Trips - Cebu

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Mt. Manunggal Trek

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CHAPTER 2 

          Saturday, Gingin and Kate picked us up at 4:00 a.m. It took us a while to load all our stuff into their van. The DENR assembly point is the Plaza Independencia where they haul trekkers in dump trucks to the starting point in Tabunan at the foot of Mt. Manunggal. Our plan was to drive to Tabunan and join these climbers. We drove for a couple of hours, stopping every now and then to ask for directions. We almost made it all the way to the top of Mt. Manunggal, just a few meters from the campsite. We failed to rephrase our question from "Is this the way to Manunggal?" when we should have asked, "Which way to the starting point of the climb?" Judge P was clucking, "this won't do, we came here to climb not to have a picnic." 

          We turned back and drove for another half-hour until we reached Tabunan. We were welcomed by DENR employees who asked us to register. Judge P was thrilled to see his name in the logbook going all the way back to 1993, and every year thereafter. "I have never missed a climb since then," he exulted. This is the first time that the trek is taking the shorter but steeper Tabunan trail instead of the Tagba-o trail. 

          It was a little past seven when we started our climb from the river at the foot of the mountain. Boy was it hot and humid. Like the rest of Cebu's mountains, Manunggal was sparse with mostly shrubs and grasses, very few trees to offer us shade. With hardly any body preparation and warm-up my suffocated chest soon started constricting for precious oxygen. "My lungs were screaming for air," Kate described her own ordeal, "I could feel my forehead throbbing." Judge P freed Kate from her backpack. He and Gingin agreed to take turns in carrying it. 

          The first dumptruck carrying mountaineers arrived minutes after we started. "Watch out guys, these young climbers move real fast," Judge P warned. It took an hour for the first climber to catch up with us. He was very young and had the lean, sleek and lithe body of a regular climber. Recognizing Judge P, he offered to carry Kate's backpack for him. The added load hardly slowed him down as he effortlessly strode up ahead. Judge P kept calling out to him to stop and leave the bag over that tree, or that hut, but the young fellow was insistent he could carry it all the way to the campsite. His name is Voltaire. And yes, he knows he was named after the French philosopher. He is climbing Mt. Apo in a couple of weeks and this is his pre-climb. He welcomed the extra load as a means to build up his endurance and stamina. 

          We stopped by one hut where some enterprising locals were selling fresh young coconuts. Two more young climbers arrived on the scene. The girl was even skinnier than I, but there was not a drop of sweat on her brow while Kate, Gingin and I were drenched in perspiration. She recognized Judge P and asked about Justine, the judge's 12-year old daughter. She has been accompanying him in many climbing trips all over the country since she was four. Made her more popular than him. When we spent the Lenten holidays in Sagisi, an uninhabited island resort off Surigao years ago, we shared the island with a group of campers from Butuan City who recognized Justine. She's unable to join this Manunggal trek because final exams week is approaching. 

          Voltaire started to get on my nerves with his pa-cute attempts to motivate me. "C'mon, we're almost there, see those huts, that's the place." Then when we're close enough he'd say, "The camp is right behind those rocks." Still later, "Just 100 meters more and we're there." I wondered if I can get close enough so I could push him over a ravine. But he was always too quick for me. "You are driving me crazy!" I yelled at him. "Yeah, but it's working, you're moving much faster now," he laughed. One climber who was tagging along with us looked at me with wonder while I muttered devious ways of getting back at my tormentor. "Wow, bilib ko sa imong hangin." I thought he was duly impressed but then he turned to Judge P to add, "Does she ever shut up? I find it hard to talk, much less breathe, when I'm climbing." The judge laughed, "Only when she's hungry." 

          At the mention of food we made one more stop by a limestone obelisk where Judge P bought cassava from a lady vendor. Voltaire split his share with me which I split with Kate. We offered the rest of the cassava to the two young climbers who knew Justine. From thereon Voltaire simply sprinted out of sight. Nisutoy lang ang amaw. I gave up trying to keep up with him and fell back in step with Kate and Gingin. We worked out a steady pace of our own. There was no other way but to keep going because the scorching midday sun was already beating down on us. The knowledge that we were close to our destination prodded us to quicken our pace. That and the arrival of more climbers, all teenagers. A group of about twenty boys and girls emerged from the right side of the mountain, they appear to have taken another trail. Their happy voices and laughter filled the air. 

          At the sight of these people Judge P rushed forward and told Gingin to look after us ladies cause he wants to go ahead, to make sure we get a good spot for camping in case our advance party are not there yet. Gingin asked him to take the hand-held radio so we'd know how to find him, but Judge P was in a rush. It is such a cute radio, a yellow Motorola with a range of 3 km. Kate smiled as she explained "Gingin is actually still a boy with more expensive toys." We reached the Manunggal campsite at 9:45 a.m. We have been climbing for 2-1/2 hours. Gingin whipped out another expensive toy, a Global Positioning System (GPS) that is the size of a TV remote control. It informed us that the mountain has an elevation of 960 meters, and that Tabunan is a kilometer away. We couldn't believe that that was only a one- kilometer-trek. Kate and I thought it took forever. Judge P said the Tagba-o trail is about 10 km.

CHAPTER 3 

          The campsite is a beehive of activity. Climbers started arriving in singles and packs. There were as many girls as there were boys, students and professionals, fatigue-clad soldiers and locals. Later in the afternoon the logbook would register over 200 participants, but many climbers would arrive later at night and the following day. The bare open space quickly filled up with colorful tents in all shapes and sizes. Some were fancy and expensive-looking, several were the makeshift type made of sackcloth and tarpaulin. The locals have set up their own stalls to sell everything from candies and chips to beer, eggs, rice and bread. The judge picked a nice spot for us to pitch our tents. We, greenhorns, suggested a nice meadow downhill but Judge P said it is too far from the water source. 

          Voltaire was reunited with one of his friends. His name is Ivan. Looks a lot like Voltaire -- same hairstyle, same complexion, same height and body frame -- and was wearing the same grey t-shirt. Kate and I christened them the Manunggal twins. They said there is a third friend who looks like them, too. The two boys are so cute and adorable. Voltaire is in his third year in college, Ivan (a Richard Gomez look-alike, Kate noted), only in his first year. Kate asked them when their final exams start, and they replied, "This Monday." Judge P said they remind him of another fellow climber, also a college student, who complained that his studies were interfering with his mountaineering. 

          While we flirted with the twins, Gingin and the judge busied themselves in setting up the tents. Rene, the advance party (of one) for Green Earth, gave a hand. As Kate and I unpacked our bags the twins chattered and hovered around us. They're like a pair of chipmunks, like Chip and Dale. We admired Gingin's toys: carabiners from Switzerland, a backpack that can be converted into a regular traveling bag, a dome-shaped tent that can accommodate four people. Not to be outdone, Judge P unsheathed his Leatherman. I was ogling my own treasures, stuff I never got a chance to use 'till now. Many of these were presents from my mountaineer pal Radel. I took out the plastic water container that I bought in New York, and the judge and Voltaire said in unison "Oh, a Platypus." Whatever, I thought, and waved it at Voltaire, "you want it, you can have it." I didn't have to ask twice because he snatched it from my hand and proudly showed it to Ivan. Kate and I exchanged a look of amusement, boys! In return they collected all our empty water bottles so they can refill this at the nearby spring. I also gave them a can each of soft drink. They're so easy to please.

          After pitching our tents we walked over to one of the vendors' stalls. The judge shared another tip, check the food they're selling so you can reserve the best ones before they run out of it. One lady was cooking native chicken in broth, and it smelled so good we didn't wait for lunch anymore. That, with the puso (hanging rice) plus soft drinks cost a total of P140. Not bad for five famished people. Okay, we're here, we're full, now what? "We have to find a nice spot with shade so we can get some rest," the judge said. The tent was too hot. We went to the small chapel uphill, lugging our sleeping bags and snacks. We rearranged the benches, laid our sleeping bags over these, and made ourselves comfortable. Kate remarked that it looks like this is all we'll ever do in this trip. Stuff ourselves like pigs, then sleep it off like pigs. "I have no problem with that," she said, "I'm quite good at doing that." I concurred. The midday breeze was cool and lulled our bone-weary bodies to peaceful slumber. 

          Only to be roused by the ruckus of the boy scout troop from USJ-R who took over the chapel, unmindful of the five sleeping bodies there. One lad addressed Kate as "Nang" (Ma'am). She implored him "please don't call me that." It was only twelve noon but we felt sufficiently rested, and hungry again. Judge P suggested we hike to the monument marker of the crash site. This holds the engine of the ill-fated Mt. Pinatubo plane encased in concrete, with the names of the victims inscribed on one side. 

          From there the judge said it's another short hike to the Balamban training center. This is where we would have ended up, the judge explained, had we continued driving this morning. From here it's only a fifteen minute downhill walk to the camp. "But we didn't come here for a picnic," he reminded us. Hello, welcome back to civilization! The parking lot was full of motorcycles, trucks, four-wheel drives and cargo vehicles transporting guests and provisions for the camping/picnic. The annual trek has become a fiesta for Balamban. From one truck able-bodied men and lads were downloading stereo and lighting equipment for tonight's disco party at the campsite. There were four portable toilets standing ready. The town mayor and his wife graciously welcomed us and promptly led all guests to the dining table. We had chicken again for lunch. Everybody ate with gusto. We hung around for another 15 minutes while the guys digested their lunch with a few shots of Johnny Walker that the mayor offered. After that we all felt sleepy again and bid our kind hosts goodbye. "Please come back tonight," they invited, "we're having lechon." This is one trek we'd be doing without worrying about food.
       
CHAPTER 4 

          We found a great spot to spend our siesta. Under the shade of two trees in a mound close to our tents. After attacking my can of Pringles, I drowsily slid in the mat beside a sleeping Rene. I was having the most wonderful relaxing moment. Lying in the curled fetal position with my eyes closed, half of my mind was daydreaming, and the other half was absorbing the festive atmosphere. Judge P and the others continued to share stories about their most memorable climbing experiences. Now and then there would be laughter as the afternoon breeze blew away some of the tents while its owners ran after these. A military chopper landed close by, sending everybody scampering to their tents again. I peeked to check if our own tent would hold and it did. "This reminds me so much of scouting," I told people. "You mean your childhood days?" Judge P clarified. "Oh no, the last camping I attended was only two years ago," I replied, "when San Miguel sponsored the national boy scout jamboree in Surigao." Yup, we had this similar fun and festive air of camaraderie and activity. Except that the mountaineers' gear and outfit here are so far more colorful and interesting. 

CHAPTER 5

          Towards sunset the climate got colder. Gingin whipped up his famous Swiss Miss. Everybody put on their jackets, sweaters, baggy pants, and headgear. Time for another round of "you show me yours, I'll show you mine." We put on our flashlights and compared brands. Judge P had the usual foresight of ordering supper hours ago. While waiting for food to arrive, that and the lechon promised by the mayor, we watched the Manunggal twins prepare their supper. We met their third friend, Jonathan, who does have the same hairstyle and narrow frame but he was more fair-skinned. Did I say the boys are cute and adorable? They are. Chip and Dale took turns setting up their gas burner and the other stuff for cooking. My, what boy scouts, they even have a tadtaran (wooden chopping block). Voltaire started slicing garlic and onions, while Ivan heated the pan. They set up a second stove for the rice. "Oh, look," Kate pointed out with glee, "a real caldero (cooking pot)!" We started teasing the boys that we'd rather stick with them if they are this well-prepared for wilderness survival. Kate and I were the only girls in this group but both of us don't know the first thing in cooking without our maids at our beck and call. We all got suddenly quiet when the aroma of corned beef wafted in our direction. Even the judge was drooling. "Can you tell that lady to hurry up with our supper?" he yelled at Rene. Gingin offered some of the dried fish he had with him. About a kilo of danggit. Heck, I think, he and Kate brought everything but the kitchen sink. No wonder Kate was laboring with her backpack early in the climb. 

          The grilled pork we ordered, to our dismay, was half-cooked and all fat. Gingin, the gourmet chef, suggested we dice and cube the fat then fry these in hot oil. An excellent idea, it came out crispy and tasty after absorbing the extra salt in the cooking oil that was used for the dried fish. The lechon arrived in time. The twins brought out their sili, calamansi and suka for the dip. We invited everybody, including Ben and Januar. We dove in and feasted on the food. Kate was smacking her lips at the greasy corned beef, greasy pork fat, greasy lechon, and greasy and salty danggit -- energy food. "All this fat can't compensate the amount I burned today," she asserted. "Or tomorrow," I added. 

          The indefatigable twins wanted to check out the disco. The speakers were blaring the latest dance tracks. They came back minutes later to report that there were only a few dancers, mostly gays, and they are causing quiet a scene. 

          I was starting to shiver from the cold damp air and sought cover under the tent. The couple joined me soon after. Kate advised me to sleep early before her husband starts snoring. Before she was done explaining he was already emitting rumbling sounds. Kate was very profuse in her apologies. There were other distractions to contend with. The booming disco music, the cold temperature, and we were lying in a slope so much so that everytime we moved, our butts would slide down. But I was so tired and sleepy to worry about these details. Of course, I kept waking up in the middle of the night until dawn the next day.
          
CHAPTER 6 

          As early as five in the morning there was already some movement outside. Judge P did volunteer to wake up early, fetch water and boil it for breakfast. Somebody who sounded like Jerome in the tent to the right exclaimed, "Damn it, I went to bed last night with the disco music playing, and now I'm awake it's still blaring. Is this a 24-hour thing?" More voices outside, this time coming from the left side of our tent, sounded like Edmund. "People are still dancing there at this hour!" Somebody else muttered about tireless teenagers. "They just keep going, and going ... "

          The refreshed Gingin announced he was preparing his Swiss Miss concoction again. Judge P had a pack of oatmeal. Kate and I were so embarrassed that we did not know how to prepare it. "Is it one is to one, or one is to two?" I asked her. "One is to two, I think," Kate guessed. But which is one and which is two, the judge asked. We both shrugged. Gingin came to our rescue and told the Judge to put in as much as he wants and to keep adding water. He also ordered Kate to bring out their breakfast: two Tupperwares full of Spam and Vienna sausages. That and the remainder of the dried fish. Voltaire handed over their left-over rice, which Gingin fried as garlic rice. "Is it my imagination or is he trying to impress you?" I nudged Kate, "Seems to me he's showing off after we declared the twins as masters of survival." Gingin, the man-in-charge-of-the-hour, retorted, "Hah, if I can impress my mother-in-law with my cooking ..." Breakfast was yummy and filling. 

          Everything went downhill, literally and figuratively from that moment on. As the men tidied up and packed the tents, and everything, my depression crept in again. "I don't want to leave this place yet," I told Kate. "Me, too," she said. The other campers have already left or in the process of packing and leaving. It was sad to see them putting out their campfires. 

          The words of Kahlil Gibran comes to mind : 

                         "We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, 
                         begin no day where we have ended another day; 
                         and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us." 

          "See you," the climbers called out to one another, "next year." I did not bother to check my watch. We just left. I took one brief glance of the emptying campsite. "Goodbye." Jerome and Judge P led the pack, taking a shorter and steeper trail by a waterfall. Except that due to the El Nino drought, it was as dry as the parched Earth that crumbled under our weight. "Maybe we should come back when the rainy season comes," Gingin wondered. Maybe.