HELL WALK – MT. TIGUM
It was one of the most awaited events for a mountaineer – the annual mountaineering federation climb. It was actually more of a social meet when a federation member gets to see friends only during that time of year. It was also that time when a federation climb would mean about 300 mountaineers from all over the country coming to a single site to climb. Just imagine this scene – on an open country, those guys would look like an impressive and colorful army of backpack-lugging people. And if they pass on a single trail, you can stay on the side for about two hours watching each gasping individual make his way. That’s how a federation climb would look like – impressive. But gone are those days. Environmental concerns have put some voluntary restraints on the number of participants and activities in a federation climb.
Anyways, that Mt. Tigum climb which straddled the boundaries of Iloilo and Antique was named “Putok-putokan” a funny term that meant one would have to be very, very tired and gasping for breath when he reaches the end of the activity. We were ready for an early penitence for that summer activity, but we never set our minds to walk in the middle of hell. It was pure, unadulterated hell walk!
Two days before the Mt. Tigum climb, I was on top of Mt. Pulog for recreation. Mt. Tigum was my official work as a mountaineering research officer of DOT. I think I got the back part of my knee injured in Mt. Pulog and I had a hard time going down the trail. I was afraid that I was not going to make it for the Iloilo trip. But I got a one-night sleep in Manila and my knee got a little bit better. Mt. Tigum was going to be!
Too late! We were already four hours away by hike and in the middle of a cogon country when the Pulog injury struck again. I could not go back. Surely I could not even convince anybody to go back that early. I was stuck with that pain and we had three and a half days to go.
On the second day, the hell walk became a reality as we realized that we were walking in the middle of a hugely deforested land. Bald mountains and cogon areas dominated the entire trip. It was so hot all the time and we did not have any shade to offer us some comfort. Luckily, there were some communities (in the middle of nowhere!) where water was present. At least, we did not have to carry eight liters of water all the way. I remember feeling so tired and hopeless one time when I looked forward, up to the end of the sight, somebody told me that it was where we were going. I turned back and saw the farthest distance – that’s where we came from. And it was only in the middle of the day.
A lot of memorable scenes are forever etched in my mind. Somebody fainted on the second day and it was determined the she cannot go on. She cannot also be brought back to the jump-off point as it was going to be futile. The decision – they made an improvised hammock and the local porters carried her all the way to the end of the trail, up to the fourth day. The nervous husband never left the side of the hammock. I remember one time when I saw the similar situation in Batangas when a pregnant woman in a hammock was carried from the boondocks down to the municipal clinic to give birth. Such is a reality in the countryside.
Up to this, I still wonder how the communities are able to survive in the harsh environment of a denuded land. It seemed that there was no place to plant rice. The only resource they had was water. And that was another mystery to me – how can they have water in a totally destroyed land? Perhaps the communities have a few years left before they realize that the people have to leave those God-forsaken lands? I really don’t know.
Poor is not even an appropriate term on how I could describe the people. We camped near a community and had very little contact with the people. They watched us propped up our tents and prepare our meals. In the morning, somebody told us that we could leave the disposable water containers in an open pit. There I saw some realities in the area. Many went to the open pit and picked up the water containers we threw! No. It was not a natural thing for them because I saw their tentative movements and glances towards us as they slowly picked those disposables. Perhaps, they never saw plastic water bottles before? More realizations came as we moved.
Slowly, it dawned on me that the local communities were actually hamlets hostaged by both the military and the NPA rebels. When we walked through a community, some armed men sported military of CAFGU type outfits. We dismissed any negative thoughts as the organizers told us that everything had been coordinated and we should not fear anything. Yeah, yeah… that is one of the ironies in mountaineering in he Philippines. You can walk in the middle of a battlefield and yet you can feel safe – as long as you coordinate your trip with the military and the rebels. That CAFGU-held community was only four hours away from another community where more armed men were present. Curiously, their armalite rifles sported red strings. Were they what I think they were? And in between those villages were diggings on top of hills which were covered with pawid roofing, and could accommodate four people. My God! Those were foxholes! We realized that we walked in the midst of military and NPA hamlets. Yes, we felt safe, but what about those people trapped in the middle of the war? And in a barren land at that? Now, realize how hard it is to get those memories down to paper and actually tasting the downside of adventure in the Philippine countryside.
That hell walk was not only the heat or my injured knee. It was also the living hell of the people who are forced to stay in those militarized communities.
What made the trip funny for me was that desperate longing for some shade. Of the four days that we walked, we only tasted forest for only about four hours. Three and a half days spent wishing for a tree, even a tomato tree. I saw it! I was tired and gasping and in the middle of a mirage session when I saw a tiny tomato shrub about five hundred meters away. I was like a fighter plane with a locked-on target. “I have to get to that tomato shrub!” My walk became a hop, skip and run. Somebody might get to that tomato before I! Finally, I reached that damned tree (okay, shrub) which was about two feet high. I sat beside it and put my head under its shade. It was crazy, but nothing can beat that natural high – having the shade offered by a tiny plant.
It was also the climb when at one point, I asked God to take care of my family. It was a trail on the side of the mountain where a landslide occurred some weeks earlier. The recreated trail was less than two feet wide and the potential fall was about a thousand meters. Again, I actually thought of going back. And in the guise of resting, I let a lot of others walk past me. Of course, I could never go back! It was not even a choice. I watched the hikers make the pass (with ease) and envied them as they went trudging beyond my sight. I looked down and talked to God and to as many angels as I could remember. And just when nobody was with me, I made the pass. It was horrifying. My fear of heights did not only remind me of its presence, it totally enveloped me. My knees buckled and my hands shook. I tried to hold on to the mountain wall but the soft earth crumbled on my touch. There was even no space for me to make a turn-around and forget the whole thing. It was never a choice. I had to move forward! After some endless minutes, I finally made it! God! I love my life! Then I saw more mountaineers stream in and cross the trail after me. My envy persisted. How can they walk with ease while I almost died crossing that ten-meter long path?
The pain in my knee did not leave me for even a single step. It was the cause why I slipped on a high elevated trail and slid and rolled over a couple of times before making a stop just before a ravine. Luckily, some plants managed to stop my descent. A mountaineer who helped me get up told me that I was very lucky. Well, that’s one of the nice things in tropical mountaineering. When you fall, the vegetation will help you save your life. Unlike in frozen areas where a slip would mean certain death.
On the fourth day, just a few meters before the final point, my knee finally gave up. I could not walk, so somebody had to assist me. All I needed was a night of complete rest before it got a little better. Some rewards were also waiting for us – a night in Boracay! But that is another story.
Anyways, that Mt. Tigum climb which straddled the boundaries of Iloilo and Antique was named “Putok-putokan” a funny term that meant one would have to be very, very tired and gasping for breath when he reaches the end of the activity. We were ready for an early penitence for that summer activity, but we never set our minds to walk in the middle of hell. It was pure, unadulterated hell walk!
Two days before the Mt. Tigum climb, I was on top of Mt. Pulog for recreation. Mt. Tigum was my official work as a mountaineering research officer of DOT. I think I got the back part of my knee injured in Mt. Pulog and I had a hard time going down the trail. I was afraid that I was not going to make it for the Iloilo trip. But I got a one-night sleep in Manila and my knee got a little bit better. Mt. Tigum was going to be!
Too late! We were already four hours away by hike and in the middle of a cogon country when the Pulog injury struck again. I could not go back. Surely I could not even convince anybody to go back that early. I was stuck with that pain and we had three and a half days to go.
On the second day, the hell walk became a reality as we realized that we were walking in the middle of a hugely deforested land. Bald mountains and cogon areas dominated the entire trip. It was so hot all the time and we did not have any shade to offer us some comfort. Luckily, there were some communities (in the middle of nowhere!) where water was present. At least, we did not have to carry eight liters of water all the way. I remember feeling so tired and hopeless one time when I looked forward, up to the end of the sight, somebody told me that it was where we were going. I turned back and saw the farthest distance – that’s where we came from. And it was only in the middle of the day.
A lot of memorable scenes are forever etched in my mind. Somebody fainted on the second day and it was determined the she cannot go on. She cannot also be brought back to the jump-off point as it was going to be futile. The decision – they made an improvised hammock and the local porters carried her all the way to the end of the trail, up to the fourth day. The nervous husband never left the side of the hammock. I remember one time when I saw the similar situation in Batangas when a pregnant woman in a hammock was carried from the boondocks down to the municipal clinic to give birth. Such is a reality in the countryside.
Up to this, I still wonder how the communities are able to survive in the harsh environment of a denuded land. It seemed that there was no place to plant rice. The only resource they had was water. And that was another mystery to me – how can they have water in a totally destroyed land? Perhaps the communities have a few years left before they realize that the people have to leave those God-forsaken lands? I really don’t know.
Poor is not even an appropriate term on how I could describe the people. We camped near a community and had very little contact with the people. They watched us propped up our tents and prepare our meals. In the morning, somebody told us that we could leave the disposable water containers in an open pit. There I saw some realities in the area. Many went to the open pit and picked up the water containers we threw! No. It was not a natural thing for them because I saw their tentative movements and glances towards us as they slowly picked those disposables. Perhaps, they never saw plastic water bottles before? More realizations came as we moved.
Slowly, it dawned on me that the local communities were actually hamlets hostaged by both the military and the NPA rebels. When we walked through a community, some armed men sported military of CAFGU type outfits. We dismissed any negative thoughts as the organizers told us that everything had been coordinated and we should not fear anything. Yeah, yeah… that is one of the ironies in mountaineering in he Philippines. You can walk in the middle of a battlefield and yet you can feel safe – as long as you coordinate your trip with the military and the rebels. That CAFGU-held community was only four hours away from another community where more armed men were present. Curiously, their armalite rifles sported red strings. Were they what I think they were? And in between those villages were diggings on top of hills which were covered with pawid roofing, and could accommodate four people. My God! Those were foxholes! We realized that we walked in the midst of military and NPA hamlets. Yes, we felt safe, but what about those people trapped in the middle of the war? And in a barren land at that? Now, realize how hard it is to get those memories down to paper and actually tasting the downside of adventure in the Philippine countryside.
That hell walk was not only the heat or my injured knee. It was also the living hell of the people who are forced to stay in those militarized communities.
What made the trip funny for me was that desperate longing for some shade. Of the four days that we walked, we only tasted forest for only about four hours. Three and a half days spent wishing for a tree, even a tomato tree. I saw it! I was tired and gasping and in the middle of a mirage session when I saw a tiny tomato shrub about five hundred meters away. I was like a fighter plane with a locked-on target. “I have to get to that tomato shrub!” My walk became a hop, skip and run. Somebody might get to that tomato before I! Finally, I reached that damned tree (okay, shrub) which was about two feet high. I sat beside it and put my head under its shade. It was crazy, but nothing can beat that natural high – having the shade offered by a tiny plant.
It was also the climb when at one point, I asked God to take care of my family. It was a trail on the side of the mountain where a landslide occurred some weeks earlier. The recreated trail was less than two feet wide and the potential fall was about a thousand meters. Again, I actually thought of going back. And in the guise of resting, I let a lot of others walk past me. Of course, I could never go back! It was not even a choice. I watched the hikers make the pass (with ease) and envied them as they went trudging beyond my sight. I looked down and talked to God and to as many angels as I could remember. And just when nobody was with me, I made the pass. It was horrifying. My fear of heights did not only remind me of its presence, it totally enveloped me. My knees buckled and my hands shook. I tried to hold on to the mountain wall but the soft earth crumbled on my touch. There was even no space for me to make a turn-around and forget the whole thing. It was never a choice. I had to move forward! After some endless minutes, I finally made it! God! I love my life! Then I saw more mountaineers stream in and cross the trail after me. My envy persisted. How can they walk with ease while I almost died crossing that ten-meter long path?
The pain in my knee did not leave me for even a single step. It was the cause why I slipped on a high elevated trail and slid and rolled over a couple of times before making a stop just before a ravine. Luckily, some plants managed to stop my descent. A mountaineer who helped me get up told me that I was very lucky. Well, that’s one of the nice things in tropical mountaineering. When you fall, the vegetation will help you save your life. Unlike in frozen areas where a slip would mean certain death.
On the fourth day, just a few meters before the final point, my knee finally gave up. I could not walk, so somebody had to assist me. All I needed was a night of complete rest before it got a little better. Some rewards were also waiting for us – a night in Boracay! But that is another story.
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