According to the Ancient Greek historian Heraclitus, change is the only constant in life. The saying goes for trails too. More than a year has passed since I took the Mt Purgatory traverse and I have noticed differences in the sights and landmarks. This time, I have followed a longer path near the end of the trek. Last year, on August 20-21, 2016 to be exact, I accompanied a mountain climbing group that went by the name of Talahib in hiking the Mt Purgatory traverse. I would have another set of companions this time.
A fellow named Elmer “Yobs” Jurilla organized our trip, scheduled on September 23-24, 2017. The participants were Christian “Chan” Ararao, Mark Caldez, Jhay Coriag, Aileen “Ai” Epiz, Lawrence “Angel” Fetalvero, Casandra “Cas” Gubatan, Elena “Len” Ibana, Cherrie Meigh Laborte, Vivian Nuyles, Tina Relos, and James Ulip. and I. My previous excursion became possible after Christian “Xtian” Villanueva, who was with Talahib, invited me personally when I met him and Len. Xtian joined but Len did not. Thirteen months would pass before she finally got the chance to be part of this piece of adventure in northern Luzon.
Cubao in Quezon City, Metro Manila served as our location to gather before traveling. Instead of the Jollibee fast food branch literally flooded by hikers with their identifying attire and bags, our group met up at a McDonald’s constructed with modernist architecture. One by one the members arrived between 9 and 11 PM. Then we hopped in a Toyota Hi-Lux van, sat as comfortably as we could, and rode all the way to Benguet province with stopovers along the way. Sleep eluded me again. It was caused more by working in a nighttime shift than by the discomfort of nodding off while sitting. My body clock had changed too. I wished deeply for enough energy to make it through tomorrow.
Mist on distant mountains greeted us after waking up on the following morning feeling dizzy. The road ahead twisted and turned. It was like being tossed on a ship’s deck on a stormy sea. At about 7 AM, our trekking party had breakfast at a restaurant and stopover where I also ate last year with the Talahib group. It was exactly the same place. Len and I even chatted with our hiking companions at Mt Makiling last January. It felt like a brief reunion. Our acquaintances would be heading to Mt Pulag, the highest peak in Luzon island. I had not climbed it yet. I wished to be there sooner. After 30 minutes, we were on our way to the jump-off point.
Moderate rain welcomed us at the roadside sign where we would begin the two-day hike. We began wearing our waterproof ponchos. Mine was colored orange. Somehow I could not find that more rigid blue raincoat I wore the last time I was here. Still, that raincoat limited my movement and felt uncomfortably hotter compared to my poncho. Yet my forearms and lower legs were exposed. I did not care. For now, rain fell more like a drizzle.
A group of people huddled together in a hut, taking shelter from the elements. I approached them. Sabel, my guide from last year, was there. She recognized me immediately. However, she would accompany another party. A woman in her forties would be our guide, introducing herself as Kulingay. Yobs worked on our registration. Memories of the surroundings became more vivid. The Mt Purgatory jump-off sign and trail map stood the test of time. They endured the soaking rain and chilling cold. Pine trees made this place seemingly foreign. Then I noticed something different. The dirt road that marked the first steps of this adventure was now cemented. Talking to Kulingay, I commented about it. It was for real, not just my imagination. Then I began taking pictures. We had a group photo and a short briefing.
Jump-off point: before and after
The last time I started out the Mt Purgatory traverse, I was among those in the front leading the way. Now i settled at the rear. I accompanied Kulingay and a young fellow nicknamed Jigs. He was aged between 12 and 16. Chan, Len, and Vivian shared my pace. This time, I also panted less and was not as weary as before. Sooner, the cemented path came to an end. We stepped on soil made firm by the cold and littered with fallen pine cones. Our hiking party marched uphill steadily. Breaks lasted only two minutes and were done sparingly. It seemed that we walked from the jump-off point to Mt Mangakew without stopping. It ceased from raining. We took off our ponchos. Then out of nowhere we heard the sound of an impending downpour. None came. It was just a furious wind that seemed a jet engine to my ears. Len persisted with her pun-filled fish jokes as kept on strolling. I arrived again at that familiar waiting shed. To my surprise, the trekkers guided by Sabel, instead of my companions, sat there. Then another acquaintance showed up. It was Emilia, my guide at that unforgettable climb at Mt Tabayoc. This had been the third time I saw her personally. Now Emilia did not wear a hat and had longer hair. Mark, Yobs, and the others pushed it all the way. Then I scanned my right for a black pipe where refreshingly potable water flowed out. I could not find it. Things have changed indeed. Even my immediate companions could feel my disappointment. After a minute or so, that pipe of water appeared. Our water containers were still full — or at least nearly full. The four of us drank with our hands, then washed our faces and hair. I would gladly trade bottled water bought at supermarkets for this.
Wooden Mt Mangagew sign: before (top) and after (bottom)
Reddish mud marked the road that passed through Mt Mangagew. Again, I joked about it sounding like the Tagalog word for snatching or making off with something — or someone. We took group photos at that rustic fence near the elementary school. I recalled Neil dela Cruz and Yhs Cariño, my trekking mates from last year, sharing snacks with me at this exact spot. The couple were Len’s close friends. Yhs recently gave birth to a boy they named JG. Then we hit that muddy road that looked like trailing from a copper mine. The color was simply unnatural. I could say the soil was more Australian than Filipino. Chunky mud stuck fast to our shoes and sandals. There was nothing we could complain about. The best our party could do was keep to the sides of the road with a firmer surface. Chan, Len, Vivian, and I lifted our spirits with cheerful conversation. Eventually, we reached that Mt Mangakew sign. Our hiking group stopped at a shed above a slope just off the road to the right. Cas and Tina played with puppies. We rested our bags on a bench and a table. Following a brief group conversation, the trek resumed.
Metal Mt Mangagew sign: before and after
Plain-looking small residential homes lined the dirt road. Children stood as they watched us like foreign tourists visiting their place. Dogs and chickens brought more life to the surroundings. I searched for that store with a bench arranged into an incomplete three-sided square across the road. This was where we had ample rest and snacks last time. I could not find it. It might have closed down. As we kept on walking, that distant eroded rock face of a mountainside to our left did not cease to amaze me. Our group took pictures. With certainty, that human-caused landmark would remain for decades. Later on, I finally saw again that store standing on the left of the road. Upon arriving, Mark and Yobs offered me a cup of coffee. I declined and instead bought Mountain Dew® caffeinated soft drink in a plastic bottle. While last year we relaxed on the benches across the road, this time my companions and I spent time under the roof of a cross between a patio and a hallway. Then a crested myna (Acridotheres cristatellus) flew in and landed near the store. It had no fear of humans. I asked the guides if it was the same injured bird I encountered last year. The kindly lady who ran the store said it was a different bird. Our hiking party eventually decided to have lunch there. The lady store-owner sold us cooked white rice in clear plastic bags. Most among us dined on canned sardines or tuna with it. Mine was tuna flakes preserved in the same way as corned beef. At this time too, I got a bit grumpy. I could sense bad vibes. I did not want things to happen again where I was at a disadvantage, feeling more of dead weight. The mood turned gloomier when rain began to fall exactly when everyone was done with lunch and we were setting out. The drizzle intensified. We wore our colorful ponchos again, with relatively many among us buying the light yellow one from hardware stores.
The dirt road turned into gravel as I once again trudged a notable uphill section of road. Last year, I panted hard here and had to pause for ten seconds after exhausting myself. It was still as difficult as before. Yet somehow it felt less tiring partly due to the coolness brought by rain. Noontime heat made me wearier a year ago. I stayed in the rear again with the same companions as hours ago. Vivian’s pace slowed and I wondered if one of her legs or both were aching. We discussed about romantic relationships, along with outer space and light from stars.
The tough uphill road to the farm: before and after
An agricultural field lay at the end of this upward track. It did not mean relief. The muddy surface compelled us to look carefully at the ground first before stepping. I touched the soil with the sole of my shoe. Within seconds, I planned a path to follow. Rain combined with low montane temperatures gave mud not only the consistency but also the look of peanut butter. Suddenly, my entire left foot sank in. My sock got wet. The shoe appeared terribly dirty. I could hear my companions express surprise and pity. However, I simply laughed it out. This was nothing compared to both of my lower legs sinking halfway at the shore of Lake Letepngepos, also around these parts of Benguet.
Our ordeal finally turned into respite upon reaching a two-story house under construction. It consisted of hollow cement blocks, metal rods, and pieces of wood of all sizes. Sawdust littered the floor. Yobs brought out a bottle of gin mixed with lime juice. I whiffed the liquor and personally found it smelling similar to wood. Jay shared peanuts in small foil packs. We snacked and chatted as the drizzle outside did not relent. Tina then laid two nails on the floor and asked us a riddle how it could become a name of a vegetable. A few minutes passed. Cas took the nails and gave it to Tina while saying, “sa iyo ‘te,” which sounded like chayote. The phrase meant ‘for you, ate (a distinctly Filipino word addressed to women out of respect, especially if older). After ten minutes of taking shelter in that soon-to-be house, our trek resumed. A dirt path, now turned into mud by the rain, led us across a field of leafy vegetables. A man carrying an ax with a long shaft was talking to his fellow riding on a motorcycle, which was not moving but with the engine still running. This time, we did not stay in that farm house where kittens scurried at us upon the sight of our lunch.
The slope just past the farm: before and after
Again, I was on the part of the trail where the surroundings grew wild after strolling uphill from a piece of farmland. Light rain came with a mist that made the surroundings grim. This wet weather in the midst of pine trees made Yobs recall the vampire movie Twilight, featuring Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson. The rest of the fellows with me agreed. I grinned as I remembered that movie and something related to it, back in college. I asked Len and Vivian which they preferred — Edward the vampire or Jacob the werewolf. At this point, I got tired of taking my poncho off and then putting it on again. I let the rain drench my hair and shirt. A drizzle caused illness more than getting soaked thoroughly. I could take a bath at Mt Bakian when spending the night there. The terrain plunged sharply to our left. Then a waiting shed would appear. Minutes passed and I still could not see it. There was only the ravine. It made me wary of my steps.
Grass lay on both sides of the narrow trail and I knew I was getting closer. Soon, I saw a bunch of hikers sought shelter in that waiting shed. Nobody seemed to pay heed when I arrived. Jhay then welcomed me casually. I was shivering. Getting hypothermia in a tropical country might sound impossible but it was a reality out here in the misty mountains of Benguet province. My body tolerated the cold but I would not take chances. I rested my large backpack, took off my soaked shirt, and wore my gray woolen jacket. After that, I waterproofed myself with that orange poncho. Len went ahead while I was changing my outfit. Chan and Vivian, along with Kulingay, waited for me.
We were on the winding unpaved road at the mountainside where I witnessed the aftermath of a landslide last year. Interestingly, my male companion at this part of the Mt Purgatory traverse both went by the name of Christian. Conversation might be minimal among the five of us but nevertheless it kept us going. The rain, mud, and fatigue sapped what cheer we had bit by bit. Later on, we regrouped with Cherrie, Jhay, and Len with a steep and impenetrable forest behind them. A literal wall of rock and vegetation stood on our left while another ravine lay to our right. The sky grew clearer, revealing how deep the ravines were. It ceased from raining, not even a drizzle. Everyone in our trekking party gathered at the roadside jump off point for climbing Mt Pack. The clouds parted and the mist disappeared. A breath-taking scenery of highland and pine forest revealed itself. We took snapshots. Our party got divided into two smaller groups labeled the ‘lead’ and the ‘sweeper.’ The term ‘lead’ has spoken for itself. I joined the ‘sweeper’ for a slower pace and to appreciate the place’s natural beauty more. Honestly, I had better interpersonal connection with members of the ‘sweeper’ team.
Past a trail section with tall grass, I expected a wooden shed at the big sign that welcomed hikers into Mt Pack’s mossy forest. It was gone. My mind could not grasp how this structure vanished. Kulingay told me that a typhoon, or tropical storm, wrecked that shed beyond repair. I remembered taking shelter there with Sabel and my companions from Talahib.
The shack at the base of Mt Pack: before and after
The mossy forest engulfed me again. This time, I had another set of fellows to share this experience. Above us, tree branches and leaves filtered sunlight much that the surroundings were as dim as during sunset. It was dark green everywhere. Moss grew in plenty on the trunks and branches, sustained by a perpetually moist environment. Puddles formed on the worn out trail. I could spot shoe prints as if on the trail of a runaway fugitive. The trail went uphill as we climbed Mt Pack. Cherrie and Jhay were just ahead. I stuck around with Len like a hiking buddy. Behind us, Kulingay accompanied Chan and Vivian. As I spent time with Len, I could not help compare Mt Pack with Mt Makiling. It was eight months ago when we traversed the latter. At least this place did not come with small leeches. Then my camera exhausted its battery. I decided to charge it later tonight to have snapshots by tomorrow all the way to the journey’s end. From this point till the rest of the day, photos would come from my mobile phone. Eventually, we reached the summit of Mt Pack at least thirty minutes from that big sign. There was a similar metal sign there. Trees blocked the view of a rugged montane landscape around us — just as they did at Mt Makiling. It was a déja vu indeed. As the ‘sweeper’ team arrived, the ‘lead’ team finished their idle time. We all posed for a group picture. Then we marched towards our next objective: Mt Purgatory itself.
A hand-carved wooden sign on a tree trunk warned us about the trail being slippery. I slowed my pace. I could feel my entire weight bearing down on my knees and lower legs. Then my right foot slipped. I could have stumbled had I not grabbed a branch and stayed upright. My fellows told me to be more careful.
Eventually, the trail through the mossy forest became less steep. Yet it ascended and descended from time to time. We could not tell whether we were climbing a mountain or going down from one. It was the same moss-covered tree, fern, and muddy path. Beyond the tree cover lay nothing but a gray sky. Even an eerie silence characterized this part of our two-day trek. I could hear only the countless drops of water hitting the leaves and the stormy wind that blew like an angry phantom. Nothing changed in our surroundings. There had been stories of hikers who spent too much time inside the mossy forest, as if they had difficulty getting out. They had not emerged yet by nightfall. I heard that this woodland was enchanted. I would agree in terms of appearance. Gnarled branches and moss made this place seemingly elvish. While the flora mesmerized me, the mud and puddles made me a bit grumpy. My foot, if not feet, would sink in. Mud caked my shoes. Cut branches laid on the trail provided a hard surface to step on but sometimes they were slippery.
Len and I endured the trail within the mossy forest for more than an hour. This time, Cherrie and Jhay were behind us. Then we caught up with Ai, Cas, and Lawrence. While hiking, I paused for a moment to take a snapshot. My four companions kept on walking until I was left alone. I would simply catch up with them. Solitude did not seem frightening. In fact, it made me one with nature. There was nothing to worry as long as I followed a muddy trail. My empty stomach served as a more urgent concern. I could feel my legs weakening. Two packs of chocolate-flavored biscuits with chocolate wafer sandwiched in between became my snack on the go. Soon, I came upon those four having a respite. Len asked why I was gone. I replied that I took time for a snack. She also looked for Cherrie and Jay. I told her they were just behind us. The five of us kept on walking until we emerged from the mossy forest and into the summit of Mt Purgatory.
Again, there used to be a dirt-floored shack up here but it was gone. All that I saw was a roofed shed with benches but now without walls. Kulingay said that shack was torn down too by the typhoon. It was past 4 PM. The sky remained cloudy but it came with a warm sunset. This in turn gave mellow lighting for our photos of a distant valley and ridges. Not only we took snapshots but also ate jellies, biscuits, and chocolate. We shared Mt Purgatory’s summit with another group of hikers from earlier in the day. Last time I was here, the rain kept us sheltered and huddled in what used to be a hut. Now I felt grateful for a break in the weather. Yet daylight faded fast and I knew we had to keep on moving.
Just as during my previous Mt Purgatory traverse, our group followed a path down the grassy summit. Then what seemed a mouth of a cave swallowed us, only it was in fact a shadowy grove of trees. We found ourselves back within the mossy forest. Then Lawrence stopped walking and grumbled with pain. He had been coping with an injured knee for a few weeks now. The aching got severe again. Yet Lawrence smiled and told us cheerfully to keep on going. He limped but moved steadily. Our group stopped for one-minute breaks. I had a quicker pace this time compared with last year. As it was nearly the last week of September, the sun set earlier. At 5:30 PM, the surroundings turned gradually from gray to blue by every passing minute. I wanted to get out of the mossy forest sooner. The trail seemed infinite. Then we emerged on the dirt road traveled by foot and motorcycle. The darkness outpaced us. It was too dim and we started to trip on rocks. We stepped on wet mud too. The guide and I brought out our flashlights. Our ordeal on that road lasted 30 minutes before arriving at the relative comfort of Mt Bakian.
I stayed in a different house than before. Upon coming to Mt Bakian, we climbed a ladder and put our backpacks by the entrance of a spacious room. Then I took my dirty shoes off for a pair of flip-flops. We were told that our hiking group would not spend the night in that room but in another below. I sighed. That room looked cozy with its wooden walls and a floor covered with tarpaulin.
Hurriedly, I took out a fresh T-shirt and a large towel to take a bath. Previously, this place only had one makeshift outdoor toilet and a similar structure for a shower. Now there were three for bathing and renovated too. Problem is, my fellow hikers and I had to bear patience with one hose and a limited water supply. We still waited in turns. So I stood there shirtless during a night on the highlands of Benguet province. Amazingly, I did not shiver. Perhaps it was due to walking all day. Then I entered a bathroom that just got vacated and settled with a sponge bath with a washcloth. I forgot to bring an extra pair of pants and shorts. I could not see clearly, relying on limited illumination from my flashlight. At least I could retire for the night feeling relatively fresh.
We all laid down bedding on a room that appeared as a cellar or an underground bunker. In reality, it was just situated on ground level. I would doze off snugly in my sleeping bag, which I also brought last time here at Mt Bakian. Cherrie gave us a relieving massage for our aching body parts. In my case, it was the shoulder blades due to the strain from carrying a backpack. Then we gathered around for dinner. Members of our trekking group ate heartily after an entire day of travel by foot. The simple menu consisted of boiled white rice and chicken adobo, which was cooked with soy sauce, vinegar, and peppercorns. The owner of this house cautioned us to lock the door so pet dogs wont intrude our room and eat whatever food we had. The canines had been docile from living with different visitors on a weekly basis. Suddenly, I felt too tired and sleepy. Memories of what happened next were fuzzy. All I could remember was lying down in my sleeping bag and getting unconscious ahead of my companions.
It was around 2 AM. I woke up. The back pain disappeared miraculously. Everyone lay down in sleep as comfortable as they could, as expected after a day-long hike. I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling and my asleep fellows with a blurry vision due to nearsightedness. I closed my eyes. I could not sleep again. Working at night as a customer service representative changed my biological clock completely. One should forget about vampires in Twilight. I could say I was the real deal. Minutes passed and turned into an hour. I wondered if I would have enough energy later in the day to finish the hike. Then past 4 AM, drowsiness paid another visit.
When I woke up at around 6 AM, the dawn lit some parts of the ceiling. My companions rose from their sleeping mats and began folding blankets. A few had already brushed their teeth. I went outside. Mt Bakian had the same weather conditions from my previous visit here. After just waking up, blood had not rushed throughout my body yet so I shivered from a breeze. I found myself standing on a foreign place or perhaps an alien world, far from the high-rise buildings and humid jungles I grew accustomed to. Pine trees grew all the way towards the distant mountains. Then I took my recently purchased metal cup and a bit of cash to buy instant coffee.
Fellow hikers from yesterday gathered on the store, sitting on benches facing each other. Laughing accompanied their conversation. We greeted each other a good morning. I complimented a man’s blaze orange coveralls. A jacket and pants merged as one fitting warm outfit, it was typically worn for hunting. His peers thought of him as a rescue worker. Coffee costed Php 15 and I was three pesos short. Jay lent me the amount. I repaid him later. I used the sachet for stirring. Frankly, the water was more lukewarm than hot. Plenty of time had passed since it was boiled. Mt Bakian’s frigid air temperature and altitude also counted as a factor. Mark’s instant cup noodles did not cook properly. Our hiking group also spent the morning strolling around and taking pictures.
An elderly male guide remembered me and my group from last year. I looked for the place where I spent the night last year. Again, things have changed indeed. The patio where we had dinner and breakfast disappeared. Only a small piece of ground in front of a house remained. Yet the hut where the men and a rooster slept still stood. Metal covered the walls now, gleaming in the morning sunlight. As the guide and I continued chatting, I noticed he had difficulty speaking. Such was the dilemma of living in a country with multiple mother tongues. So I switched into English. I asked him about foreign tourists. He remembered Germans and Norwegians. This landscape did resemble that of Norway with its coniferous forests and wintry cold.
Meanwhile, Yobs prepared our breakfast. Aside from fried eggs and sausages, he also sautéed string beans with garlic, onion, and oyster sauce. He then cooked it with bits of chicken adobo from last night. Yobs stirred the contents of a big pan on top of a cut portion of a metal drum that served as a makeshift stove. Smoke blew through an improvised chimney pipe and out of the home. There was fried rice too. At nearly 8 AM, we ate this sumptuous meal together. This place seemed a summer vacation house. With a lack of gas for cooking and electricity, we could have also been living in medieval times. Following our breakfast, we packed our bags and prepared for the second half of our journey.
The ‘lead’ team went ahead to Mt Tangbaw. We at the ‘sweeper’ team trailed behind. I was back at the most scenic part of the Mt Purgatory traverse, especially on a clear Sunday morning. This area reminded me of Middle Earth and a map of a massively multiplayer online role playing game (MMORPG) last time. The same amazement could be heard from my companions’ voices. Cherrie and Jhay were behind me. I found myself leading this party, seemingly a guide. I had been here before. The dirt road twisted by a ravine to our left. The sea of clouds above a distant valley was now gone. Eventually, we arrived at the jump off point to Mt Komkompol.
A narrow trail veered off the road. The ‘lead’ team took a different path from us if we would proceed to Mt Komkompol. We stopped for decision-making. After a discussion, we decided to go ahead to the mountain.
I knew that the path would branch out later so all of us had to stick together. That place remained the same. The stony ground plunged to our right, down a field of crops. Then came the cogon grass. This time, they grew thickly so much that they choked the trail. I had to brush the grass blades off with my bare arms. I worried about getting rashes again, even more about an allergic reaction. Then something crashed through the tall grass like a pouncing predatory animal. It was just a friendly dog that lived in the village. My companions had been calling it Eileen, similarly named with our friend who just had her birthday. It was a sort of playful tease. That female dog had been accompanying us since we left Mt Bakian. One by one, the ‘sweeper’ team regrouped at that spot. Then we proceeded left, all the way to the summit. The open terrain, mesmerizing for its scenery but gradually punishing for its heat, gave way into a mossy forest.
With no rain at this moment, the trail welcomed us amiably except for a few spots where water and mud did not dry. I remembered sharing that time with Len. She asked me to take a photo from a certain angle I did not not succeed the first try. She had to demonstrate. We all kept on walking. The path climbed and did not seem to end. Twenty minutes turned to thirty. At least the enchanted-looking forest shaded us from the sun. Hiking here felt cooler too compared to doing this activity in a lowland jungle. The ‘sweeper’ team stopped for snacks. We also played a game to stave off not only boredom but also tiredness. A category would be given. Then we would mention things or names under this category. In this case, our party must name mountains found within the Philippines – only within this country. I could have made off with this if it was in an international scale. The game went on until we could have jotted down all answers and made a list of all the mountains in this archipelago. There was no punishment though for someone who could not answer. He or she could pass his or her turn. It was all for fun.
The twists and turns of the forested trail came to an end. I shouted that we had reached the summit after seeing a clear sky beyond a hall lined with trees. I told them Mt Komkompol had the best views of all the peaks in the Mt Purgatory traverse. It sure did.
Mt Kom-kompol main sign: before and after
Unexpectedly, the ‘lead’ team caught up with us shortly after we arrived at the summit. Yobs said there was a better vantage point following a short stroll. This was the part of the Mt Purgatory Traverse I had not experienced before. So our entire group squeezed ourselves through a patch of mossy forest. A huge root or a fallen trunk stood at chest to waist height and blocked the path. We had to crouch and move under it as if we were navigating a cave tunnel. At least Eileen the dog did not have a problem with going around. The trail saw human traffic but this canine could walk into tight spots and undergrowth. About three minutes passed until woodland transformed into a mountain meadow, only covered with tall grass.
Another Mt Komkompol sign stood near a ledge. This area offered a wider space for groups of hikers. Yet it had the almost similar views with that of the earlier spot, only revealing more of the landscape. We could see Mt Pulag rising above all the other peaks. It had a barren top. Here at Mt Komkompol, our mobile phones and cameras went into action. We posed with different individuals among our hiking party. I had a picture with Chan and Yobs. Then I asked to take another with Cherrie. Selfies came with groupies. Our photos showed creativity too. After spending too much time here and losing interest, we headed back to the spot with the other metal sign.
Our trekking group had lunch. The ‘lead’ team lay on some mat, shaded by trees around the Mt Komkompol sign. Another spot had a bit of tree cover with less shade. I sat down on the grass with Chan, Cherrie, Jhay, Len, and Vivian. While Len tried to finish the rice and string beans she brought in a plastic bag, I grew content with a loaf of bread. Cherrie shared a peanut treat usually sold at the Chinatown in Manila. Chan enjoyed some time as a photographer. Yobs offered shots of gin. Ai, Cas, and James took a nap. It felt like paradise, resting in a garden without worry and sadness. Minutes passed as lazily as the clouds overhead. Soon, a grayish mist appeared in the distance out of nowhere. A reader of this blog would find this scene at the About the Blogger page, the link found at the bar on the home page.
Mt Kom-kompol group picture: before and after
It was around 12:30 PM that we eventually got up and followed the path all the way to our journey’s end. Just by the fence on the ravine edge, the trail plunged into the mossy forest. Lawrence imagined that we were in the setting of the Philippine television series Encantadia. Ironically, a network rivaling our supposedly preferred channel aired the fantasy show. One might see it as a rip-off of Game of Thrones except that it was originally broadcast back in 2005. The 2016 series was a remake. As a piece of trivia, the actor who played Gregor “The Mountain” Clegane in season one of Game of Thrones appeared in Encantadia too. Speaking of television shows, the ‘sweeper’ team continued our game for fun with movies having Filipino languages titles. When we ran out of entries, our hiking party switched to Hollywood movies. The game just kept on going. I got so amused that the forest around us went fuzzy. My mind wandered through all the films I watched, along with those I had not but knew. My feet and legs did not ache from distraction. Maybe the trail was relatively easy too. We navigated this dense woodland shouting movie titles infinitely. There were just too many of them. For one, I could name all James Bond movies from Dr No to Spectre. Nearly two hours passed without us noticing. Later on, we crossed a creek running in a gully. A bridge consisting of two sturdy bamboo poles and some rope enabled us to get through. There was no railing. I moved carefully. Past that point, cool potable water flowed out of another pipe. I refilled my bottle a bit.
Frustration came unexpectedly like rain on a sunny morning or finding a Php 50 bill on a sidewalk. I found myself back on a stony unpaved road. Last year, I followed it after the brief visit at Mt Tangbaw. A long journey still awaited us. Now it felt more of a quest in a medieval fantasy realm or perhaps a death march.
The ‘sweeper’ team reunited with our fellows from the ‘lead’ team. We all sat down and rested around a waiting shed. Yobs caught a quick nap. Chan, Jhay, and Mark raced one another atop Mt Tinengan. Kulingay told us to look out for rocks getting kicked by their feet and rolling down the slope. There were a few. The dog that accompanied us all day chased those rocks in plain sight. None struck us. Meanwhile, I kept on asking Kulingay if we would hike down that slippery cemented footpath that twisted like a miniature hairpin road. The guide replied no. We would follow a road wide enough for a car.
Our trek commenced. Kulingay said we would reach the end after two hours. It was nearly 4 PM. The sun crept slowly down the sky like a wary insect. The lighting grew soft but also more shadowy. I walked with Cherrie, Len, and Yobs amid pine trees. Our feet, or toes in particular, ached from the downhill slope on a stony surface. I could describe it as torture. No matter how beautiful our surroundings appeared, I grumbled about this ordeal. The four of us took breaks, waiting for Chan, Jhay, Lawrence, and Vivian. I admired Lawrence for his endurance and patience despite his knee aching since yesterday afternoon. He already ingested pain relief tablets and they worked. As I followed this road with significant people in my life, I wished to stay in this surreal moment. Our highland adventure was coming to an end.
A house marked the end of the descending path that battered our feet. A less stony winding trail welcomed us. It snaked beside a river. Len went ahead but then stopped. A “black cow,” as she called it, startled her. “Water buffalo” or “carabao” would be more fitting words. We chuckled and laughed among ourselves. Yet the beast blocked our path. It had the size of a hippopotamus and it possessed horns. I hesitated to continue walking. Despite being domesticated, nobody could assure how it would react to seeing strangers. Fortunately, the carabao let us pass, retreating to higher ground. A rope bound its neck to some tree trunk. At least its owner did not worry about the animal running free, which we thought at first what happened. Sooner, the unpaved path revealed a backpack mysteriously lying on the ground. Len and I wondered if a hiker left it. Then we learned it belonged to an amiable local man sitting nearby. A few well-built rural houses lay near the footpath, seemingly isolated like a cabin in the woods. Our way forked into two at instances. Being ahead, Len and I shouted at Kulingay asking for directions.
Once again, frustration seeped into me upon the sight of that dreaded cemented footpath. I hated going through it one more time. Then there was relief. This part of our Mt Purgatory traverse lasted only five to ten minutes. Last time I was here, I struggled down that winding footpath for an hour, alone and wearied by an unusually fierce early afternoon heat. There was still a long way to go and it was already near 5 PM. Down a small concrete bridge with metal railings lay a shallow pool that collected crystal-clear water. I washed my arms and face. Then the ‘sweeper’ team crossed a much bigger suspension bridge made wholly of steel but looked flimsy. It shook with each step. Only one could get through at a time, otherwise the bridge would collapse.
Drivers of two-wheeled motorcycles offered a ride for Php 200 each when we reached the wide road. The price could still be negotiated. Lawrence thought about it. Regardless of his aching leg, he still declined. Vivian said no too. Pain afflicted her knee despite having hiked just two weeks ago. So we began the last leg of our journey, finally. It seemed a race with the setting sun. We must reach our destination before nightfall. We played that game again we grew fond of. This time, fruits and plants served as the category. Then we found ourselves too distant from end to end to hear one another. Our group simply lost interest with it. We were already physically tired too. An irrigation canal the size of a sewer system under a sidewalk flowed by peacefully. Cherrie and Lawrence marveled at how clear the water was here. Back in the cities where we hailed, the canals stank and were colored black, if not choked with garbage. Members of our party also admired the relatively open terrain of Benguet’s coniferous mountainsides. Dense tropical rain forest mostly cloaked the uplands down south. Len’s face turned red literally not from blushing with shyness but from the heat and fatigue. We learned that Jhay’s birthday was approaching. A few puddles formed on the unpaved road. Then the dirt gave way to cement all the way. It felt like the Mt Makiling traverse again.
I decided to have a chat with Vivian and know her more. Despite her injury, she ran down the lane holding her trekking pole like a spear. Then she felt intense aching again. Vivian limped. I told her. Chan ran ahead past everyone. Everyone seemed to be jogging. Lawrence trailed behind, appearing as if a zombie chasing us. He did see it that way jokingly.
Houses began to surround the roads as sunlight faded with every passing minute. Our rest stop and bath drew closer. It felt relieving. Then our group discussed attraction between men and women, courtship, and relationships. It turned into a heated debate with yelling. Males and females blamed one another for break-ups and wasted feelings. Vivian said men only sought women for physical beauty and sex appeal. I replied that women had done the same too and some had been shallow-minded , especially this generation. We were entitled to our opinions. Our arguments went on. Then Vivian’s trekking pole turned into a spear indeed as she pointed it at Chan and I playfully. At this point our debate had to cool down. Both parties “negotiated for agreements.”
Eventually, I spotted a cemented stairway going down from high ground on the left and a residential home on the right. That was the spot where I descended alone and ended my first Mt Purgatory traverse. I recalled asking directions to children on that house across the road then taking a photo of them. Kulingay agreed. I would like to take that route again in a few years. Not sooner.
After five minutes of walking, we reached a two-story house. On its front lay a wooden hut and a space for parking. I remembered this place as where I returned the sandals lent to me by a member of the travel group Yes to Adventures. According to Len, that kind fellow was Rey Ar Roderos, who I shared time with at Mt Gulugod Baboy and Philpan Beach Resort back in June. There was no van this time. The “lead” team greeted us upon arrival. We told them about our unexpected debate back on the road. Then we finally took a bath, waiting in turns. This place offered modest shower facilities, only downsides were the lack of lighting and even pegs to hang clothing from.
Shed at journey’s end: before and after
Darkness soon cloaked our surroundings, turning the sky frighteningly black. Our van got parked at the municipal hall of Bokod, Benguet, about two hours from here on foot. Of course, nobody wanted to walk further — especially at night. Yobs solved our dilemma by renting the open-backed truck owned by this residence. This large vehicle transported edible goods in pallets, most likely bottled beverages. Now it hauled hiking backpacks. Jhay held our forearms as he helped us climb on board. Then we settled on what limited space to sit on. Cherrie knelt on the truck bed itself beside me. It felt like riding a six-wheeled army transport truck with your squad. When everything was set, we started our adventure-filled drive to the municipal hall. Road turns shook us into nearly falling over the vehicle’s side. Leafy branches slapped our heads. A motorcycle and its shadowy rider trailed our truck until it overtook us. Jhay joked that it was the Ghost Rider. I thought we heard someone urinating beside the road only to find a busted water pipe being repaired by two men. Then another leaking pipe sprayed water on my hair. Then an L300 van parked in front of a barangay (village) outpost blocked our path. Our driver blasted his horn. Sooner, that smaller van was re-positioned and we continued our way. It took us about 30 minutes to reach the government building by vehicle. It was a nearly empty town square with breathing creatures there consisting only of a few men and a dog. Our hiking party registered, left Bokod for Baguio, and in that famous city dined at the equally famous Good Taste Restaurant. I had nostalgia.
If there was a lesson I got from my second Mt Purgatory traverse, it was that mountains could not avoid change no matter how invulnerable they seemed. A typhoon demolished a few structures. Yet change also meant progress, such as additional shower rooms at Mt Bakian. The surroundings of Mt Purgatory always felt like home for me. I loved its cold, scenic views, and people. I could return to this place anytime.