We realised the trail had indeed "closed", in the quaint woodsman-Ilocano of our Isneg guide Teresa, soon after we climbed out of the long gully that bore the unmistakable signature of ravenous wild hog snouts rooting for earthworms. It was early evening two nights after the full moon and we could clearly see the silhouette of the ridgetop. However her thin machete made little headway in "reopening" it in the dark, with bamboo thickets barring the way beneath the low trees and with just our headlamps to help us find the "door". She and three young local men had taken us to a logging trail up one of the two peaks of Mount Palemlem, hoping to compensate for our very late start at 3pm. The other, more familiar trail up the other peak is steeper and more forested, she said, and she doubted we -- Kim, Pie, Bugsy, Mher, Jackie, CJ, Eds and I -- would make it to its tiny summit clearing before dark.The group made an altitude gain of 800 metres in about four hours, but we decided we were up north for a fun climb, not an exploration climb, so we started looking for a bivouac site, not an easy nor pleasant task in thickets crawling with blood-sucking leeches. We settled on a gully just below the ridge beneath a row of pandan palms, their thorny exposed roots growing out of their trunks and burrowing into the ground, like montane versions of coastal mangrove forests. There was a half-eaten pandan fruit,big as a breadfruit, on the ground that Mher said had been gnawed by a chicken lizard. We displaced an irate, giant stick insect that turned out to be photogenic.
My colleagues said it was more difficult than advertised, but in truth I climbed without much effort.
The trail was steep in parts but pleasant, with a wealth of flora comparable to those found in the country's top forest parks. Discounting the glacial pace of the team's RCJ bus and the rough, dusty 13-kilometre dirt-road ride up from the highway, the hill town of Adams, the trail head to Palemlem, lies in one of the most beautiful corners of Ilocos Norte, close to Cagayan and Apayao and near Pasaleng Bay, the Patapat viaduct and the windmills of Bangui. A previous visit to the town's many waterfalls by our team leader Bugsy and Jackie in the summer got us all excited about this mountain. Our host, the town treasurer Mrs. Medrano, sent us off with a fabulous lunch feast of river fry, two dishes of banana flowers -- one cooked in coconut milk and the other in soya -- native chicken broth and red mountain rice. The reason I felt good was that I was amazingly succeeding in my effort to push the envelope of the possible in Philippine mountaineering. Hauling a day pack weighing less than 11 kilogrammes, four litres of water included and with a rain jacket and pants in place of a sleeping bag and shelI jacket I was flying up its slopes shod only in a pair of worn, patched-up New Balance trail running shoes weighing well under 900 grammes, about a third of the weight of my old backpacking boots. The weight of your footwear is supposed to translate into five times that on your back, so imagine the relief much lighter shoes give you. I was concerned the running shoes would disintegrate in the mud typical of Philippine mountains, but the forest floor of this one was dry for the most part. The toe boxes actually felt a lot roomier than those in my old boots, and the following day I completed the descent in just two hours. They only got wet when we stopped by a river near our pickup point to rinse the day-old dust on my hair.
Anticipating a tiny campsite, I used a conventional solo dome tent for this climb, which added to my pack weight. Next time my total load for overnight climbs would be 8kg tops, still very heavy compared to the tiny rucksacks slung on the shoulders of the guides, who also wore dungarees and flip-flops. They went up with just a litre each in trail water and carried not one tent nor ground sheet, so in the end we lent them our kitchen parawing and one tarp so they would not shiver to death at night.
They used the tarp as communal blanket after lining the forest floor beneath it with leaves. When I offered them coffee in the morning they sliced their empty water containers in two and used the bottom halves as mugs.Palemlem has an amazing bird life, replete with the car-backing-up warning sound of tailor birds. An unknown songbird began its melodious spiel as soon as I rose from my windshield-visor sleeping pad, but it was gone by the time I got out. It's a pity that Palemlem, like most mountains on the Ilocos side of the Cordilleras, are heavily exploited by the locals. The biggest trees on its lower slopes -- tanguile, almaciga, banglas were among those identified by Teresa -- are being cut down for housing materials, while on its middle levels the sides of the trail are mined with pressure-triggered bird snares that Teresa said trapped both jungle fowl and the pandan sap-loving civets. In all probability they are also trapping and eating pittas -- the fabled bannatiran of Ilocos -- and other increasingly rare birds that inhabit the forest floor. At least its slopes are not being ritually burnt each year by hunters, unlike those in other parts of the Ilocos.
The near-unbroken forest cover meant there was hardly any views beyond tree trunks, mushrooms, wild flowers, thorny rattan palms, and rotting leaves and logs,though they looked lovely in the tiny slices of sunlight piercing through the canopy. At the campsite I had to climb to the top of a tree to get a view of the peak that we missed. From that vantage point the bay and the mountains of Claveria looked majestic in the early morning light. We soaked up the beauty of the place and did not start the trek down until 10am. By the time we returned to the trail head lunch was already being served -- river eel and prawn, taro stalks, and more red rice. We agreed we needed to return soon for another climb.
I have now used a Mountain Laurel Designs Trailstar in my last five nights in the outdoors and I believe I have a reasonable idea of how the pentagon-shaped single-wall tarp fares in tropical Philippine conditions. During those five nights I managed to pitch it at sea level on a beach as well as atop the country's highest mountain (see photo), and inside a lower montane forest and two hill villages in between. All but one of the camp sites were exposed to the wind.
It is a head-turner, but not for the reasons one might expect. It is huge, it pitches ugly except for the most ideal terrain, and I did choose olive-brown, the shabbiest colour of the lot.
But then it is so light it is just half the weight of the conventional double-wall solo tents in use by a handful of Philippine backpackers who have elected to sleep alone.
Excluding a trekking pole that serves to stand it, the entire shelter weighs just 725 grammes even with my choice of relatively heavy MSR Groundhog Y stakes. A two-person dome tent, the go-to shelter in rain-soaked Philippine mountains, weighs more than three times more. Colleagues who were seeing it for the first time could not believe their eyes on first seeing pitched on camp sites. "Don't tell me you're sleeping under that," was the most common reaction. "Where's the floor," and "Where are the walls" are also among the frequently-asked questions. It has helped me reduce my backpack weight by at least five kilogrammes, by my own estimates, since if your pack load is less you do not need to carry a bigger, heavier backpack.
You must ensure it is seam sealed with the silicone gel provided or some other substitute, because rainwater eventually seeps into the seams during the night, and there is no canopy to protect you if that happens as the rain comes down in tiny drips, unless you want to sleep with your raincoat on, as I did on three occasions. I would double-seal it from the outside as well as the inside, a messy undertaking, but you need it for insurance and peace of mind.
Camp site selection is crucial. Filipino backpackers usually have to make do with assigned camp sites, which limits both space and choice, but the rule of the thumb is to avoid depressions where water would pool in case of rain. Remember you don't have the insurance of a batthub tent floor either -- it's just your tarp between you and the ground. Avoid flat, hard bare ground as well as it would be unable to hold water, so your sleeping quarters would be part of the floodway. The usual advice is to choose raised, slightly convex ground.
The raised opening could bring in cold air, if the pitch is not oriented properly, a problem in some camp sites facing bodies of water as the wind tends to shift at least once in your sleep. When I pitched at the Mount Apo summit I eliminated the opening by pegging it to the ground, pulling it out only to get in or out of the shelter. It was ugly, but it worked. I was not killed by the cold. At the other sites I used found sticks, and borrowed a second trekking pole once, to form a door. Other than the soft sand at Subic, where two of 10 stakes were pulled up by the strong wind, I think the shelter is storm-worthy.
Avoid touching the inside of the tent wall during ingress and egress, as such a huge shelter provides a lot of acreage for condensation. You could end up with a soaked back without realising it. The water stays harmless and attached to the inside of the roof otherwise. You would only realise the sheer volume of condensation when you pack the thing.
Sleeping without a tent floor will take some getting used to. For my five-day Apo climb I packed insect repellent lotion as insurance against potential leeches at camp sites. Once you get the hang of it of course, the sheer convenience of the reduced weight would increase your enjoyment of your climbs. Where camp sites allow, and where there is need to carry more water and other provisions, this would become my go-to tent.
It is a head-turner, but not for the reasons one might expect. It is huge, it pitches ugly except for the most ideal terrain, and I did choose olive-brown, the shabbiest colour of the lot.
But then it is so light it is just half the weight of the conventional double-wall solo tents in use by a handful of Philippine backpackers who have elected to sleep alone.
Excluding a trekking pole that serves to stand it, the entire shelter weighs just 725 grammes even with my choice of relatively heavy MSR Groundhog Y stakes. A two-person dome tent, the go-to shelter in rain-soaked Philippine mountains, weighs more than three times more. Colleagues who were seeing it for the first time could not believe their eyes on first seeing pitched on camp sites. "Don't tell me you're sleeping under that," was the most common reaction. "Where's the floor," and "Where are the walls" are also among the frequently-asked questions. It has helped me reduce my backpack weight by at least five kilogrammes, by my own estimates, since if your pack load is less you do not need to carry a bigger, heavier backpack.You must ensure it is seam sealed with the silicone gel provided or some other substitute, because rainwater eventually seeps into the seams during the night, and there is no canopy to protect you if that happens as the rain comes down in tiny drips, unless you want to sleep with your raincoat on, as I did on three occasions. I would double-seal it from the outside as well as the inside, a messy undertaking, but you need it for insurance and peace of mind.
Camp site selection is crucial. Filipino backpackers usually have to make do with assigned camp sites, which limits both space and choice, but the rule of the thumb is to avoid depressions where water would pool in case of rain. Remember you don't have the insurance of a batthub tent floor either -- it's just your tarp between you and the ground. Avoid flat, hard bare ground as well as it would be unable to hold water, so your sleeping quarters would be part of the floodway. The usual advice is to choose raised, slightly convex ground.
The raised opening could bring in cold air, if the pitch is not oriented properly, a problem in some camp sites facing bodies of water as the wind tends to shift at least once in your sleep. When I pitched at the Mount Apo summit I eliminated the opening by pegging it to the ground, pulling it out only to get in or out of the shelter. It was ugly, but it worked. I was not killed by the cold. At the other sites I used found sticks, and borrowed a second trekking pole once, to form a door. Other than the soft sand at Subic, where two of 10 stakes were pulled up by the strong wind, I think the shelter is storm-worthy.
Avoid touching the inside of the tent wall during ingress and egress, as such a huge shelter provides a lot of acreage for condensation. You could end up with a soaked back without realising it. The water stays harmless and attached to the inside of the roof otherwise. You would only realise the sheer volume of condensation when you pack the thing.
Sleeping without a tent floor will take some getting used to. For my five-day Apo climb I packed insect repellent lotion as insurance against potential leeches at camp sites. Once you get the hang of it of course, the sheer convenience of the reduced weight would increase your enjoyment of your climbs. Where camp sites allow, and where there is need to carry more water and other provisions, this would become my go-to tent.
GARMENTS: down jacket, waterproof shell jacket, running shorts, T-shirt, wool socks, slippers, raincoat, 2 stuff sacks, 3 ziploc bags, 2 plastic bags, rubber bands 1.69kgsI could have done with gloves and pants at the summit camp instead of shorts. I was told the temperature dropped to single-digits deep into the night. Down was insufficient so I was grateful I played safe and did not leave the shell home. I could use a lighter one though. And the raincoat tore after four days.
SLEEP SYSTEM: ground sheet, sleeping bag, windshield visor, emergency blanket, chamois, stuff sack, ziploc, plastic bag 0.81kg
The barest minimum between me and the ground, with the visor as the luxury item. The emergency blanket was unused, which was fine as it weighs virtually nothing. I need to patch two holes on the ground sheet. Opting for an industrial-grade one, though heavier, was a good call.
SHELTER: Trailstar, 10 stakes, stuff sack, silicone seam sealer, rubber band 0.755kg
Perfect for rain-free nights, but the floorless, single-wall shaped tarp was potentially catastrophic for wet ones. The ground flooded on the second night, owing to the wrong choice of camp site (flat, hard bare clay), but it taught me how not to panic and to improvise. No leaks on the canopy on the first night of rain, but worryingly big ones on the next one. I washed the mud off at the Kabacan river, and the seam sealing probably washed off as well. Good thing I had the SilNet, though the tube opening gummed up later after some emergency patch-ups. I did not get to pitch the tent hanging from a tree branch, instead of standing it on a trekking pole. I managed to pitch it in two configurations -- with one panel as the opening, and with a raised corner as the entrance. A lot depends on the camp layout.
Now I have to seam seal the thing again. I wonder if it's worth the effort, since my solo double-wall tent is just too tempting, with just a 700g weight penalty. But with pack loads coming down there is also that tantalising prospect of bringing BOTH (!!) shelters.
ESSENTIALS: lunch box, spork, 5 tissue packs, kernmantle, 15 pills, 2 eye drops, headlamp, 3 batteries, 5 band aid, Off lotion, toothbrush, toothpaste, duct tape, cloth wipe 0.435kg
The bug lotion was unused, and I had one toothpaste sachet too many. The lunch box cover was a passenger too, perhaps I should revert to my the titanium mug and use plastic bags for packed lunches. I used the rope only once -- the shelter was so big it was easier to just hang wet stuff on shrubs underneath it.
STOVE: MSR Whisperlite, stuff sack 0.36kg
I forgot to buy a lighter on getting off the plane in Davao, so we had to borrow from other groups when Alman's failed.
PACK: day pack, 2 bin liners, rubber bands 1.5kgs
Deuter Act Trail 32 for nearly a week out in the wilds. Take a bow, because you'd have to give way to a sub-1kilogramme pack eventually.
FOOD: group meals, 8 granola bars, 1 tin Spanish sardines 2.575kgTwo granola bars too many, and I only forced myself to eat the sardines -- emergency food -- so I would not have to bring it down the mountain again. There was an extra tetra pack of uneaten vegetarian meal as well, from the group load.
WATER: 2litres, 3 containers 2.3kgs
When the pack load dwindled I also started carrying three litres of trail water, which is my real comfort zone, not two. Next time I will use Platypus, a lot lighter than plastic bottles.
FUEL: 1.2litres lighter fluid, 2 fuel bottles 1.7kgs
About 300 millilitres too much, even accounting for a possible extra day on the trail. It would have been nice to have a small fuel bottle instead of the medium.
ITEMS WORN OR CARRIED: hat, distance glasses, arm sleeves, gloves, shirt, compression shorts, trek pants, socks, shoes, trekking pole, camera, phone, sport case, money, ID, keys, knife, bandanna
Phone was worthless, sans a signal, and the bandanna was a passenger. An extra camera battery would have been more useful. The boots are now painful to wear because of tearing above the heel. I thought I'd lost one glove hand so I ditched the other in Digos, but I found the missing one inside the pack when I got home. Otherwise I did not lose any item during the climb.
A day after reaching the endpoint of one of Mount Apo's toughest traverse trails, I found myself sprinting down the length of Perea in a race with the roving Makati tow trucks to the timed curbside parking slots. It helps to be fit, but I would rather not do it again on swollen calves and ankles.
I'd gone to a clinic nearby for an X-ray scan with a feared broken little finger. The irony was that I sustained the painful injury at the shower stall, back at the Davao washup, slipping and falling as I scrubbed away five days' worth of mud, caked blood from scratches, and dried sweat.
The doctor just had time to verbally deliver the results and prescriptions -- "Negative, there's no break. Cold compress" -- as I scooted out of her office.
To give an idea of its intensity, the trail tore both legs off Kathy's trekking pants. But the climb itself was relatively incident-free: no major injuries or nasty surprises at numerous river crossings, no members of the party to stretcher out of the trail for medical emergencies, and with a minimum of night treks on a 48-kilometre route that took us from Davao City's Calinan district through Magpet in Cotabato on the way to the summit, then down to Santa Cruz and Digos on the Davao del Sur side.
For half our party, it was a sensory overload of the 64,000 hectare national park, from vast orchards that had taken the place of Apo's lower woodlands, through the gloom of endless mossy forests that rose out from dark swamps, and finally to the the splendour of its main peak, featuring a lake, grasslands with biting winds, and scrub forests dwarfed by the first-timers' new tents.
For the first four days, I stayed mostly at or near the rear of a unit led by Joyce, an amazingly tough kid who was essentially blind for nearly the entire expedition after she lost her glasses on the first day. Twice I had to pull her up as she fell off trail and was left hanging on the edge of cliffs. Our grupetto also included Alan, the nurse Kathy, a big student with disintegrating trek shoes called Emerson, and Leithon. Out in front the group adviser Alman led its two pack mules, Jerry and James in search of prime spots for camp sites.
Day One was a depressing tour of communities trapped in thousands of acres of Cavendish banana plantations, broken only for me by the sight of glossy starlings nesting on the cowl of a street lamp at the trail head. There is something disheartening about stripping off the cover of one of the world's most biologically diverse forest ecosystems. It lays bare the poverty of a people seemingly destined for the rest of their lives to ... tally me banana, as Belafonte sang it. Fruits that fail to meet the standards of size, colour, or shape are chopped into bits and left to dry on the roadside for hog feed. At the first camp site, a community called Utan, the people replaced the trees with a species of tall reed that they grow to make brooms to sell, to generate cash to augment their crop produce.
Not surprisingly, one of the communities we passed before reaching the trail head is called the "Garden of Eden", led by one of those messianic types who gain political power by attracting the downtrodden, unschooled masses to his fold.
For our first-time visitors, I would imagine their main concern would have been trail survival, and a feeling of dread at having to face the unknown. Few from my group were whipping out their cameras until we reached Venado lake, halfway into Day Four. By that time mine was nearly drained. The fact that many had to endure night treks on the first two days did not help, particularly on Day Two, where, after completing a 16km slog through an obstacle course of rivers, creeks, swamps and logs, our Dallag camp was hit by a prolonged downpour even before the last two groups to arrive could pitch their tents and cook dinner. Several tents got flooded, and I had to use the chamois myself to mop up the top of the thin tarp separating me from the ground.
I prepared for the climb's expected rigours by severely gutting my pack load. Once we dumped book donations at the mountain hamlet of Sicao, at the edge of the banana farms, I was carrying only about 11 kilogrammes or so. Reviewing my written accounts of previous visits to this mountain over the past four years, I was horrified to learn that I had carried 20kgs during my first, in 2008. I am sure I would be able to trim my load further to under 10kg next time.
Day Three was a short and pleasant stroll as we finally began some serious ascents before spending the night at a wooded valley called Basingon, our only forest camp site during the trip. We finished rather early, and after helping James fetch water from a spring that yielded the precious resource in drips and dribbles, I got to explore the surrounding thickets. I was delighted that Gabo, the leader of the group of Davao-based climbers who acted as our guides, still remembered me from my previous visits. I likewise discovered, thankfully before dusk arrived, that the camp was surrounded by spring-loaded boar traps. I always carried a knife, but I imagined trying to free myself from one would not be a pleasant task.
At Venado on Day Four we flushed a wagtail as we circled the lake to get to the summit, about three hours away. We were supposed to rendezvous with a smaller contingent from my club at lunch before going up together, but by the time my unit arrived it was past noon and they had gone ahead. Locals had erected stalls made of reed on the water's edge to hawk instant noodles, soda, instant coffee, cigarets, boiled eggs, and even packets of rice, as if it were a provincial bus stop. As we were about 600 grammes short we took the opportunity to replenish our cereal supplies, and I actually enjoyed a coffee.
The section between Venado and the summit, I realised, is one of the busiest corridors of the Apo trail. It was as if cattle and horses were being driven up and down the muddy path on a daily basis. On the way up we met about half a dozen groups, some using barefoot porters to haul their packs and thrash down after spending the night at the mountaintop. One guy actually asked how old I was, and one group asked to have their pictures taken with us. There was mutual respect and admiration in the banter. We both knew only a tiny segment of the population are equipped, or would take the trouble, to engage in what we do for fun. About halfway up though the temperature dropped further as rain fell. Kathy switched on her afterburners and left the rest of the group behind. But as one member of our unit began to stall, I decided to hang back on a self-appointed mission to bring this colleague to the summit and safety before dark.
Using threats, browbeating and some carrots, we did just that just before 5pm. The cold does something to you, slowing your thinking, your reflexes, and your willpower, which could be dangerous when exposed and in the dark.
Forty-one new members were inducted to the club before midnight, by which time the skies had cleared, leaving us to deal with the cold wind. Not wishing a repeat of my short-term misery on the second night, I went to pitch my tarp amongst a clump of scrub and reeds near the east peak, well away from the soft moss-carpeted mud floor where the rest of the party was camped.
On the last day Alman told the rest of our unit's new members they were now on their own as five of us flew down the boulder field, overtaking all other groups that had left the camp ahead of us. We were to put pressure, according to him, on Niel, the team leader who was laying trail signs in front with Alvin the trail master. Four of us caught up with them just before the treeline. And even though we followed the wrong trail towards the end after an hour-long lunch stop, just after 2pm we were at Tumpis, the first of three communities to be passed before vegetable trucks picked up the entire party at Baruring, about 14K from the summit.
I'd gone to a clinic nearby for an X-ray scan with a feared broken little finger. The irony was that I sustained the painful injury at the shower stall, back at the Davao washup, slipping and falling as I scrubbed away five days' worth of mud, caked blood from scratches, and dried sweat.
The doctor just had time to verbally deliver the results and prescriptions -- "Negative, there's no break. Cold compress" -- as I scooted out of her office.To give an idea of its intensity, the trail tore both legs off Kathy's trekking pants. But the climb itself was relatively incident-free: no major injuries or nasty surprises at numerous river crossings, no members of the party to stretcher out of the trail for medical emergencies, and with a minimum of night treks on a 48-kilometre route that took us from Davao City's Calinan district through Magpet in Cotabato on the way to the summit, then down to Santa Cruz and Digos on the Davao del Sur side.
For half our party, it was a sensory overload of the 64,000 hectare national park, from vast orchards that had taken the place of Apo's lower woodlands, through the gloom of endless mossy forests that rose out from dark swamps, and finally to the the splendour of its main peak, featuring a lake, grasslands with biting winds, and scrub forests dwarfed by the first-timers' new tents.
For the first four days, I stayed mostly at or near the rear of a unit led by Joyce, an amazingly tough kid who was essentially blind for nearly the entire expedition after she lost her glasses on the first day. Twice I had to pull her up as she fell off trail and was left hanging on the edge of cliffs. Our grupetto also included Alan, the nurse Kathy, a big student with disintegrating trek shoes called Emerson, and Leithon. Out in front the group adviser Alman led its two pack mules, Jerry and James in search of prime spots for camp sites.
Day One was a depressing tour of communities trapped in thousands of acres of Cavendish banana plantations, broken only for me by the sight of glossy starlings nesting on the cowl of a street lamp at the trail head. There is something disheartening about stripping off the cover of one of the world's most biologically diverse forest ecosystems. It lays bare the poverty of a people seemingly destined for the rest of their lives to ... tally me banana, as Belafonte sang it. Fruits that fail to meet the standards of size, colour, or shape are chopped into bits and left to dry on the roadside for hog feed. At the first camp site, a community called Utan, the people replaced the trees with a species of tall reed that they grow to make brooms to sell, to generate cash to augment their crop produce.
Not surprisingly, one of the communities we passed before reaching the trail head is called the "Garden of Eden", led by one of those messianic types who gain political power by attracting the downtrodden, unschooled masses to his fold.For our first-time visitors, I would imagine their main concern would have been trail survival, and a feeling of dread at having to face the unknown. Few from my group were whipping out their cameras until we reached Venado lake, halfway into Day Four. By that time mine was nearly drained. The fact that many had to endure night treks on the first two days did not help, particularly on Day Two, where, after completing a 16km slog through an obstacle course of rivers, creeks, swamps and logs, our Dallag camp was hit by a prolonged downpour even before the last two groups to arrive could pitch their tents and cook dinner. Several tents got flooded, and I had to use the chamois myself to mop up the top of the thin tarp separating me from the ground.
I prepared for the climb's expected rigours by severely gutting my pack load. Once we dumped book donations at the mountain hamlet of Sicao, at the edge of the banana farms, I was carrying only about 11 kilogrammes or so. Reviewing my written accounts of previous visits to this mountain over the past four years, I was horrified to learn that I had carried 20kgs during my first, in 2008. I am sure I would be able to trim my load further to under 10kg next time.
Day Three was a short and pleasant stroll as we finally began some serious ascents before spending the night at a wooded valley called Basingon, our only forest camp site during the trip. We finished rather early, and after helping James fetch water from a spring that yielded the precious resource in drips and dribbles, I got to explore the surrounding thickets. I was delighted that Gabo, the leader of the group of Davao-based climbers who acted as our guides, still remembered me from my previous visits. I likewise discovered, thankfully before dusk arrived, that the camp was surrounded by spring-loaded boar traps. I always carried a knife, but I imagined trying to free myself from one would not be a pleasant task.
At Venado on Day Four we flushed a wagtail as we circled the lake to get to the summit, about three hours away. We were supposed to rendezvous with a smaller contingent from my club at lunch before going up together, but by the time my unit arrived it was past noon and they had gone ahead. Locals had erected stalls made of reed on the water's edge to hawk instant noodles, soda, instant coffee, cigarets, boiled eggs, and even packets of rice, as if it were a provincial bus stop. As we were about 600 grammes short we took the opportunity to replenish our cereal supplies, and I actually enjoyed a coffee.
The section between Venado and the summit, I realised, is one of the busiest corridors of the Apo trail. It was as if cattle and horses were being driven up and down the muddy path on a daily basis. On the way up we met about half a dozen groups, some using barefoot porters to haul their packs and thrash down after spending the night at the mountaintop. One guy actually asked how old I was, and one group asked to have their pictures taken with us. There was mutual respect and admiration in the banter. We both knew only a tiny segment of the population are equipped, or would take the trouble, to engage in what we do for fun. About halfway up though the temperature dropped further as rain fell. Kathy switched on her afterburners and left the rest of the group behind. But as one member of our unit began to stall, I decided to hang back on a self-appointed mission to bring this colleague to the summit and safety before dark.
Using threats, browbeating and some carrots, we did just that just before 5pm. The cold does something to you, slowing your thinking, your reflexes, and your willpower, which could be dangerous when exposed and in the dark.Forty-one new members were inducted to the club before midnight, by which time the skies had cleared, leaving us to deal with the cold wind. Not wishing a repeat of my short-term misery on the second night, I went to pitch my tarp amongst a clump of scrub and reeds near the east peak, well away from the soft moss-carpeted mud floor where the rest of the party was camped.
On the last day Alman told the rest of our unit's new members they were now on their own as five of us flew down the boulder field, overtaking all other groups that had left the camp ahead of us. We were to put pressure, according to him, on Niel, the team leader who was laying trail signs in front with Alvin the trail master. Four of us caught up with them just before the treeline. And even though we followed the wrong trail towards the end after an hour-long lunch stop, just after 2pm we were at Tumpis, the first of three communities to be passed before vegetable trucks picked up the entire party at Baruring, about 14K from the summit.
Of the two, the 32-litre pack is the more obvious jaw-dropper. I have yet to meet a person who had used a smaller than 45L rucksack for a traverse hike that includes the country's tallest mountain (this one also takes in a second mountain for size), unless they used porters for their supplies. One colleague who actually took the trouble to weigh his gear for this climb came up with 16 kilogrammes, nearly four more than what I plan to carry.
Alman, who takes more than 17kgs on three-day climbs, jokingly asked if I packed a knife so I could gather edible leaves on the trail and live off the land.Using such as a small pack is only possible once you have taken the deliberate decision to gut its contents. That can be done in either of two ways: making do without some items that you had previously considered as essentials, replacing them with lighter, less bulky versions, or removing superfluous components, like pack covers.
I had used this same pack for my past three climbs, two long overnighters and a three-day outing, all at the height of the country's wet season. It served the purpose well. I now intend to prove that it would be able to carry five days' worth of supplies and essentials as well.
I have approached ultralight backpacking gradually, because this would be the only way for me to afford it. I began by scouring builders' shops to snag cheap gems like disposable raincoats, thinner tarps, and car windshield visors for sleeping pads. I switched to running kits for camp clothes, then plumped for solo tents. I am still using some relatively heavy equipment that I call legacy items -- the full-feature though smaller backpack, the white-gas stove and fuel bottles, the heavy shell and relatively heavy groundsheet, full-size headlamp, and conventional cooking. I always climb with a group that considers hot meals a de rigueur after all, so there are built-in limitations. I still cannot find the will to wean myself off the full ankle protection afforded by heavy, high-cut, water-proof trekking boots.
There are also what you'd call transitional equipment. I have changed from a fleece to a down mid-layer clothing, but it remains an intermediate-weight variety. I use stuff sacks of the traditional kind, though I have halved the number I put in my pack. I still use Tupperware to eat in, though I chose the lightest one, because I find the cover useful for our customary packed lunches. I use simple, light flip-flops now and not truck-tyre heavy variations. I use mineral water bottles, instead of hard plastics, though I would like to get lightweight water bladders sometime.
Then there are items in which I went the whole hog light -- principally the single-wall, floor-less, pole-less tarp for a tent, fill-free mummy bag, toothpaste sachets instead of small tubes, and not packing extra batteries for my headlamp. As the load becomes progressively lighter, even more items can be dispensed with. This truism is counter-intuitive, but even then, I am barely there. At 12.167kg total I am merely on the outer borders of plain light.
It may well be that the radical shelter would leak, get blown off by high winds or invaded by running water, leaving me with soaking wet clothes and gear and hypothermia. At least I would have served as a useful guinea pig for the Type IV weather/climate prevailing in that region. And if I come out of this unscathed, why then I would be ready to take the next step, which is to bring the total pack weight below 10kg and finally call myself a true ultralighter. If we were to repeat my club's epic 1998 Aguinaldo Trail climb from eastern Pangasinan to Palanan, Isabela, this would be the proper way to do it.
And so the Therm-a-Rest Prolite Plus and the Deuter Dreamlite (zipper opens left) will go to the auction block, destined for climb colleagues who, it is hoped, will put them to more productive use.
I can actually count by the fingers of one hand the number of times I had used either on a mountaintop, even during the time that I was hauling a huge pack fit for multi-day climb sorties.
As I make the deliberate switch to lighter equipment, the two items' combined weight of 1.35 kilogrammes in their stuff sacks can no longer justify their place in my current day pack, which already weighs about as much. In their place I have been using a synthetic down-free, locally made mummy bag that weighs just over 400g in its stuff sack, plus a 50g emergency blanket to deal with a wet tent floor. Even a 190g car windshield visor that I had been using in the Therm-a-Rest's place has been ditched. It has been proven that I can sleep soundly without any padding between my back and mother earth.In fact, I am getting my mind conditioned to being without a tent floor and an insurance second canopy for a switch to a floor-free, single-wall shaped tarp shelter. To this end I am applying a new silicone solution coating to the tarp, which had worryingly leaked the first time I used it outdoors. Including a groundsheet the full shelter plus sleeping equipment weight should add up to under 1.5 kilos. I will keep the other tents for now though, in case it does not work out.
I bought the Mountain Laurel Designs TrailStar -- the five-sided tarp weighs less than 500 grammes excluding guylines and stakes -- in my obsession to cut my full pack load to less than 10 kilos. As I had not seen anything like it at camp sites anywhere in the Philippines I suspect I am the first owner of the thing here. The attractions are obvious: doing away with the poles and the inside canopy, the heaviest parts of a traditional dome tent, and with the back-to-nature lure of just a thin groundsheet between you and the ground, or, in this case, fine sand.
The mini storm uprooted two of the 10 stakes, a mix of 6.5-inch MSR groundhogs and Big Agnes V stakes, toppled the thin pole that held up its opening, and pushed the main trekking pole in the middle into a leaning tower of Pisa configuration that required improvised emergency re-pegging and tightening of the guylines from under the shelter.
That part I did not mind, as it stood on loose sand and I had not bothered to reinforce the centre pole. Emergency situations however mean you don't get to wear and turn on your head lamp to see what the hell is happening. Instincts take over as you grab and uproot the trek pole and jab the tip back onto the ground in the dark. Well, my first two attempts pierced the ground sheet, but the pole was restored at the third try. The lone casualty is a cheap Chinese tarp that can be easily replaced.
What I had not bargained for was that the shelter leaked! I had seam-sealed it with a silicone gel that had been thinned with turpentine, as the experts have advised, immediately after it was pitched at dusk. The seal looked impeccable when I rinsed it at home later. But there were two spots where the silicone did not work -- one at the stitchings of the Dyneema-reinforced apex where the trekking pole handle rests, and at one of the gear-hanging points about midway up the seams. As it was raining hard outside I did not bother re-sealing the stitches and instead wore my raincoat over my clothes, placed the backpack on top of the camera bag, and went back to sleep. This is unconventional backpacking, folks.
I had gone to Subic to try and hit several birds with one stone -- bird photography of course, pitch, seam-seal and field-test the TrailStar, and get cheap holiday accommodations, in that order. Some of the trainees' conventional tents flooded during the night and they had to move them, so we were in the same boat. I winced when one of them dragged a soiled fly and tent poles to the water's edge and proceeded to wash them. Oli, who has actually more tents than Alman, declared: "I refuse to look."So is the new shelter worth it? Well, I'll give the seams a fresh coat of silicone when the tent dries up and do it all over again. I'm not sure if I had made a hash of the first coating, or it was just that it did not have enough time to dry before the rain came down. The ideal is to let it stand for one day and not to carry a tube of sealant in your pack. Comfort-wise, it would take a big adjustment to leave the reassuring certainty of the stand-alone dome canopy and bathtub floor. I will probably use it for climbs with large, partly sheltered camp sites. The tent is huge, and I would not make many friends if I tried to pitch that in, say, the summit of Amuyao, Napulauan or Kitanglad.
As I stopped to catch my breath beneath the two Benguet pines marking the summit, I assessed the damage to the expensive technical shirt that I had agreed to wear for this climb. My trek pants were soaking wet from the dew, but the red dri-fit tee survived my early morning solo bushwhack with just some fraying at the stylised seams in front. I had elbowed my way through some tall shrubs in panic when I lost the trail that ran crazily close to the precipice.
My club's latest three-day swing through Mount Tagpew and four other nearby mountains of Benguet was a training activity, and we did not see any need to pitch camp at the circuit's highest point, preferring a saddle about 30 minutes-hike away. When I made a last-minute decision the morning after to make a summit push however, It was break-camp time and no-one was interested to join me.
The peak rises to 2,105 metres above sea level, but there are actually vegetable plots below a strip of vestigial forest maybe not more than 300 metres down. The proximity of the cultivated farms drove home, at least to me, the absurdity of the carrying capacity crowd, a small segment in our sport who would begrudge amateurs like us the once-a-year, or more likely once-in-a-lifetime, opportunity, to climb mountains in groups larger than a dozen. It's a long-running discussion I've been having with people I've never actually met, including some who have posted comments anonymously on this site. This crowd claims that, in theory at least, trek shoes cause soil erosion and human passage disturbs the wildlife.
Maybe they live in another country though, since by picking on a convenient scapegoat, they avoid the big elephant in the room. There are five million families -- 25 million people, a quarter of the Philippine population, according to Environment Secretary Ramon Paje -- who have climbed up the mountains before them and then stayed behind to live there. Kibungan, the remote town where the five mountains are located, is 100 percent mountainous, and yet some 18,000 people call it home. The trails taken by occasional tourists are used on a daily basis by the upland residents, who consider the forest as part of their backyard and harvest its resources, a practice recognised in part by law. They drive herds of 300-kilogramme cows through there, in case the 50kg minimalists failed to notice the cattle gates.
On the descent, the trail looked plain and easy to see, and I returned to the camp site with both arms raised in triumph, in time to take up my assigned role as a middle sweeper for the AMCI climb party. Beng the team leader had decreed that the climb staff be clad in blushing scarlet, and she actually went and bought me a shirt when I tried to weasel my way out of the fashion-police situation.
The Kibungan circuit is one of the most visually pleasing walking trips that I had had the pleasure of joining. This was my second for this destination in three years, but the beauty of it is the abundance of trails that one can choose from, taking you through pine and mossy forests, rivers, rice terraces and vegetable plots, and some of the most breathtaking rock formations this side of the central Cordilleras. Past a long suspension footbridge above the Liangkan river in the remote hamlet of Tacadang, near Kibungan's boundary with Ilocos Sur and La Union, the party ascends beside a massive, grey cliff wall. Seen from the village above, it looks as if some giant hand had poured black tar from the mountaintop and let it drip down a canvas. The rampant river below is a succession of waterfalls, sculpting the base rock as it flows down to the Amburayan river.
The thing about these walls is that they are never bare. From up close one would see tiny, near-microscopic flowers in full bloom. They are the ones that catch your attention as you scramble down a scary cliff face without rope or any other climbing aid on the flank of Mount Lamagan. I hope the trainee Lira got a good frame on particularly striking one with three pale pink petals, as my camera battery and card memory were exhausted on the first day in my zeal to document the climb in video. Bring a portable charger next time, was the advice of some of my younger climbing friends, so I went out and bought a 32-gigabyte card for next time. I saw some great frames from Joyce and one other trainee, although like most of us amateurs, other climb participants tend to waste the fantastic opportunity by taking hundreds of pictures of themselves in firing-squad poses.
In a climb full of highlight-reel material, I did not get a frame nor clip on Bulalakaw, a treeless peak sandwiched between Tagpew and 1,875masl Mount Ooten, flat and perfect for taking postcard pictures and offering 360-degree views for the more intrepid tourists who would dare go up that far. I consoled myself watching striated swallows, beautiful birds with red-orange rumps, zipping past to catch insects on the wing. Glossy swiftlets were also in abundance throughout the climb, as were pied bushchats singing on the grass. I saw what looked like a green pigeon in flight on the descent from Tagpew, and it might even have been a lifer for me, but I did not have binoculars to check which variety.
I had stuck to my commitment to use a day pack with a total load of not more than 12 kilogrammes, and was ready to use its cellophane waterproofing as sleeping pad when the tent floor was soaked while I pitched it in the rain at the Lamagan camp site. As the rest of the climb staff had occupied the climb guides' quarters at the waiting shed, Zar lent me his tarp and we both had dry beds and a comfortable sleep. Lamagan's leeches were true to their name, however. A dozen bites later, Bugsy asked me if I would still follow through on my pledge to further reduce my pack weight by switching to a floorless tarp shelter. Well, maybe not on this mountain in the rainy season.
Mountain goatherd and his flock. Photo by Katrina Constantino, AMCI 2k11
Serving with the climb staff was a new experience for me. Unlike with trainees who may only be on their first or second climbs and may struggle to find the trail or lose their wits after getting bit by bloodsucking leeches, here you work with veterans like Alvin, the trail master who knows these parts like the palm of his hand. Everything is like clockwork, and there are no issues to brutally thrash out at the post-climb meeting, of the sort we heard from an excellent one in the jeepney ride back to Baguio with Alman's group. Alvin is the point, sets up the parawing and cooks the rice; Danna lays trail signs and bosses the kitchen; while the three full sweepers, Bernie, Zar and Bugsy clean up after everyone else. That left me to do the idiot-proof stuff like fixing or adding trail signs, fetching water from the spring and flipping sliced eggplant and turkey ham on the frying pan. From my past performance, the camp keeper does not trust me with the kitchen knife, even after I argued quite logically that the shape of the slices won't affect the taste. Nothing doing, the mushroom bits that did not make the cut went into the goulash soup.
I don't think I have the patience nor the inclination to serve at the rear, which involves, for a start, carrying double the water and food loads of a normal climber to feed, assist or rescue injured or weaker members of the team. To sweep is to serve, the AMCI sweeper team's motto, puts Henry Sy's into the shade, but my old 32-litre Deuter and 26-inch wide tent floor would have been the wrong equipment. On the other hand, I don't think I can climb fast enough to stay with the team's spearhead. So I think mid-sweep was the perfect spot for me. That way I got to know many of the trainees and the newer members. I saw some seriously strong climbers in this training batch, not the least Thet, who set a relentless pace for me at the final ascent and who reminded me of our triathlete member Mercy Go. I also met Nadine from the European Chamber, who would be a candidate to become the first ever German member of AMCI I think. I made the day pack useful by volunteering to carry the heaviest compact group loads, like stove, fuel and tinned food and by generally making do with less -- or without -- items considered as AMCI must-haves. My camp clothes produced more genuine entertainment than any skit the trainees could dream up at the camp socials. But I was pleased with the interest shown by a number of club trainees and members alike, like Jojo, Dong and Oliver, on how to go about going ultralight. Try using a tent stake to dig catholes. Maybe we have the beginnings of a gear revolution at full-service AMCI, and it would be a revolution indeed. For this trip alone,the climb staff brought four stoves for six people, even though Beng and assistant team leader Jason elected to stay with separate trainee groups.
I made a poor job of it though. On the first day I spent most of the climb properly with Jay's and Red's groups, third and fourth in the order. But the rest of the way I ended up racing the groups near the front to complete the day's hike with Ging's group out in front.
With blasts from a bulb horn for company, we sent the club apprentices one by one down the void of a steep mountainside. Lengths of rope coiled and slithered around tree trunks down the dim half-light of the cliff, but since there were no harnesses our basic mountaineering course participants essentially put their lives in their own hands. They descended at intervals of five metres, alert for falling rocks dislodged by climbers following them -- all with the potential for crushing skulls. The reward for a successful descent was a shower beneath the curtain of a waterfall below.
The noisemaker is part of the idiosyncratic climbing gear of Bossing, securities analyst Loven on weekdays, who carries one of the most humongous backpacks in AMCI. Club lore also has it that our former president, who sleeps alone in a three-person tent, can bring rain onto any Philippine mountain just by being part of any climb.
Hair-raising descents stood out for me during my latest visit to the Mariveles mountain range, the giant sentry at the mouth of Manila Bay. The range has a number of headline peaks -- Bataan, Vintana, Pantingan, but I have never reached the top of any of them. Instead, each of my four trips had been unique explorations of the thickly forested ridges that run down to within a few kilometres of the bay mouth. Tarak Ridge is the most well-known, but that part is just a tiny segment of the much longer AMCI trail. When we reached Tarak we did not even stop to drink in the atmosphere. Instead we hiked on up through the small bonsai forest of the subsidiary peak for a repeat of the training descents, this time down the howling white emptiness of the Japanese Garden, a desolate mountain face featuring bleached rocks and leafless trees regularly whipped by fog-laden, gale-force winds. This is only the second training climb of the current batch of apprentices at AMCI, but is probably the most important one they will ever make, since they will sink or swim by how well they handle its technical nature. It's a wimp-killer of a trail, and those who finish it usually go on to become proud members of the club.
The two-day trek starts before dawn from the highway to a community-based forest management project in Alas-asin, where an old swidden farm had been replanted with eucalyptus. We leave the old trail there and take a parallel one to the right that ends in the hut of a slash-and-burn farmer. Then it's up a steep-sided, brush- and cogongrass-covered hillside to rejoin the old trail just below the forest line, better known to non-herders as the cattle gate. By the time the tailend of our climb column reached Papaya River it was midday, though first-time visitors are wont to splash into the whitewater pools first before tucking into lunch.Instead of turning left toward Tarak Ridge we crossed the river to climb the opposite ridge, pitching camp in early afternoon.
With few other groups using these other trails, our exploration team has taken to arbitrarily naming their main features after themselves, their mothers, and perhaps their dogs, in ways that may sound presumptuous to non-members. Thus the camp site ridge is SkySam, the descent into Papaya is called Nat's Landing, the Papaya waterfall is called SCAJ, and so on.
For this expedition I was assigned at the rear of one of the seven small teams, so I was unable to trek at normal pace. The trainee Oliver and I alternated shepherding Michael, who had only been on a mountaintop once before, this being last month. The reward was gaining time to take pictures as well as raw video, and to really appreciate the beauty of nature.
The sound of onrushing water drowns out everything else at the narrow valley bottoms, while on the ridge tops you only hear the rustle of leaves, your footfalls, and occasionally a dead tree crashing to the ground. Rain alternated with bursts of sunshine to create a colourful light display of dead leaves and twigs, dappled tree trunks and moss-backed rocks, and the occasional tree frog and mushrooms. Although homesteading is rapidly stripping the forests off the more accessible flanks, Mariveles remains the home of giants. I lingered around a gum tree, with thin lengths of twisted bark peeling off from its massive trunk.
The second day was an 18-hour slog. We descended abruptly to the headwaters of the Papaya and linked up with the Tarak trail where we met two couples doing the traditional route. From the ridge we pushed on to the tiny sliver of montane forest before going down to the other side to trek down the more powerful Paniquian River, another potentially life-threatening segment that took about an hour to complete and ended at nightfall. In the dark it took us another five hours to double back to the highway.
But who's complaining? The climb staff, responsible for laying out the itinerary, hit the shower stalls at 10pm. Our BMC recruits come in all shapes and sizes, and their bodies would cry out in surrender after running four rounds of an Olympic track oval. But the human body is truly remarkable. Deep into the four-month course their strengh and endurance dramatically improve. Muscles eventually get tired, but after that, the miraculous thing is that they go on autopilot, mind over matter, willing themselves to perform beyond exhaustion.
The long night trek proved to me that a relatively cheap Petzl Tikkina2 head torch adequately does the job at its full mode of 23 lumens. I lent my Tikka2, which has nearly double the illumination, to Jay, who spent a second night out there with our batchmate TJ and two other members at the rear of the climb column while bringing an injured female climber safely down the mountain. My own 2006 training batch is carving a name for itself as specialist sweepers.
Last weekend's sortie was a watershed for the club. For the first time ever I believe, we assigned women to lead the teams on a major technical climb. Tina, Tessa, Lyka, and my own team leader Danna proved that they can hold their own alongside the men.
My father had always been good at mechanical things. He loved taking machines apart and revelled in putting them back together again. Part of our responsibilities growing up as boys in his household was to be always on hand to fetch the wrench, the pliers, the steel saw, the mallet, and the sandpaper -- all things that are required in the effort of making a machine function properly. When he was younger he drove lorries -- semis, container trucks, flatbed trucks, or whatever else you called them, and also buses and other big and complicated things. It was ironic that his life would be snuffed out by a mere tractor. I say "mere" tractor to put things in perspective. When I saw the culprit in his barn later on, a strip of his torn dungarees was still embedded along with pieces of dried clod and weeds at the base of the mechanical tiller's spinning claws -- large, scythe-shaped metal blades that turn fallow earth into life-giving soil.
Few people can list growing things for a hobby. Mine are mountain-climbing and bird-watching and some very amateurish photography. But my old man was one of those few. He went into farming on the day he retired. It was an exceptionally challenging activity in a particularly dry part of the country that is better known for its sand dunes and wind farms. In some bad years not enough rain comes. So many other neighbours had simply given up, taken up other pursuits, or simply left. Most years in the past 14, I suspect, he farmed at a loss or at best, barely broke even. It was as if he took perverse pleasure in getting things to grow, against all odds. If you bought all your food from the grocer's or the fast-food take-out counter his is an alien world.
We found a bamboo cross with his old straw hat stuck on top when I took his granddaughter and his dogs to the place where it happened. The earth was neatly raked on all four sides of the dry plot, There were two shallow depressions and dark stains, apparently of motor oil, on the paddy below it. Two of the Labradors trampled on the tiny green rice seedlings that were growing on a nearby plot, waiting for the paddies to be flooded with rainwater for transplanting. That surely would have earned them a tongue-lashing, had their master been alive still. We brought him a bowl of steamed sticky rice and a bottle of rum on an improvised bamboo basket, then had to run, chased home by a sudden thunderstorm. Normally, it would have been an auspicious sign, the start of the wet season for growing things.
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