Surviving The Climb (Part One)

IT WAS STILL DARK, and the small barrio of Kiloloron in Real, Quezon was still sleeping when our mountaineering group of eight got off the bus after a four-hour trip. We had some time to organize our belongings at our meetup place before starting the climb at seven a.m.

I counted among the newcomers to this sort of outdoor expedition. The goal was to reach the summit of Mt. Binangonan before nightfall, and we were looking at 7-8 hours of river-crossing and trekking. It was a trip that I welcomed, considering that I have never done any major climb in all my life. Sure, I have done some hikes before, through short trails along gentle hillside slopes.

We started walking through grassy patches of land. It had rained hours before, and the surroundings smelled of moist earth and the astringent scent of shrubs and grass. Shortly, we made the first of dozens of river crossings, the cold rushing water causing us to quicken our pace. A few minutes of walking on the rocky terrain started to put a strain on my soles and ankles that I had to slip off my flip-flops in favor of running shoes.

The scenery was captivating --- a background of lush green foliage, rocks and boulders along the banks of the winding river, and clear, mountain-filtered water rushing against our legs. Cameras were at the ready to capture images as there were times when the trail would take us through the water; at other times, through dense vegetation.

We weren’t even halfway through the climb when I started to feel the burden of my backpack. I was already having difficulty in managing my own weight as I skipped from one rock to the next. And when it rained, my apprehension got worse as I struggled to avoid slipping into the icy water. But then I did, in fact, more than once. Every time my foot slid, I felt a pull on my ankles and a skip of my heartbeat.

The more experienced mountaineers felt concerned for me, but I only declined their offer to carry my load. I didn’t wish to be rid of my obligation to bear my burden, as it might make me look like a slacker. Several slips and curses later, I surrendered, and right away I was given a trekking pole to keep my balance.

We made a stop near a 20-ft waterfall, the base of which was a 6-ft-deep pool. Normally, I would be fond of taking plunges into such depths, but since, by then, the pain started to reach my thighs and I was half-shivering from being drenched by the rain. Wrapped in a jacket, I decided to take a nap on a rock. It was already around 2 p.m.

My silent prayer for deliverance from having to follow and cross the river resulted in a more challenging ordeal. With nothing more than roots and branches to grab on to so we could haul ourselves up, we started to ascend the side of the mountain. The detour took us to a trail through the rain forest filled with hairy plants and thorny vines. The muddy floor was covered with wet, decaying leaves and was crawling with giant ants that bit back with fury. The climb continued, as we straddled over fallen logs and pawed our way through leafy branches. Later, we were walking along the rim, where one misstep could send us rolling down on either side of the mountain fold. I could not see the river beneath anymore, save for trees and vines contorted around trunks and branches.

A couple of mountaineers stayed with me as I begged to rest. Full of pain and frustration, I was feeling defeated as the task of finishing the climb began to overwhelm me.