Photo By Alman Dave O. QuiboquiboIt was the induction climb of this year’s batch of trainees in AMCI Mountaineering Club’s Basic Mountaineering Course (BMC). Only 12 of us were going to be inducted on this climb, with 20-some members in support.
High-altitude rice paddies
The original itinerary was tailor-made for an induction climb — there were technical trails combined with easy routes in between.
The four-day climb was to begin and end in remote Tinglayan town in the province of Kalinga. Getting there took a whole day, starting with an overnight bus trip to the capital city of Tabuk, and a five-hour jeep ride on bumpy and dusty roads to Tinglayan. We were to stay overnight at a house, with the official start of trek in the early morning of Saturday, Oct. 28.
It rained incessantly during our road trip on the 27th, and we hoped the sky would cry itself out then, turning dry in the days ahead. Little did we know it was merely a preview of things to come.
The route on the first day, the 28th, would be the hardest of all, and the itinerary was religiously followed. A quick descent to the river crossing, and a precarious walk across a hanging bridge, led to a very steep ascent to barangay Balay. The 75-degree inclines left many of us breathless, and gave some of us muscle cramps. The difficult trail took all morning, and the sun came out just then.
After lunch, the terrain was gently rolling through fields and what they called the Labyrinth Forest. At the forest’s edge, there was again a very steep ascent to the peak of Mt. Mosimus, one of two mountains we were scheduled to climb on this trip.
Sights on a very long climb: trekking up what would turn up to be one of three mountains
It was twilight when my trek buddy Cecil and I started the tricky two-hour descent to the campsite. We were privileged enough to be accompanied by the climb’s team leader, Lovell Sarreal, who is also AMCI president and is affectionately called Bosing. Our other escort was one of the able-bodied sweepers, Doc (who is not a doctor nor one of the Seven Dwarves, but is merely called so because his full name is Mon Doctolero).
We were tired and at our wits’ ends by the time we reached the campsite at around 7:30 p.m. Luckily, we were already settled by the time it started to rain again. Unfortunately, there were still a few people following on the trail, and the degree of difficulty multiplies in the rain (as well as at night).
With the rain still pouring, the second day saw us crossing gushing, albeit narrow and shallow rivers. By lunchtime, we were quietly shivering beside a river, preparing and munching down our pesto fettucine, the one good thing about that miserable day. Let me just say that food is never compromised, on any climb.
At around this time, team leader Bosing decided to cut short our trek, since they concluded that the rains had developed into a storm. With no cell signal, and no radios, it was mere speculation. We had no idea we were in the middle of a furious typhoon Paeng that was lashing out at nearby Isabela with winds stronger than Milenyo. Luckily the mountain itself may have been protecting us as we camped on its shoulder, nestled among the trees.
A charming Kalinga child
Worse, we were clueless that friends and relatives in Manila were on the verge of a nervous breakdown wondering if we had been buried in one of the landslides.
From the lunch area, we headed for the makeshift campsite nearby. Along the way, we had to go down a vertical wall with the aid of a rope, to a stream and then go up again. My gloved hand slipped on the rope and I fell straight down about eight feet. Luckily I fell down on the soft muddy earth and missed the rock just beside it.
That area is now called "Vicky Drop."
We rested early that night, to prepare for the ascent to the summit of Mt. Binulauan for the much-awaited induction rites early the next morning. The rains grew stronger however, and upon the wake-up call at 3:30 a.m., I seriously thought they had called it off. But no, mountaineers are hardy people, and we were going to make the assault, storm or no storm.
Now the AMCI induction rites are a subject of deep secrecy, known only to members. So suffice it to say that it did happen. And we were shivering in our raincoats the entire time.
We marched down to the campsite to have lunch, and looked forward to a much altered and "easier" trek to the next campsite; length of trek: four hours.
Since it was new route, it had never been seen by any of the members. The climb staff was relying on the word of the local guides.
Crossing a rickety rope bridge
The first four hours was easy enough, gently rolling. But at the end of the four hours, we were nowhere near any campsite. Light was fading, and it was still raining. Worst of all, the easy trail had mysteriously turned very treacherous — steep descents aided by ropes, walking along narrow and muddy ridges bordered by sharp drop to one side, and the constant danger of boar traps. (Boar traps are about six feet deep and are camouflaged by leaves and twigs, so one can easily fall in).
With only our headlamps to light our way, it became doubly dangerous to proceed. AMCI chairman Pres decided we should all bivouac at this fairly level area. Our guides had to hack several small shrubs to allow us to pitch our tents. Environmental murder all right, but it was us or them!
The next morning, we were finally going home. The guides again said it was to be an easy two-hour trek. Two hours for them, multiplied by two, and we set our minds to a four-hour descent.
I guess we never learn.
"Easy" and even "two hours" are all relative terms on any given mountain. We never bothered to check if the guides actually wore watches and had any real sense of time.
What we didn’t know at the time was the guides themselves had gotten lost on this new trail, and ended up leading us up a third mountain, Mt. Abi, in order to lead us back to the town of Tinglayan.
The descent on the last day was aptly described by my trek buddy as brutal, with trails at an angle of 75 to 80 degrees in many areas. Rope after rope after rope was tied to trees to help us get down, making it a very technical route. Upon reaching the cogon areas, there were no more trees to tie the ropes on, so many of us resorted to sliding down the trail. Some, like Cecil, insisted on being hardcore and did it the proper way by slowly descending backwards.
Rains turned a stream and waterfall into a torrent
The saving grace in all this was the magnificent views we had as we negotiated the trail — of not one but several waterfalls cascading along the steep slopes of surrounding mountains; of rock-strewn rivers frothy white with fast flowing water; and of magnificent rice terraces carved out thousands of years before. Even on the jeep ride on our way home, there were glimpses of paradise during sunset as we saw more waterfalls invigorating the mountain slopes.
Most charming of all was the sight of the beautiful tribal folk, whose dark and delicated features elicited warm admiration in all of us. The Kalingas are a warm and friendly people, and one old lady who crossed my path even requested to shake my hand.
We were about halfway down at the lunch hour, and reached the foot of Mt. Abi in the early afternoon. We crossed another bridge, and made a final very steep ascent to Tinglayan.
Our trailmaster, artist Sky Biscocho, is a veteran of Mt. Halcon, having climbed that daunting Mindoro mountain no less than 15 times. He swears our descent was even harder than Mt. Halcon, and he was constantly worried about us newly inducted members.
Only our determination, fortitude of spirit and mental strength (and maybe the fact that we didn’t have a choice) brought us through. We, whom the club now calls the dirty dozen, will always be proud.
Many months ago, out of fear I swore I would never climb Mt. Halcon. Now there is no need to.
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