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WARRIOR PILGRIMAGE is about tropical bushcraft and survival and adventure travel. It will be a support hub for the outdoor activities of Camp Red1 and the main bulletin for my own adventures. It is my conduit to promote bushcraft and survival in Cebu and the rest of the Philippine islands and will be the umbrella name that I will use when I conduct seminars and outdoor events.
19 May 2012 | 9:33 am
THE WARRIOR
PILGRIMAGE BLOG stirs up another Grassroots Bushcraft activity on March
18, 2012. This time, it is about map
reading and it is held indoors - for the morning lecture - at the abandoned
Department of Agriculture Regional Office in M. Velez Street, Guadalupe, Cebu
City and along Bebut’s Trail, for the practicals, in the afternoon.
This blogger
is having his first opportunity to teach map reading to interested individuals,
especially to members of the different local outdoors club, namely: the
Inter-Mountaineering Society (IMS), the Cebu Mountaineering Alliance (CMA) and
from Camp Red Bushcraft & Survival Guild.
The
participants bring with them compass, protractors, pencils and paper, drinking
water and their willingness to learn while this blogger supply them replica
maps and the seminar hand-out en gratis.
The indoors
seminar start at 8:00 AM and end at 12:00 noon.
Points discussed are the basics of map and compass; understanding the
compass; orienting the map; grid lines and grid coordinates. The whole afternoon is dedicated to plotting
and navigation and designing an orienteering course at the Guadalupe Hills
which becomes the live laboratory.
The
participants have not only followed Bebut’s Trail but added an extra mile by
tackling Kilat Trail all the way to Buhisan then to Punta Princesa. Kilat Trail is a well-hidden route but the
participants explored it, nevertheless, when found and they were able to
replenish their water bottles at the only water source in the area.
Review and
critique of navigation result is done at Red Hours Convenience Store,
just across the old D.A. Compound after the event. Below are the sets of collage depicting this
rather technical lecture which is offered rarely here for free:
Document done in LibreOffice
3.3
17 May 2012 | 6:47 am
THE
WORLD SEEMED TO stop for a while for me as I am shell-shocked and
dazed from the knowledge that somebody had just entered into my house
– surreptitiously - while I am in the middle of my sleep. It
happened between 12:00 midnight to 2:00 AM of May 2, 2012 and it was
raining hard. By habit, I should have awoken during downpours.
My
wife woke me up from my slumber and, automatically, my attention
shifted to the laptops. I found the Acer Extensa still on its place
the last time I saw it used but I just lost my newer Acer Aspire
laptop left on the glass center table of my living room. Both were
covered with cloth yet the expensive one was the one found and
spirited away from me.
The
burglar gained entry by removing five jalousie glass blades from a
window. Left behind were the Aspire’s battery and power supply and
a pair of Logitech speakers. Placed beside the missing laptop but
ignored, nevertheless, were my Guess wristwatch and a Columbia
Scorpion King folding knife. Obviously, a child did the dirty job
while an older companion could have stood outside waiting.
I
saw my backpack on the tiled floor and saw some of its items strewn
all over. I felt for the things which I knew were inside but
discovered that I just lost my wallet containing my ID cards and an
ATM card; and a Habagat neck pouch which contained my Sony Cybershot
digital camera and about eight pieces of Camp Red special edition
patches.
Retrieving
my LED flashlight and knife, I searched quickly the backyard for any
hidden suspect that might have been trapped but found none. I went
running out of the house into the rain and followed the path to the
street hoping that I may catch up with the thieves. M.J. Cuenco
Avenue is almost empty save for a huddled group of three pairs of
male and female teenagers waiting for the rain to stop.
I
am almost naked save for a pair of shorts and I am barefooted. I
can’t walk on the streets like this, even if I look like taking a
bath in the rain. It’s weird at that hour with a knife. I went
back to my house shaken by the swell of fiery emotions that have
started to boil over. My wife met me at the door and she has with
her an umbrella and she goes out to T. Padilla Street to do some
investigating.
I
search again the backyard carefully and found my wallet left unfolded
on the ground with its items disgorged all around including my ID
cards and my ATM card – all wet! Further search on my backpack
assures me that my stash of hidden cash is still in its secret
compartment although I lost a small amount of cash placed inside an
unzipped pocket.
I
tried the upper level of my house and the HP notebook is safe. My
pair of Rivers hike shoes which I thought stolen is also upstairs.
Gosh, what audacity for this unknown intruder to enter my lair. I
could not shake off my anger and my unbelief that somebody had just
did the impossible. And did it under the cover of rain. You know
what, somebody had just torn off a page from my book and turned the
tables on me.
On
some distant dark past when I was still in the Force, the rain used
to cover up my movements and I operate effectively under it. I know
very well that rain make people drowsy as warm air are pushed by
supercooled air upon its approach. The monotony of raindrops on roof
or on a puddle makes everyone comfortable and drop their guard. Even
dogs drowse during rain, their excellent senses drowned out by that
annoying rhythm and cool comfort. I know, because I used to tiptoe
over them.
Then
on some more distant darker past, I learned to stay awake when it
rained. It was cruel and hard. Sleep is snatched away from you
while everybody are enjoying their time on a warm bed on a very cold
night. I grow up watching a stream during downpours for, when it
rose, I have to plug the holes and, when it overflowed, I have to
wait for the flood to abate and then start cleaning the muddy silt
while it is still soft and watery.
Even
the sight of bulging rain clouds in the distance is enough to send me
scurrying for home to hold the fort against a liquid foe. It was
like that for twenty years. That was when I lived in the old house.
But
on that rainy night when someone entered my home, I rediscovered
something amiss in my grown-up adult life: the feeling of abandoned
bliss and comfort. The old feelings accompanied by sweaty anxieties
and goose chills which usually follow when the subconscious mind
switch on the brain to consciousness during the approach of rain were
gone.
That
feeling is surprisingly absent. Or it may have been eroded by living
in a new house? Or I may be getting rusty and lost my old zing?
Whatever. It is a shock to me and is so alien. I could not defend
my home in that situation and, for that matter, allow any intruder to
make mincemeat out of me. It was a good thought though that it
wasn’t an assassin but just a petty thief.
I
could do nothing about the stolen laptop and camera for now, so I
texted my old underworld friends to take a look out of those items if
ever it gets traded in their places. On the other hand, it is wise
to have this incident recorded to the police authorities. I went
personally to the Waterfront Police Station and pass a piece of paper
to the investigator where all the info are typed so I could keep
questions to a minimum.
The
Acer Aspire is the center of entertainment for my boys. In it they
could play online games, surf the ‘net, interact in Facebook, watch
You Tube videos, download MP3, listening to music or saving pictures.
The 4GB DDR3 memory, the 500GB hard disk space, the 15.6
high-definition LED LCD monitor, the Windows 7 platform and
open-source browsers gave them the freedom to do as they please
provided you use 110 volts of electricity else it explodes in your
face.
The
Sony DSC-220 camera is a different matter. It is used in the
furtherance of my outdoor activities and my travels with which images
captured are documented and blogged in Warrior Pilgrimage or uploaded
in Facebook or Webshots. The camera had been dropped on streams
twice but it still functioned after a few days drying. Basically, it
could withstand rough handling.
Those
were my toys and my joys. It pains me that it is not with me anymore
and I just hope that my outlaw pals would send me a positive message
in the days to come. If not, life moves on and wait for these things
to drop from the sky along with the rain.
A
new thought crossed over me. This concerns about the new feeling of
comfort and bliss. To an ordinary mortal, this is most welcome. To
a man who used to live life dangerously in the past, this is evil. I
begin to sense the urgency of my present plight. I used to be
comfortable at being uncomfortable or uncomfortable at being
comfortable. How to recover the old sense back is the most difficult
part.
Document
done in LibreOffice 3.3
2 May 2012 | 5:48 am
WE
ARE ONLY FOUR people going to the Babag Mountain Range today,
February 19, 2012. I will teach the three bushmen with me the
rudiments of making a wooden spoon by hand and knife. The three guys
are Silver Cue, Lawrence Lozada and Dominikus Sepe and all of us
belong to Camp Red, your only Philippine bushcraft and survival guild
south of Subic Bay.
Making
a spoon from scratch is one of the skills highly valued by all
bushcrafters found everywhere in the world. This writer espouses
this craft thru the Grassroots Bushcraft Teaching Series which
are all documented in this blog Warrior Pilgrimage.
So,
after meeting at the Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish and after providing
ourselves the ingredients for our noon meal, we proceed to Napo by
hired motorcycles. We start at the trailhead at 9:00 AM. The
climate is hot and very humid; the trail still retained mud on some
stretches borne out of two weeks of constant rain. The vegetation
are healthy and green and the Sapangdaku River is full.
We
arrive at Lower Kahugan Spring in twenty-six minutes something. The
fastest I have timed myself going there is thirty-one minutes. This
is good! The three guys behind me are so unrelenting and so full of
vigor and speed. At the spring, I rehydrate myself and fill my water
bottle.
After
a brief interlude under the cool shade, we climb up an exposed route
passing by a flower farm. Our destination is the Roble homestead
which is found on a knoll where a big tamarind and a Java plum tree
grow. I push myself hard trying to outdo the rest and found myself
stopping often to recover my wits and my breath.
We
reach the cool bamboo benches and claim our own separate niche
underneath the shades. I boil water for coffee to pep me up while
disemboweling my backpack of a present of bread for the kids Manwel,
Juliet and Josel Roble. I pass the ingredients for our meal to
Antonia Roble so I could concentrate on the outdoor lecture of “Spoon
Carving 101”.
I
choose the dried stump of a Mexican lilac tree and splinter it into
firewood size with my tomahawk. I select the best three parts and
pass it to Silver, Lawrence and Dominikus. It is hard and gnarled
and I could not find a softer wood but they insist to work on these.
The wood is reddish with a yellowish tinge and some dark streaks. I
show to them my finished spoons as instructional aids or work models.
Silver
have with him his locally-made trench knife replica and his genuine
Mora knife; Dom his broken Camillus 1971 multi-knife
set and his locally-made tracker knife replica; and Lawrence his
Gerber multi-tool set. I supply them with broken glasses for
scraping purposes and offer my tomahawk and Mantrack knife to
work on the wood. Lawrence opt for the tomahawk.
From
time to time, I look over their work, giving them hints of where and
how to achieve better progress. Meanwhile, I test my newly-acquired
Made in China stainless-steel pot on the side by cooking a half kilo
of milled corn for our lunch. The water boil quickly because the
skin is very thin while removing the lid is effortless even while it
is hot.
Then
it comes to a time that we have to cease for a while our session to
avail of lunch. Dish is specially prepared and is made of taro leaf
stalks, taro rootcrops, red beans and eggplant cooked in coconut-milk
soup locally called “linabog”. This dish is my favorite and I
help myself with several servings until I end up with a bloated
tummy. Likewise Silver, Lawrence and Dom enjoyed very much this
local food. Then comes the dessert: green coconuts. (Burp!)
The
participants continue their work on their respective spoons while I
refine further one of my early-made spoons. It had become some sort
of a back scratcher in my home. I scrape the spoon head, thinning it
further, and sanded it. I may have to apply varnish on to this one
and make one friend happy who had been asking for such.
Anyway,
Silver’s Mora cut away the wood easily. On the other hand,
the tomahawk did good on Lawrence’s wood only that he make some
misjudgments, unintentionally cutting away his wood (and sometimes
chipping off small parts of wood) and the size of his spoon. Dom’s
tracker knife is very cumbersome and left little to be desired.
Silver
make good progress of his spoon maybe because he has an efficient
knife. Dominikus, meanwhile, did his best with limited resources
apart from the heavy tracker and a broken Camillus but
created, nonetheless, his own “masterpiece”. Lawrence’s spoon
becomes a midget after considerable exposure to flaws. All made
their spoons for the first time.
Five
hikers came in the middle of our meal and they were very entertained
by the activity of spoon carving. They also eat their lunch with
their bought food at the benches and helped themselves with them
green coconuts. After a while, they leave for Babag Ridge giving us
back our big spaces.
By
2:30 PM, we pack our things back into our backpacks and say goodbye
to our hosts, the Roble family. We take another route in going down
to Lower Kahugan Spring and proceed on without stopping. We were so
obsessed with speed that we reach Napo at 3:03 PM. Jeez!
Thirty-three minutes for a route that normally takes about forty-five
minutes! Wow. Another record.
From
Napo we were transferred to Guadalupe and further transferred to a
new watering hole located at M. Velez Street – Red Hours. Over
bottles of ice-cold bottles of Red Horse
beer, we talk of the day’s activity. Spoon carving is not
difficult to do. The moment you finish one, you are onto your second
until you become well-versed with what you do and, by that time, you
establish a good relationship with the blade.
Document
done in LibreOffice 3.3
Pictures
courtesy of Silver Cue and Chingki Kinito
23 April 2012 | 5:21 am
THIS IS THE THIRD TIME that I will be leading men from Lutopan, Toledo City to Guadalupe, Cebu City. This is a cross-country activity over the widest part of Cebu and it will be 36-40 kilometers long and following mainly the Mananga River of over, probably, twelve hours of hiking.
This is the route that I have discovered on February 20, 2011 and which I repeated with six others on April 23. This day in August 25 is different from the first and second episode. First, because it comes at a time when there is a tropical cyclone – Typhoon Ramon – entering the Philippine area of responsibility.
And secondly, this is the initial event for the newly-refurbished Camp Red1 and the young bloods will be attempting for the first time this man-sized hike with me. Four of the guys have not been on to this kind of activity before and that is a situation that I will give consideration to.
Aside me, guest Jerry Pescadero of ALPS-M have certain experience to approximate mine while the rest are still newbies when you are talking about a long-range day hike. Glenn Pestaño, Raymund Panganiban and Jhurds Neo carry extra weight while Jon Ducay is slight of build but he carries a heavy camera.
I am looking out for the well-being of my party at a time when weather and clime are its worst. My experience and aptitude will be tested once again and, just like before with my other activities, I will tow the party to safety and exhilaration. I have seen this thing before but this is different. I will be the ones who will be excited at this prospect at the end of the trail.
Yes, did I mention a trail? Hopefully, I will name this route soon. What name? That will be the privilege of the discoverer. But, first things first.
I arrive at the assembly area at 4:00 AM. I am a proponent of the “new” Filipino time and I need to be at the place an hour ahead. One by one, the participants arrive until we decide to board a bus for Lutopan at 6:30 AM.
What bad luck! This is the same bus that I have ridden twice before on this trip! The kung fu movie on the small screen and the 20 KPH drag are its trademark. Besides that, it keeps on picking up passengers along the way until people are found on the roofs for lack of standing space inside. Fortunately for me, I chose the front seat and I was not inconvenienced.
We arrive at the Lutopan Public Market at 8:00 AM and we immediately find something to eat for breakfast. After that, we pool money to buy food provisions for lunch. It is a long way and we are already behind schedule so we decide to hire motorcycles-for-hire to close the gap.
We arrive at Camp 7, a mountain village of Minglanilla, and walk our way to Sinsin, a mountain village of Cebu City, via this tree-lined stretch of the Manipis Road. It is very peaceful and the boys are quite excited about the prospect of cutting across the wide breadth of Cebu island.
When we arrive at Sinsin, I brief them about the route and the weather situation. I did not raise their hopes but give them a realistic alternative in case the Mananga River becomes a life-threatening beast. I designated the different escape routes and evacuation areas and everybody agreed to follow my decisions, come what may.
Our next destination would be Buot-Taup, another out-of-the-way village of Cebu City that is found by the banks of the Bonbon and the Mananga. We follow the unpaved road and several runners on training pass by us as we take a right turn on another (but very rough) road that goes down and down.
The road surface is blistered by the recent rains. Deep furrows were dug by water and several stones were unearthed and caused ordinary walking a very exciting activity instead. I don't mind these but I thought about those runners. What if they run here? I'm tempted to run but the better of me objected. I don't want the guys behind me to feel “abandoned”.
Even so, Jerry followed me like a shadow and I have to slow down a couple of times to give the other guys time to catch up. Up ahead is a small stream that pass under the road. There is a switchback trail there that goes all the way to the Mananga River. Jerry and I waited for the others here and it is 10:15 AM.
Walking now in single file, we reach the river and it is not swollen nor it is in brown color. Fine, but I wouldn't trust appearances. Rivers are very deceptive. At any instant, water will surge at you from out of nowhere even on a hot day! I have seen it happen many times.
We walk downstream, crossing several fords. My senses, however, are attuned to the slightest change of sound or current or water level of the river and I keep looking back trying to assure myself that it is alright. The weather is very cloudy but without no trace of rain and quite breezy. A perfect weather!
Then I sense something wrong about the riverscape. Wide craters are found everywhere hiding those sinister shovels and big sand strainers within. Quarrying of sand, gravel and stones are very blatant here and nobody is enforcing environmental laws. A group of three men even have the gall to prop up a 20-foot mountain of sand in the middle of the riverbed!
But the biggest harm to the environment comes from the riverbank-clearing operations of these cockroaches. They are not contented anymore quarrying on the riverbed and have concentrated their illegal work on the banks and hillsides, dislocating and uprooting a number of fully-grown trees and coconuts. Not only that, the river becomes hazardous to human travel because of potential landslides.
This is a problem that needs to be solved fast by the government. The increase in population have taken its toll on the river. Aside from quarrying, human waste and household sewage threatened the life-giving attribute of the Mananga. Then there is the local candle-nut industry whose residues are thrown on the river and it stinks.
We reach a place where there is a water source at 11:15 AM and opt to rest there and do cooking. I'm glad that my companions are all mangeurs de lard and that simplify my menu: pork adobo. It is alright as long as I don't use MSG and those “ginisa mix” on my food. For flavoring, I would rely more on soy sauce and cane vinegar and enhance the taste with green pepper. Aside that, I also cook milled corn on an almost-empty butane tank.
After a very brief siesta, we move once again for our destination. It is 1:00 PM and we have not reached yet the halfway point. Up ahead is Camp 4, a village which is part of Talisay City. I need to reach there before three so I hasten our pace disregarding the scenery for speed. I arrive at 2:20 PM.
At a jumble of large stones underneath an acacia tree, I prepared myself for a change of terrain and scenery by wringing my new Rivers hike boots and my pair of wet socks of water. This place is the halfway point and it stands on the southern edge of the Babag Mountain Range. From hereon, we will be treading on home ground – Cebu City.
But we need to negotiate Cabatbatan Trail so that's why I am ridding myself of excess weight like water on my shoes and socks. It's also the best time to examine each and everyone's feet condition, especially Glenn. He is not wearing a proper pair of shoes for heavy-duty walking and I know our feet have suffered much getting wet walking on the Mananga and inviting lots of sand and tiny pebbles inside.
Exhausted yet excited, the guys seem to get well with and among themselves. Despite having an average weight of 85 kilos, they paced faster than the previous two groups that I have had the honor to lead here. Cabatbatan Trail will change all that as the route start from river level and just climb and climb steeply for about five hundred meters until you reach a ridge.
I lead the climb while Jerry, Jon, Raymund, Jhurds and Glenn follow me in that order. Your rhythm will change complexion here and so will your skin tone. Breathing is very important here and it should be done in consonance with your footsteps so you will maintain your bearing and focus.
This trail is very unkind to burly guys as well as to those that have evaded exercise for so long. By purpose, I make a slow stride to accommodate even contestants for The Biggest Loser2 and constantly keep my eye on those that are lagging far behind. I am kind today and I make several stops so everyone could recover their breath.
I need not worry about Raymund, Jhurds and Glenn and the rest of the team for, at the end of this trail, there is a store that sell the only cold drinks between Sinsin and a small community in Bocawe five kilometers ahead. Just the mere mention of it will raise everyone's hope and they will hasten their pace. You will see!
After crossing the last of the Bocawe Creek, I lead them to the store but it is closed. Everyone were dismayed. I just need to raise their hopes a little bit further to offset their thirst and their fatigue especially now that the path we will be following keeps on ascending and ascending although it is a road. Half of it are unpaved and half are concreted but this is home ground and somewhere over every rise lay a little assurance.
When everyone douse their thirst in Bocawe, it is already 4:30 PM. We need to tackle the last rise before taking another rest at Pamutan where there is a lone police outpost. We arrive at the road junction and, this time, we will walk the rest of the distance downhill. It starts to get dark and everyone retrieve their head lamps.
I also retrieve my small old-school flashlight which I lash to a head band made of cord but I prefer my natural night vision for my navigation. When we arrive at Baksan, we abandon the road and use the trail to cut distance between here and Guadalupe. I find no difficulty finding my way around among trails and I look back at the rest of the pack and they're quite excited with their lights bobbing in the dark.
Along the trail, a black object cross my path. Locals use black PVC pipes to divert water from natural springs into their homes but I doubt that the black straight thing is a water pipe. It's just too thick. I switch on my light and I discover a good-sized python travelling in slow-motion unmindful of my close presence. I call Glenn to share with what I just found and leave them all behind.
From my forward position, I could hear agitated voices from behind me and some hurried footsteps. Hahaha. Encountering wildlife at close range is ordinary with bushcraft and survival. It's either the creature escape or it becomes part of your diet. At this time, I am not interested and the snake is free to go.
After a half-hour among the forest trail, the ridge becomes clear and my eyes feasted on the sparkle and glimmer of the metropolitan lights at a different angle. This is my first time to see this spectacle at this point of view and it is beautiful. I needn't need of my flashlight anymore as the city lights reflect on the thick clouds overhead illuminating the path in an eery red tinge.
We finally arrive at Guadalupe at 6:30 PM. The boys were spent out with the long hike and, one by one, they disappear until only Jhurds and me were left to talk about the just-concluded event. These are good guys and some of them will be the new nucleus of Camp Red. I have finally found the right people and the possibilities hereon are endless.
Document done in Libre Office 3
1An Cebu-based outdoor group which specializes in bushcraft & survival.
2A reality-TV show about a weight-reducing contest.
23 April 2012 | 5:21 am
THIS LONG DAY HIKE today on
February 12, 2012 is not for the faint-hearted.
For one, it is 36-40 kilometers long.
Second, it comes at a time when there is a weather disturbance advisory
released by the weather bureau. Third,
the Mananga River might not be generous this time. Fourth, we will be under darkness for two
hours during the last stretch.
This will be my fourth repeat
of the Lutopan, Toledo City to Guadalupe, Cebu City route. It is cross country walk traversing at Cebu
Island’s widest breadth. This is an
activity of Camp Red, a Philippine bushcraft and survival guild of which I
belong. Fellow bushman, Jhurds Neo, will
attempt his second while Randell Savior and Ouch Melbourne, their first.
Also coming are Boy Toledo and
Ernie Salomon of the Redtrekkers and they will be trying to complete their
third. Dominikus Sepe, a freelance
outdoorsman looking to find a niche, is also trying his first time. I will lead this party and all have known
beforehand, that they will be in for a wet long drag.
As leader, their safety is my
primary concern and I have already arranged all my options should I find the
weather and river very uncooperative.
That means the march would go on regardless of the tantrums of nature
unlike most clubs that I know of who abort their activities at the first signs
of slight rain. Planning is essential
here and the capacity to interpret climate patterns.
Modesty aside, I have gained
enough experience and knowledge when it comes to understanding a river and the
weather by natural means. Only a very
few could do this unscientifically and most of them belong to the indigenous
people. True, I am an urban creature but
I have indigenous blood which I intend to keep with pride. My forebears were until they were forced to
walk the white man’s road during colonization.
It was already raining the
night before and I was not worried. I
live near a creek and that creek is my indicator if the weather is bad or
worse. Once I woke up at 3:00 AM, the
creek gave me a bit of good news: the
weather is wet but not that bad!
Rising from the comforts of a
warm bed to face the cold and wet weather in the early morning can only be done
by individuals made of harder stuff.
These six people that I am with are certainly made of stern matter. That I am sure of. I cannot be sure though of what word that
will be used to describe the one leading them.
At 4:00 AM, I am now at the
Cebu South Bus Terminal. It is still
raining and it is still dark by the time 5:30 AM have arrived. One by one, the guys arrived. One.
Two. Four. Six.
The Corominas Bus leave the terminal at 6:30 AM. Based on my itinerary, we were supposed to leave
at five. Now we are one hour-and-a-half
behind schedule.
We arrive at Lutopan and I
found fogs at the mountain tops. It is
8:00 AM and it is cold. A northeast wind
and drizzle are responsible for that. We
pool money to buy food provisions for lunch.
Camp Red bushmen always cook during meal stops and enjoy food fresh from
the cooking fire whether it is an overnighter or a mere day hike.
To gain time, I decide that we
hire motorcycles to take us to Camp 7, a part of Minglanilla town, from where
we start our cross-country day hike.
Officially, we start 8:30 AM; a far cry from the 7:00 AM on the
itinerary. We reach the village of
Sinsin after walking the Manipis Road.
At Sinsin, I start briefing these six brave souls and let them know
what’s in my mind but, far far away to the west, thick clouds began to bulge
up.
From there, we follow a ridge
road under construction to Odlom where a steep unpaved road goes down deep into
Buot-Taup, a village nestled at the banks of Bonbon River. The river is noisy today and is brown but I
am not worried. I just saw a young hawk
gliding up above me when I took rest on a place where a trail branched off from
the road. Native Americans consider
seeing a bird of prey good omen. Same
with me. Especially on a journey.
Here is trivia: When I was with the force doing a difficult
solo mission in Davao in 1995, a Philippine eagle appeared to me circling the
sky while I was travelling in the highlands of Bukidnon. Instantly,
I developed a gut feeling that my assignment would turn out okay and so
it was. The newspaper headlines of that
day screamed of my accomplishment.
Anyway, I cross the river first
and the current is much stronger than what I have expected. My feet is carried everytime I raise it
inches above the river bed. At the
middle of the river, the water level rise nine inches above my knees. It is much deeper than I thought or knew
of. It used to be below my knees during
normal times.
Notwithstanding, I have crossed
much swift rivers before like the Daraitan River in Rizal and the Lawayan River
in Misamis Occidental. The former I
crossed three times in two days in 1989 and almost claimed me on the first
day. It was my first real river crossing
and I became wise after that. Such
painful experiences educate you and make you better.
We cross the Bonbon several
times until it flowed into the bigger Mananga River. The current turbulence increased as where the
depths. I begin to worry about them deep
craters that illegal quarrying have done on the Mananga as it is difficult to
see what’s below the surface because of its brown effluence. So far, I eluded it by observing the swirls.
We reach the meal stop point at
exactly 11:00 AM and I could not believe we just sheared off a big chunk of time from our travel
plan. We were supposed to be there at
11:30 AM. Anyhow, we retrieve our cook
sets and burners, meat, vegetables, milled corn and other ingredients. I boil water for coffee as Ernie do the
honors of cooking the three sets of viand:
pork adobao, pork sinigang and a modified version of pork and beans.
Randell and me help in cooking
the milled corn spread out inside three cooking pots. A water source is available nearby. We need the meat and the milled corn to give
us more body heat to stave off the cold resulting from wading the river every
now and then. I must have counted nine
crossings and it is a perfect recipe for hypothermia.
We stayed at the place too long
and were now fifteen minutes late from our schedule. We leave for Camp 4. Among islands of rocks along the river, I
could see the signs that the stream have lowered an inch from its previous
level in a matter of one hour, more or less.
The sound of raging water are not much noisy anymore and I thank my
young hawk of his presence hours ago.
Three hundred meters away, I
thought I saw two women about to cross a junction where the Bocawe Creek meets
the Mananga. The bend of the stream
removed my chance to actually see them cross as I walk towards that spot. I observe the riverbank across so I could
ascertain where they have forded and I found none. Strange?
I cross and I see a tell-tale mark that I am in the vicinity of a crater
but, too late, the ground gave in and I fell into a hole, chest-deep. My camera got immersed in water and that
ended my shooting spree. Shucks!
Along the way, I see father and
two little daughters fishing with a throw net.
Inside the catch bin are a number catfish and tilapia and a couple of
fresh-water shrimps. Walking yonder on
is another father with two little sons with their catch of big catfish hanging
on their bamboo fishing pole.
We cross for the last time the
Mananga River and rest among a jumble of boulders and wring away water from our
boots and socks. We need to remove
useless weight and small pebbles from inside our shoes before tackling the
trail found at the southernmost end of the Babag Mountain Range. This is a tough trail, steep and long.
Behind me are Jhurds, Ouch and
Dom. Way way below them is Boy and Ernie
with Randell backstopping. Jhurds have
shown improvement from the last time he climb this undulating and almost cruel
stretch last September 25, 2011. This
trail lead to a place called Cabatbatan and, doing so, we have to cross again
the upper Bocawe Creek twice.
Once we arrive in Cabatbatan,
the boys make a beeline to the only store that sells cold drinks between Sinsin
and Bocawe. Now that brings back the
color to their faces. We overstayed our
purpose and that defeats our frequent race against our schedule. We have to make do 15 minutes late when we
leave for Bocawe and Pamutan Junction.
I take a short cut to chop off
time but the rest failed to see my sign and took a longer route instead. As I was waiting for their arrival, my
attention was focused on two strange-looking fowls foraging on the Bocawe
Creek. They seem wild and have long
beaks and white streaks on their faces.
I thought they were guinea fowls because of its color similarity but
they were not. They were very agile and
lack the puff of red flesh on their faces which guineas have.
Ultimately, I forgot about the
others and I discovered that they were already ahead of me so I walk uphill at
full speed and overtook all, one by one.
While huffing and puffing along a never-ending steep road, a good-sized
hawk appeared on my left gliding and circling above a valley. I raise and wave my hand to acknowledge my
presence. It circled one more time
before disappearing below the valley.
By now, we were able to recover
our time advantage when we arrive at the road junction thirty minutes ahead and
able to maintain it once we reach another stop point in Baksan. It is already dark and everyone donned their
headlights, including my old-fashioned flashlight which I attach to a paracord
headband.
We will take Bebut’s Trail this
time going to Guadalupe. For the early
stages of this last stretch of route, I choose to use my natural night
vision. I am able to follow the faint
path through a brook and over steep trails going up and down. Obviously, it had been raining here minutes
ago as the path is muddy and slippery. I
slip several times but balance myself well to prevent falling.
When I found the trail obscured
by thick vegetation, I decide to turn on my light else I might step on a
reticulated python which is very common here.
The switch is defective and I have to slap it several times so it would
work. I find its location on my head
very annoying and decide to carry it with either hand. Finally, I fall after a slip.
It is stressful hiking on a
trail in the dark. The brain sends
signal to raise your adrenaline level when it receives stimulus from the eyes
about a dark environment. It gives
signals to the heart to pump more blood and so we breathe faster because the
more blood pumped the more oxygene the body need. Basically, the brain controls all body
functions and you should know its nature.
I have lived with it and I know how not to push hard during a night
trek.
Behind me are voices of panting
men mustered by their brains to keep pace with me when I am just taking a
stroll. I laugh about this thought. I bring them to the top of a hill and show
them the glinting lights of Cebu City and it released all their anxieties. The trail here is all downhill now and it is
just a matter of minutes when we would reach Guadalupe.
Randell and I arrive at the
south gate of the Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish at 7:45 PM. Boy closed the activity at 7:51 PM by
arriving last yet we are nine minutes ahead of schedule. Not bad.
Now, time to ingratiate ourselves with cold bottles of beer at our
favorite watering hole at Summer Kyla.
My cheers to this bunch of
hardy men. They have not questioned my
decisions and they are rewarded with an unforgettable moment that no outdoor
clubs could offer. They were in a high
mood despite the aches that each one felt in their bodies. They truly are made of sterner stuff to
engage in and complete a man-sized day hike under the threat of a Low Pressure
Area and under twelve hours. Not bad
indeed!
Document done in Libre
Office 3.3
19 April 2012 | 12:36 am
THERE HAD BEEN
GOOD news in so far as our Philippine criminal justice system is
concerned. This is about the
promulgation of sentence wherein the “Supreme Master” of the Philippine
Benevolent Missionaries Association (PBMA) – RUBEN ECLEO JR. - have been found
guilty beyond reasonable doubt and is convicted and sentenced to reclusion
perpetua.
Yes, Virginia,
he is bound to be imprisoned and transferred to the national penitentiary in
Muntinglupa – if caught – from TWENTY to FORTY YEARS for parricide. Justice may not have been a quick process but
it has done its job nevertheless. He
will, of course, appeal and pursue his case before the highest court of the land. To remember, Ecleo murdered his wife, Alona
Bacolod, and dumped her body somewhere in Dalaguete, Cebu in January 2002 where
it was found, already in a state of decomposition.
What makes
this case special is because it is the best example of the triumph of good over
evil (a poor family against an influential one) although very costly to the
Bacolod family and to one of the prosecuting panel. They have been rubbed out - gangland style –
allegedly by the followers of Ecleo, who became a congressman representing the
lone district of Dinagat Island right after posting bail of one million pesos.
The Ecleo
family ruled Dinagat Island by virtue of their being the closest kin to the
original founder of the PBMA – Ruben Ecleo Sr., who was revered by their members
as a prophet on the level of divinity.
The PBMA is a religious organization with an almost-similar Christian
doctrine with which the hierarchies of the majority Roman Catholic and the
small Protestant denominations labelled as a cult.
Dinagat Island
is a remote island that is located along the Pacific Rim south of Leyte Island
and northeast of Mindanao. It used to
belong to the Province of Surigao del Norte but became a province itself in
2006. Dinagat is composed of the
municipalities of San Jose, Loreto, Tubajon, Libjo, Basilisa, Dinagat and
Cagdianao and having a population of about 122,000. The island is rich in nickel and chromium
deposits, particularly at nearby Nonoc Island.
When arrested
in June 2002, Ecleo’s followers fought a gunbattle with policemen out to serve
a warrant of arrest against him where nineteen of their numbers died while
inflicting a lone casualty on the side of the government. When arraigned, Ecleo pleaded not guilty and
hired a battery of expensive lawyers to defend his case.
During the
course of the trial, Alona’s father, mother, brother and sister were gunned
down in their home in Subangdaku, Mandaue City by an alleged PBMA member who
was also killed when trapped by responding policemen. Private prosecution lawyer Arbet Sta.
Ana-Yongco was assassinated by another alleged PBMA member in her house in
Zapatera, Cebu City. The gunman was
arrested and tried in court but the mastermind of these two incidents was never
known.
Amidst all
these events, Ecleo enjoyed VIP treatment at the Bagong Buhay Rehabilitation
Center until after when he posted bail in 2004 granted by the court for health
reasons. He ran for a seat in congress
in 2007 after his mother vacated the post and won. He attended the subsequent hearings but grew
tired of it. Meanwhile, a warrant of
arrest was issued in 2010 for a corruption case filed by the Ombudsman but
finding him remains a puzzle.
There were
many trial court judges handling this case – SIX - but all wilted under
pressure from all directions and inhibited themselves until the buck stops at
the sala of Judge Soliver Peras of the Regional Trial Court X. The overworked officer of the law fought a
long-running technicalities battle and presumptions of bias from both
prosecution and defense camps and remained undaunted by the side
distractions.
His career as
a strict but fair adjudicator of the law had already been fettered with many
feathers on his hat in the past and now, coming out with the final judgment on
Ecleo, ought to make him a legend among his peers and a target, as well, of
reprisals from the enraged camp of the convicted congressman and PBMA
leader. The good judge knows this but he
knows very well the hazards of his profession and that is part of his
breakfast, especially those served cold.
This is now a
challenge for the present national administration and to all law enforcement
agencies to double their efforts at applying a tight noose on Ecleo and his
rabid followers in the PBMA. The public
knows, for a fact, that the PBMA will use any means possible to defend their
“supreme master” at whatever cost.
The public
have seen their aberrations and the public is full of indignation against such
crude use of force against those whom have opposed the desires of their
master. There is no language that can be
understood by them except to stamp the might of the rule of law upon their
foreheads. This is not easy as it may
seem but righteousness always prevail in the end.
Document done in LibreOffice
3.3
Photo courtesy of Inquirer.net
and Pulpolitika
11 April 2012 | 4:50 am
IT IS THREE DAYS before the Fruit Seeds for October. I am going to the Babag Mountain Range today, January 29, 2012 as advance party. I am bringing sixty small plastic pots and an undetermined number of seeds of johey oak fruit (marang) for the tree nursery which I am going to establish at the Roble homestead.
The Fruit Seeds for October is a seed-collection campaign instigated by me.
I am alone and I want to spend quality time in the mountains. I bring a kilo of pork meat; a kilo of rice; another kilo of milled corn, which I intend to share with the Roble family; along with spices, soy sauce, cooking oil and vinegar. I need also to talk to Fele Roble for this project and the location of the nursery.
Already in my Baikal backpack is my Kovea cook pot, Peak1 spoon-fork-knife set, my Vietnam-era mess kit, Bulin camp stove, my 500-ml. stainless-steel cup, Sony camera, Mantrack machete, my tomahawk, a three-piece honing stone set, a Sheffield 12-in-1 tool, an unfinished rosewood axe shaft and other items that describe very well of what really is a bushman.
I’m packing it full and added another kilo, complements of a liter of water which I collected in my Nalgene bottle at Lower Kahugan Spring. I may have to treat this hike as a training session with all the weight I carried. I woke up late and I am able to start my hike only at 9:00 AM. I ditch breakfast and have to train my stomach as well how to climb a mountain range with an empty stomach. Anyway, food could be had at noon which is just a few hours away.
I need to be fit before I will embark on my projected north-to-south coast-to-coast walk passing at the most rugged terrain of Cebu which is in its middlemost spine. I have already done Segment One and Segment Two is about to be pursued in March and it will be a long long drag of 3 to 4 days of hiking and climbing.
The Babag Mountain Range is foggy at the tops today and that is a good indicator that summer is finally coming in the tropics. It suggests that the day will be hot and it is indeed hot. I wear my boonie hat for this occasion, a white t-shirt and my North Korea-made long bush pants. The last item fished out from a second-hand store.
A local in Napo told me that some hikers are already ahead of me on the trail more than an hour ago. I have to guess how many are they and how many are male and how many are female. This would give accent to my solo walk and to keep me grounded to bushcraft; I decide to rejuvenate my tracking skills which I only use during explorations. The hard part is that I have to read the tracks on a hard beaten trail where many people use.
I see smudges, but I cannot tell what caused those and who it belonged to. Perhaps by the locals. I do not know but I could only guess. I see boot prints and I can tell some that it is days old and other recent ones that are many hours old. I see some dog prints. That, I am pretty sure. I need fresh tracks and, maybe, I will find it in places where water is near. I am not disappointed and I found one.
Found holes of shoe lugs embed deep on wet ground and is quite fresh yet, as seen from the edges. Some of the soil adhere to the soles and drop on spots found between holes. It belonged to a male hiker and wears size 10 shoe. Why a male? Because the owner is heavy and it has long strides.
On another spot, I see the signs of another companion. The hiker is light of build than the first one and it may be that of a female based on my second-guessing that it is a size 8 shoe. Up ahead where water had made the ground muddy, I see another footprint. It may be that of a male and wears a size 9 shoe and has longer strides than the second individual.
I think I may have found another faint but fresh shoe track but it had been trampled over by others on a spot where it is narrow and I could not clearly study the print well. May be male. By now, wet spots will be few once I cross the stream at Lower Kahugan. I surmise three to four people are taking the Kahugan Trail judging that there are no more fresh prints going to Busan except the old shoeprint of Boy Toledo who came here Saturday.
I found three empty bottles of a local rum and insecticides half buried in the mud that hardened. I find this very dangerous and I remove the bottles lest it would cause an accident. It is my way of doing community work; of trail maintenance. It is also my advocacy: picking up empty bottles and broken glasses and keep it out from causing harm.
I talk with a farmer tending her hilly flower farm and it’s a good interlude to break my rhythm and recover my breathing. I see two hikers below gasping and wheezing under the brunt of the severe heat. Above me is an exposed ridge which I will tackle later. I climb it and I feel my legs getting tight and I know the feeling; the tell-tale signs of muscle cramps.
Since the time when I got in custody of a company-owned motorcycle, my daily walks to my workplace and back have been put to rest for four months now. My lack of walking have taken its toll on my legs and the muscles have not performed like the way it used to. I guess I have to put the bike in the garage and start walking again come Monday.
I arrive at a high knoll that is home to the Roble family. The shade from a tamarind tree and a Java plum tree is most welcome. Welcome still are the cool bamboo benches underneath them and I am rabidly thirsty. Not yet; I may need coffee first to pep me up. I unload my things to prepare coffee but one item is obviously missing: the butane fuel!
No problem. Fele boil water for me on his earthen hearth. Coffee tastes heavenly when you are deprived of food and water on a long hot journey on foot. I ask him if he ever seen a group of hikers passing this way. There were five of them, he says: one female and four male. Darn. I miss one. It’s alright. At least, I am 80-percent right. Nobody knows or do this skill anymore and I am glad my late grandfather taught this to me when I was a small boy and it remained embedded in me.
First, I need Fele to prepare a meal for lunch. Second, I need to have a look-see of the young trees that I help plant last March 13, 2011. One cacao, two jackfruit, one canistel, two rambutan, one guava and one looking-glass tree survived. Eight out of fifteen. Not a bad one considering that it is exposed to domesticated animals. The uppermost plants have vanished and some of it were still there during my last visit in December 11, 2011.
Third, I document the surviving plants for a quick inventory while I prepare the small plastic pots and seeds for the next generation of plants. Fourth, I move about and look for a nice kind of soil to fill up the pots and I found it below a mango tree below the hill. I just use a 3-foot bamboo stick to dig the ground and a piece of green coconut husk to scoop the dirt into the pots. I filled up 31 pots when lunch was called to.
After the meal, I need to practice a little skill with a native gadget. One of the things that I carry is a bamboo blowgun and two bamboo darts. These have been given to me by my stepdaughter on her travel to Malaysia. I tried a blowgun long ago with a papaya-leaf tube and a needle with cigarette-filter flights as dart. A papaya trunk became an instant target. Sorry there tree huggers.
A little while, a group of six hikers with two toddlers arrive to take a rest and enjoy the cool shade. Then eight people of a different group arrive some fifteen minutes later to converge at the benches. I continue filling up the remaining pots and water these to make it moist before I bury 60 seeds into it.
I give the main place to the newcomers while I decide to take a rest on a bench that is beginning to disintegrate. The sun begins to move and the shadows move on the opposite side exposing me partly to heat from the sun. I busy myself to kill boredom by working on the axe shaft. The broken glasses make only a little progress scraping the thickness of the rosewood and I abandon it. The wood is too hard and I may need a wood file, I think.
I transfer my attention on a piece of Mexican lilac wood fashioning it into the shape of a spoon with my tomahawk. I have chopped away large chunks of undesired wood and was in the process of shaving away thickness when the steel head slipped from the wood and slit a half-inch cut on my wrist.
I discard the work and look for something to stop the bleeding. I found guava leaf buds and crush it to a ball to extract a juice to smear it on my wound but I am unable to produce it with my one good hand so I chew the buds to let my teeth do the work. When I am assured that the bitter juices have been produced, I apply it as a poultice, the juice stinging the opened skin.
By now, it is time to go as it is 3:45 PM. The first group have left two hours ago while the last group come along with me and I lead them to a trail that goes to the Busay Lut-od Waterfalls and leave them once they have settled at the bottom. It seems that they still have an unfinished bottle of rum and I don’t want none of it and leave them behind.
I arrive at Summer Kyla and rehydrate myself with two big bottles of cold Red Horse. In a little while, Boy Toledo and Ernie Salomon joined me and two more bottles were added. I miss dinner and I am tipsy and sleepy. Good thing Boy T brought me to my place in his car and isn’t that a good thing? Thanks Boy T.
Document done in Libre Office 3.3
3 April 2012 | 8:07 am
I LOVE TO GO BACK to that place somewhere in Argao to catch fresh-water shrimps and crabs. I have gone there on October 2, 2010 with two former associates and it was fun. The adrenaline rush is felt when snakes that lie inert on river beds like debris suddenly comes alive on your approach and weave its way among the sand bed in the dead of night.
Here I am again with the rest of Camp Red like Raymund Panganiban, Glenn Pestaño, Faith Tannen, Justine Ianne and William “Jungle Wil” Rhys-Davies. Jungle Wil, who is from Wales and a fellow Outlaw Bushcraft, have that innate fear of snakes. Who doesn’t? Even I would give a wide berth if I happen to meet a snake in my outdoor traipses.
Camp Red will be doing nocturnal hunting there. It is an overnight affair with the dates falling on January 21 and 22, 2012. We start from the Cebu South Bus Terminal at 8:00 AM and arrive at Argao two-and-a-half hours later. Since it is almost noon, we decide to take an early lunch at a local restaurant.
When meal was done, I and Jungle Wil proceed to the public market to buy our food provisions good for the night’s dinner and for tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch. We also buy ingredients for the second dinner which comes after our hunt of shrimps and crabs at the river.
We leave the center of town by hired motorcycles to a hilly part of Argao where there is a free-flowing river. We arrive at 15 past noon and I make a courtesy call to the village headman. The stream, I learned from him, have been diluted with poison by unscrupulous locals a few months ago that diminish the population of shrimps and crabs, along with fish, frogs and snakes.
I give them the actual briefing before we pitch our tents at the nearby school grounds. I opted to sleep outdoors. I am introduced to Sergio Gealon as our official escort and guide. I buy a gallon of coconut wine to know Sergio better and to erase any awkwardness he may have felt on us. He thought of Raymund as a Korean while he thought of Glenn as a pirate.
Sergio lead us to the other fishing ground among rice fields. A clear spring slowly gush out of a hole on the ground where it run out into a small stream that is used as a laundry area for locals. I could see in the clear water a number of foot-long fish and fat shrimps feeding on underwater plants. Folks say there is a stout eel living inside the hole which is covered by the estuarine plant. I scoop water with my hand and tasted the water. It is of good quality.
Sergio take us to the old houses on stilts. The posts and beams are old trunks of hardwood tree, gnarled and bent; the walls are of crushed bamboo; the roof made of swamp palm leaves; and the floors are bamboo slats nailed to the floor beams. One of the house is erected as far back as 1931 according to an old lady who remembered the construction when she was just eight.
I am the official cook and I have three sets of diners: the carnivores, the vegetarians and the omnivores. I prepare pork adobo for the first set and mixed-vegetable soup for the last two eaters. I belong with the last and I could eat anything short of poison. Glenn, meanwhile, started a small campfire. The wood smoke is so nice to smell and memories came knocking at me.
Sergio came back after dinner. Jerry Alberca, our former guide, lend us his Petromax and his scoop net. We start for the rice fields and the spring hole at 8:00 PM. Jungle Wil do the honors of catching our first prey: a thumb-sized shrimp with long pincers. We transfer to the main stream walking across rice field dikes. I am backstopping the party from behind with a walking stick, a big Maglite with the other hand and my Mantrack dangling on my breast.
We cross the road and continue on upstream. Raymund tried his best to catch the activity with his DSLR camera without a good illumination. Jungle Wil and the rest are following Sergio for he carried the brightest light that is now the center of the activity. All bend down here and there to reach something on the shallows while on the walk.
I notice a commotion up ahead and I am just in time to see a sizable water snake trying to escape from the rabid hunters. I cut off the snake’s route with my long staff then, all of a sudden, Raymund flashed his bolo and hit the snake causing it to writhe in pain. The snake fought back by biting my stick and it never let go. I raise the snake into the scoop held by Jungle Wil and I twist the net so it wouldn’t climb out.
Before we finish our nocturnal adventure on the river, we fish out the biggest and fattest fresh-water shrimp that I have laid my eyes on. I hold the shrimp and its big claw bit my thumb but I never let go and I drop it to our catch box where a number of its cousins are already inside plus a juvenile python, a mudfish, fresh-water crabs and frogs. I released the frogs and the small snake but kept the bigger water snake.
Our host, the couple Eddie and Riza Alberca, welcomed us and I help them in preparing our catch by slicing the onions, garlic, radish and ginger. Lemon grass, tamarind, cabbage, spring onions and desiccated coconut were added to the kitchen table while our male host started a fire from his earthen hearth.
On the other hand, Glenn remove the skin from the snake, cut it to bite pieces and immerse it with spiced vinegar and soy sauce. Glenn grilled the snake while our host make a tamarind-based soup of the shrimps and another soup of the crabs with coconut milk. The crab soup is exceptionally done and I eat several servings of it while the shrimps are very fat and juicy. Everyone enjoyed the meal and the conversation on the dining table drag on to almost 2:00 AM.
By now, all are eager to kiss the ground for a sleep inside their tents except me. I transfer to another sleeping area but much safer where I could see the whole campsite. The fire had died down and I blow it to life feeding more wood. Wood smoke tickle me again to memory lane and I enjoy the cool night with a little light from the flickering flame.
I wake up early and enjoin everyone for a bath at a small waterfall on the river. Jungle Wil prefer to stay and watch our things while I lead the rest down to the creek and walk upstream where there is a deep pool and a big rock blocking our way to the waterfall. I climb over the obstacle and everyone slowly followed and it is indeed a small waterfall but the rush of water is so great that standing under is nearly impossible.
We stay for an hour at the waterfall. I feel better after a good dose of natural massage by falling water. We return back from where we came. We pass by a communal water source and wash off our body with clean water. When we reach the campsite, we change into dry clean clothes and queue our way back to our host’s house to partake of brunch of two free-rein chicken soup. It’s a local treat and we gorge the meal with gusto.
I brought a long bottle of brandy and two bottles of energy drink and this is a good interlude to while away time watching a DVD movie at our host and do some small talk. Before breaking camp, we clean the school grounds of garbage as our way of thanking the community for their support of our activity and of safeguarding our presence. I personally dispose of our last night’s campfire and leave as little trace of it as possible.
At 1:00 PM, we say goodbye to Eddie, Riza, Jerry, Sergio and the rest of the good people there. We walk the road down to the highway and agreed to down one big bottle of beer for the road when we reach the corner. We are now more wise and we decide to board the biggest and fastest bus for Cebu. By 4:30 PM, we were already at the Cebu South Bus Terminal.
Document done in Libre Office 3.3
31 March 2012 | 4:41 am
THE MONTH OF MARCH comes to the Philippine Islands as a bringer of more sunlight which intensifies its heat once it enters the Lenten season. March is the start of summer in places near the equator and almost all areas in the tropics. March signifies the end of the school year and commencement exercises are held here, there and everywhere.
Last March 17, 2012, I witnessed my youngest son, Cherokee, going up the stage to receive his high school diploma at the school gymnasium of the University of Southern Philippines, Lahug Campus, Cebu City. His beaming mother, Vilma, came; as well as his elder sisters, Laila and Lovella. His grandmother, Marietta, also came.
Coming also were Laila’s husband, Chokie, and son Kurt; Kurt’s neighbor and Cherokee’s playing buddy, Jericho; Lovella’s sons – Jarod and Gabriel; cousins Via and Alyanna. Also going up to receive his diploma is Cherokee’s classmate and close neighbor, Paul John.
Cherokee studied at the Mabini Campus of USP since the time when he enrolled in Grade Five in 2006 coming from the East Visayas Academy in Bulacao, Talisay City. The USP Mabini Campus is the same school where I graduated from high school forty-three years ago. This same school produced graduates for almost all my clan.
After the activity, we proceed to the Gallery in Mabolo for a thanksgiving dinner at Boosog Native Restaurant. Cherokee’s brother, Charlemagne arrive with his girlfriend as well as his cousins, John Saint and Roanne. After the dinner, we proceed to the Asiatown IT Park so the boys could stretch out their time a bit.
Last March 20, it was my grandson Gabriel’s turn to receive his kindergarten diploma at the Tejero Elementary School in MJ Cuenco Avenue. Lovella and Jarod went with him to give support. I and Vilma might not have been present but we both were elated that Gabriel have hurdled his first level of formal education from the very school where I finished my elementary.
We just eat our thanksgiving dinner right in our home after that yet it cast a glow of happiness amongst us. Cherokee’s last year in high school signifies another challenge for me as he will enroll in college this June but I am amenable with that. May God bless our home and our family!
Document done in LibreOffice 3.3
26 March 2012 | 5:57 am
GOING AWAY AGAIN to Misamis Oriental this time. My employers needed to have their farthest and most remote detachment at Laguindingan investigated for some lost items. I take a Trans-Asia boat that leaves at eight in the evening and arrive at Cagayan de Oro at 5:30 AM of January 18, 2012.
Before leaving the Port of Cebu, I take a seat inside the public terminal operated by the Cebu Port Authority. You cannot directly embark on your ship without riding a shuttle bus where, in my case, I board mine after the bus took a circuitous route only to drop me about fifteen meters from where I first rode it.
The government could have saved money if passengers were allowed to simply walk the short distance from terminal to boat instead of riding through a long route which, naturally, would use fuel, oil, manpower and other resources. The system is good but there are instances where it would defeat its purpose. It should be applied on a case-to-case basis.
So much for that. Coming along with me is my Sony DSC220 digital camera and an autobiography of Ranulph Fiennes which describes himself as “mad, bad and dangerous to know”. The book had been with me for more than a year and I haven't got the time to read that until I got tired of seeing it collecting dust at my book shelf.
I pass by Carmen Bridge and I see the damage wrought by Typhoon Sendong which hit the cities of Cagayan de Oro and Iligan a month ago that killed more than a thousand people. I begin to wonder what happened to that little girl I saw in 2008 who lived under the bridge right across the Sacred Heart Parish in Kauswagan? It seems a needle is pierced into my heart at that moment.
The public jitney driven by an annoying driver reach the terminal at Bulua and I transfer to a Rural Transit bus bound for Iligan. It leaves its station promptly for the next. The bus pass by the towns of Opol, El Salvador and Alubihid before I alight infront of the Laguindingan town hall.
I take a picture of the building and a policeman approach me suspiciously. He is asking me too many questions and my nerves are beginning to smell trouble. Time to show him my ID and my purpose and, finally, he begins to comprehend that I am no al-Qaeda. He won't believe I am a tourist. Poor cover story!
I take breakfast at a small family-run restaurant. They offer me “La hoya” and I am intrigued. I buy one order for me and it is just beef stew with the same ingredients and given another name or it's just the way folks here name that dish. Just the same, it is very cheap. Anyway, I pay just 45 pesos for the whole meal, to include bottled soda and rice.
Down I go to the village of Sambulawan astride a motorcycle and get inside an abandoned structure that used to be a steel mill. The guards are all there and I start my inquiries. I move about this huge shell of a building with my camera and I notice each living quarters used by the guards are covered all around with fire bricks at chest level.
One hut, aside from the fire bricks, even used other materials such as hard rubber mouldings, rubber tires and concrete culverts filled with gravel. At the far side, are breastworks made of culverts formed in a square that could accommodate one man and there are four of these. They look like midget fortresses.
Amidst all these are huge rectangular holes that are five feet deep that could be used as fox holes. One hole became an impromptu firing range complete with an asbestos target board that have recently welcomed five new holes. One guard showed me the gun that fire such big holes and it is a bushcraft rifle1 made to look like an M16.
These guys are preparing for a zombie attack, I think. They are self-sufficient. They stack lots of firewood, bred hens and roosters and utilize a lot of dogs as their alarm system. They had been forced to improvise a defense system when they were surrounded by a belligerent community who coveted the steel structure which can be converted to cash if you have time and know-how to cut it in small pieces.
Just like in the movies. I admire these guys for their steadfastness and resourcefulness. At the end of the day, I rejected the notion that they have had to do with the missing roof sheets. It just blew away when Typhoon Sendong came. Force majeure!
Might as well spend a night at this place. Buy lunch and, later, dinner for them. I choose a slab of concrete that project over the ground and spread my ground sheet over it and then place my sleeping bag. There is no breeze and I get a worry of them mosquitoes. I collect a couple of coconut husks as my mosquito repellant. It gives off thick smoke when lit with fire.
The night is dark as there are no electricity here. Even my natural night vision find it hard for me to work my way around for a leak. I remembered the fox holes and I don't want to fall into one. Now I have to consider answering the call of nature in a not-so-comfortable distance but bushes are nearby me and I put on green leaves on my small fire from time to time.
I like these guards and they have kept their shotguns in good order although they have short supply of ammo now. I spend breakfast and lunch with them the following day before I proceed back to Cagayan de Oro at three in the afternoon. I pass by the bridge where a little girl lived underneath it and it is washed out now and I found drops of tears stream out of my eyes.
Walk my way around Cogon District and look for something to temper my heart. I found it and I buy ten pairs. These are the biasong (sp. Hystrix macroptera) and the tabon-tabon (sp. Atuna racemosa) and they make your raw fish dish taste heavenly. Trust my wife, she does magic with those.
Leave for the Trans-Asia boat early and I make my bed at six in the evening and continue reading about Ranulph Fiennes. This guy is really mad, bad and dangerous to know and has something to do with the “Feather Men” that had became the base story of a recent movie – Killer Elite. I admire his expeditions. I see myself in his shoes someday.
I am so sleepy that I ditch my urge to have supper. I sleep early with a heavy heart. That little girl under the bridge is always on my mind. Tomorrow I will do her memory good by absolving the guards of a harsh accusation with my report. Really, it’s the least that I could do and it would, at least, help me recover my stupor.
Document done in Libre Office 3.3
1Home-made rifles that fire glass marbles. It uses denatured alcohol as propellant that is ignited by a disposable-lighter igniter attached to the trigger.
