was amazed that we even made it. Honestly! Our little chicken bus that literally smelled like chicken dung bravely crossed the rocky terrain on the “national” road or the only road that goes from Baguio to Kabayan. Apparently, the route used to be much worse because the entire way was unpaved and rockier than Sylvester Stallone; however, last year, half of it was paved with cement. Praise the Lord! Paving the rest of the road is in the planning works, but I am not holding my breath considering the tumultuous state of the Philippine government at this juncture. (It is election year. The elections are in May, which means that if the Kabayan municipal government cannot get the contract for the road and the funds properly allocated before the new presidential party takes office, their hopes for a new road become quite illusory.)

I was covered in dust by the time I reached Poblacion, which is the largest barangay of the Kabayan municipality. That means that Poblacion is its own small village, located inside the Kabayan territory, which comprises 13 barangays and about 15,000 residents—a large number when you look at how rural and remote this municipality really is. I mean, there is little else but mountains and vegetable and rice terraces dotting the landscape. People live simple lives and subsist off the land and the tourism that the mountains and the ancient mummies have created. There are hundreds of people who climb Mt. Pulag every year, and the mummies and burial caves are starting to gain national recognition as significant and interesting landmarks. I was unable to see the mummies and the burial caves, but I plan on going back and checking them out. I have to return. Bucolic and serene, the area has a certain quality of mystery and flair that I thoroughly enjoyed. Plus, I really had a great time with the family that hosted me. They were such a joy and I look forward to being able to see them again.
On Saturday, I arrived in mid-afternoon, so there was not much that I could do. I went to the “National Museum” where they display a little of the local history and one of the mummies that you would find in the caves located about a six-hour walk from Poblacion. (I put the name of the museum in quotation marks because I have never seen an official museum this small and provincial. It was set on beautiful grounds and about 10 minutes from “downtown” and enclosed with gates, but was easily permeated by climbing up and over a small embankment that formed one of the sides of the miniature museum campus. It was all quite darling, but hilarious nonetheless that it is officially a nationally recognized museum.)

Poblacion is located in a small valley, surrounded my small mountains part of the Cordillera range, the eponymous name of the region. It is all quite idyllic like I said in the above paragraph. I loved the simple farming community and the quiet strength exuding from the mountains. I was quite an anomaly in that provincial town, standing a full head above everyone with flaming red hair and white skin. Oh, well, I didn’t mind. I am quite used to it now and try not to focus on the differences but instead, I think of how I would act if I had never seen a foreigner in my life. (We Americans take it for granted that foreigners are a common sight. One could even go so far as to say that they are a part of the natural American landscape. Even though there was little diversity in my hometown, I was never surprised when I met a foreigner or baffled by the presence of someone different. In the Philippines, especially in the provinces, foreigners are not common sights, and for some of the kids, seeing me is their first real life encounter with someone from a different race. So, imagine how you would feel. I am sure we would all gawk and point, laughing at the “funny looking” person and stranger!)

We took a nice tour of the small town; then I had a nice rest in my log cabin before the family brought dinner over. We had a great dinner in the cute dining area. I retired after dinner, preparing myself for the early morning the next day. I woke up at 5 am, which is not unusual anymore. (I am awake by 5 am about 80 % of the week.) The husband brought over a thermos of Benguet coffee, which is apparently produced mostly in the Kabayan area, which I doctored up with my distinctive and heaping tablespoon of sugar. (The coffee here is good, but it requires a lot of sugar. I am not sure why, but I think it is much more bitter than the coffee I am used to drinking in the States, which comes mostly from Latin America and Africa, which tend to be milder and less acidic, I would say. I don’t even need milk in this coffee, just sugar. So different from the coffee back home, but regardless of the dissimilarities, I am getting used to its distinguishing flavor and pick-me-up in the morning.) We set off in a compact four-wheel drive truck belonging to the municipality. Thank the Lord this vehicle was available. I would not have been able to make it to the summit and back in one day without the aid of this vehicle. We bummed along for about 30 minutes to Kalin where we were supposed to meet the motorbike that would have taken me to the Ranger Station located on the foothills of Mt. Pulag. Again, the Lord’s provision was guiding my steps. The motorist slept in, so the husband graciously drove me up the winding hill to within about two or three km of the Ranger Station. I was happy to walk, believing that walking would be better than the harrowing ride in the truck. Imagine how it would have been on a motorbike! He kept saying that I would hire a bike to get back down and I thought in my mind, you have got to be kidding. I wouldn’t ride a motorbike down this road if my life depended on it because I would likely lose my life anyway, so what’s the point?

I started trekking up the mountain at 8 am and I made it back down to Kalin where the husband picked me up in the savior-sized truck. Nine hours, 32 km, and a lot of sores and shaky legs later, I made it back to Kalin. It was a solitary adventure, the kind with which I am very familiar. Somehow, I never feel lonely when I am hiking; even though I was probably the most alone I have been in a long time, I felt completely at ease and self-possessed with each step I took. Maybe it was the goal-oriented side of me. I wanted to make it to the summit and back in one day, which is infrequently done, and wouldn’t take no for an answer, or maybe it was the sense of a challenge that gripped me in its tight knuckles and wouldn’t release me until I shimmied down that last decline. All I know is that I like to hike alone. There is no one to answer to, no one to hold you back or push you beyond the place you yourself want to go, no one to complain and assail your ears with all sorts of doubts and negativity, no one to spoil the silence when all you want is to hear the piss flow out of your body, soaking the ground and parts of your pant legs—not intentional but I was never a good aimer—with a fragrant scent only appreciated in the great outdoors. That is why I like to hike mountains alone; however, when it’s all said and done, you have only an impersonal blog and feigned interest to recall your adventure. I guess it’s hard to say what’s better.

Regardless of the philosophy behind hiking alone—with a hired guide—or taking a companion, here are some facts: It is more expensive to hike alone. I had to hire a guide to take me to the summit, which is a smart idea and necessary for a national park that desires to keep the integrity of the natural resources intact. It is also a personal challenge, which makes the hike even more fun when you set for yourself a goal. I made it my goal to make it up the mountain faster than the predicted three hours. When the manager of the Ranger Station said that he had taken a foreigner up last week and made it in 1 hour 45 minutes, I made it my personal goal to make it in equal time, or less. He made a comment that incensed me and only threw fuel on the fire. He told me that I could probably make it up in two hours, even though this other “foreigner” probably male, made it up in less time. He didn’t believe me when I said I was in good shape. We started off and it was a deceptively easy beginning. The hike was eight km one way. My guide was a strong and handsome mountain Filipino, people who tend to be stockier and browner, generally ruddier and sturdier than lowland people, and he walked fast. I appreciated his speed. At least he believed me when I said I wanted to go fast. Another thing about being alone, you can pass others quite easily, almost slipping past them with little concern.

We reached the first incline and I started to inhale and exhale loudly and forcefully. I was reminded of my freshman year cross country season and my coach telling me I need to control my breathing because I sounded as if I was struggling to gasp my last breath. Well, my guide seemed to have the same opinion. I could tell he was starting to slow down when I told him I was okay and just breathed loudly and that we should maintain the same pace. I appreciated the two breaks we took to get some water and to catch my breath, which I caught about halfway through the hike.

First, the pine forests enveloped us in the cool but sun-drenched ambience of the mountain climate. (I got so burnt. I have not gotten this burnt in a long time. Even my face looks like a lobster. When I got back home to Baguio, all the students that saw me immediately remarked on my florid complexion. Not the souvenir I was hoping to bring back from my time on the mountain.) Second, we passed through the mossy trail of spindly trees and impressively intertwined combinations of vegetation. Finally, on the last 40 minutes of the hike, we took narrow pathways cut into the grasslands. The grasslands were literally finely ploughed by these walking trails. The guides were careful to lead their charges along the well-worn and well-loved paths that all led to the summit. Mt. Pulag covers an area of 11,500 hectares or a little more than 44 square miles. Once we reached the grasslands, which lay at the top of the mountain, we could see the haziness that dominated the atmosphere around us. The haze was not the result of expansive cloud cover, but was the product of the three raging forest fires. This is the winter or dry season, so it is common to have a number of forest fires that kill valuable trees and precious flora. They cannot really stop it from happening because it depends on the amount of rain they receive during the winter season. The problem has become increasingly grave over the past couple of years since there has been less and less rain each winter season. Replanting occurs, but I do not think the necessary measures are taken to prevent the kind of erosion taking place.

We made it to the summit in 1 hour 40 minutes!!! Approaching the summit, I saw there were two options: gradual and steep. I squared up my shoulders and fixed my gaze on the path in front of me and said, “Let’s go straight up!” And up we went. This is always the best part, the final push to the top, like the finish of the race. You know you can push it a little harder because it is almost complete. Satisfaction and glee split my face into a glorious smile when I realized I accomplished what I came to do!

Now, the descent is always as bad as the ascent is good; however, I told myself I was going to enjoy the descent and revel in my victory. The conflicting problem and benefit of hiking are founded in the fact that you cannot help but be more familiar with the rocks and roots tread beneath your feet than the actual scenery of the mountain. You have to make calculated stops to appreciate the scenery because you surely cannot manage safely walking and viewing the surroundings. Therefore, going back the same I way from which I came permitted me the opportunity to take the pictures I had wanted to take on the way up. (I was too focused on getting up to the summit in “record” time that I did not bother to pause for capturing the lovely scenery on the way up. I probably should have enjoyed the experience a little more, but I suppose in my own little twisted and personal-challenge steeped journey, I really did have an excellent hike. Sometimes you wonder, though, if only I were different, and then I think, no, I am content with who I am and what I have done. It’s only some food for thought.) Anyway, I actually enjoyed the descent because I was able to bask in my success and was able to capture the nature with which I was so enthralled, particularly the grasslands, which whisked me away in captivation because I have never seen anything quite like that on the top of a mountain. It was very cool.

After arriving at the Ranger Station and exulting in my triumph to myself and to the director who was mildly surprised at my success, I felt ready to make the final step of my journey—the inglorious trek down the dusty road to Kalin. It was supposedly a six-mile walk from the Ranger Station to Kalin, but wouldn’t you know, I got lost. I got mixed up and took the only other possible route down the mountain. Sometimes, my lack of directional sense surprises even me. I told myself I would not let myself get lost again, but then it happens of its own accord. Oh, well, I had the time and told myself it was more exercise. So, the two extra miles set me back in some time and some extra pain, but I eventually got on my way and made it back to Kalin. It sure was interesting to walk on that road by myself. First, young women do not walk alone in the Philippines. They are always in groups, so imagine the surprise on the people’s faces when they saw a young female foreigner walking confidently by herself. The kids giggled and many of the older people greeted me with comically quizzical looks on their faces. One woman from whom I asked directions even asked me, “Why are you walking alone?” How are you supposed to answer that? I said, “I like to be on my own.” She kind of cocked her head and furrowed her head, the body language for ”Hmm, quite curious indeed!”

Upon reaching Kalin, I felt as if I had been walking for ages, having spent the majority of my waking hours lost in my contemplations. More than the beautiful scenery, the opportunity the hike afforded me to think about life and my relationship with Christ and other people and my hopes for the future was worth every pensive and taxing moment. That is why I really love hiking: you’re never the same when you get down from the mountain.