Maligcong Bontoc | When Baby Carrots Fall

It is said that when you are on the summit of Mt. Kupapey, the most prominent peak in Maligcong Bontoc, according to locals, the rice terraces below would resemble a Butterfly (kupapey means butterfly in their dialect). Another tale suggest that the name was coined by their ancestors many years ago, when there was an abundance of those winged insects in their beloved mountain. On my own accounts, when I first hiked Mt. Kupapey last June(2016), I didn’t see anything to corroborate those stories, but what I did see though, was an incredible feat of Igorot Engineering, doused by a dramatic sunrise through a swirling mixture of fog and clouds, indeed one of the best kept secrets of Mountain Province, capping of what already was a memorable road trip in the Cordilleras.

Chapter 1 | I Know No Igorot

While on a hike along Mt.Tagpaya in Kibungan, I was surprised to see metal handrails along the dangerous parts of the trail just below our campsite, where one misstep would send you on a one way ticket to afterlife. I remember thinking of how thoughtful it was of whoever erected it, concerned of the safety of hikers like us. What I didn’t understand at the time was that those handrails were not made with us in mind, a tourist, who’ll probably use it once on our lone visit to their town. What I didn’t realize was that we were trekking along trails that’s been used by locals for generations, and still being used until today, moving in and out of their communities, for the simplest reasons like buying supplies, going to school, or just mundane day to day errands. We were trekking on a path up in the mountains, leading to someone’s home, someone’s community, experiencing even for just a day, someone’s way of life. I didn’t realize this then, because like most of us, I’ve never lived in the mountains.

I was raised as an URAGON, a Bicolano term for being tough and fearless. Along the coastline of Sorsogon, I spent every waking hours of my childhood after school either playing along the street with Tex, Pogs, or Marbles –depending on what’s uso (popular), searching for spiders for the Spider-Gladiator-Tournaments we do on a barbeque sticks, or just running like a gazelle whenever my mom furiously chases me away from the beach on our baranggay, pinch-dragging me by the ear to finish my school assignments. It became so frequent that I worried my right ear became longer than the other. And because of this insatiable urge to get out of our house, my skin has been torched under the sun until well into puberty that it later became impenetrable to whitening lotions.

Tacadang | Rich in Struggles, Scarce in Complaints

(This is the Second Entry for Tacadang Series. CLICK here for the FIRST one)

Pool of the Gods.
(Photo by Paolo Duran)

Day 2

1:15PM

There is no shortcut to Les-eng. All roads are several kilometres away, in every directions, and through the mercy of steep mountain passes. After 9 and a half hours of trekking that started since yesterday, one last hour of assault is what separates us from the hidden rice terraces of Kibungan.

Last Assault to Les-Eng.

It’s the last hurdle, the Boss level, the essay questions at the back of test papers. Unforgiving . Brutally steep. And equally nasty… But like a long courtship to a most deserving lady – all adversities are totally worth it.

Enroute Biri | The Brave may not Live Forever

I started to shiver even before it started to rain, like I was reacting to a catastrophe that has yet to happen. I scotched to the center of our boat, to the person closest to me, and slowly wore my life vest, prompted partly by the worsening weather, but mostly to add more insulation to my trembling insides. Little did I know, things were about to get worse. A LOT WORSE.

While shredding freshly grilled fish with out bare hands, and sipping warm Tinola soup on plastic cups, on a drizzling Monday morning along the shores of Subic beach, we were faced by a crucial dilemma – HOW TO GO TO BIRI.

Shorelines of Jomalig | A Clash of Character

The symphony of whispering sea breeze, tidal thudding of waves, and singing birds nesting within the confines of the Agoho forest was enough to wake me from my slumber, remembering that I am in Jomalig Island.  I would have also attested remembering a  dream about that folklore, that famed lovestory which gave this island its name, but I would be lying. I didn’t remember what I was dreaming, or if I was dreaming at all. I didn’t even remember much of the events the night before. The truth was, I woke up that Sunday morning with a massive hangover.

Photo of Jerwin de Pedro.

I opened my eyes and looked at the sky, realizing I’m not inside my tent, and was lying in the sand with memories eluding me of how I managed to sleep there.  Later, my friends would let me know that hours ago, at dawn, it rained quite heavily, but I was the only one unable to wake up. My headache was so terrible, that even as we boarded the vessel which would take us to Kanaway Islets, on the other side of the island, I slept facedown on our small boat’s front end, exposed to extreme heat – logic abandoned, resulting to my skin still peeling a week later because of a severe sunburn. We left the expanse of Salibungot sandbar at around 9am, with most of our things being guarded by local kids who volunteered to watch over them.

I submerged myself on water as soon as i woke up to wash my hangover away.
It didn't work...

I knew on hindsight that Jomalig was a big island, but I only fully grasped its enormity on that trip to Kanaway, which took us almost 2 hours to complete. The shore all through out was powdery white, glistening in the mid morning sun, with an array of trees, transitioning from Agoho, to Coconut as we got further and further away from Salibungot, only to be interrupted by pockets of houses, that represent some of it’s sitios.

One of the bangkero even suggested that we stop by at one of the baranggay, which was celebrating it’s fiesta, and join their little festivities, which I surely would have done if I were alone on this trip.

As we approached our destination, an unavoidable comparison of the beach we left, and the one we were staring at, was both striking and a welcome sight, making our trip more stimulating.

Salibungot Beach, which bounces a rich golden spectrum because of its color, is not an exaggeration made by tourists . It's not as powdery as some of the more renowned beaches, but that also implies a still vibrant marine life in its proximity, that sea shells are still constantly being drifted to its shores.

These same shells, are also the reason for its Golden Colour, eventually disintegrating into its sand, that stretches for a kilometer or two, lined by an abundance of Agoho trees reminiscent of Anawangin and Nagsasa coves (Zambales), and in its apex boasts a wide sandbar stretching beyond comprehension.

Photo of Abbey.

The beach was intimidating in its length, and with our nearest neighboring tent a street block away, we were practically isolated out there on our two night stay. The nearest community is so far that when we forgot the Sawsawan for our grilled fish that one of the locals cooked for us, no one was willing to go back and retrieve it.

Photo of Abbey.

If Salibungot is the island’s elegant sister in the family, Kanaway islets on the opposite side, portrayed the rugged little brother, disillusioned to conformity and symmetry, defined by his little hills and countless rock gorges plunging from it’s surrounding waters. 

These protrusions prevented the boat from docking directly on its shores, making a short excursion on a waist-high water a mandatory requirement. With it’s rocky character, every turn while roaming around the islets are worthy of immortalizing in film.

Photo of Abbey.

If you’re an adrenaline junkie, climbing one those hills would have surely satisfied your cravings, and gave you a better pedestal to be astonished by the clear waters governing for miles, slapping on the edges of the island’s formations and rocky terrain. 

With its waters shallow, it was more ideal for swimming than Salibungot, except for the horde of sea urchins seemingly waiting for careless feet to stomp on them.

Having failed to spot snorkeling sites, we decided to head back to Salibungot after our lunch to just relax and watch its famous sunset we unfortunately missed the day before, as an outcome of that excruciating long boat ride. While some of our group decided to stay on our tent to grab a few hours of sleep, most of us made a detour to the nearest community hoping to snag fresh sea foods from local fishermen. But out prayer to dine on lobster that evening was not granted, for the remaining ones they caught that morning was just sent to the Poblacion a few moments before we arrived. Nevertheless, we were able to buy a 5-kilo Blue Fin, half of which went to be grilled, while the other half was served as Sinigang.

The 5-Kilo Blue Fin we bought for 400Php only!!!

As the locals started building fire for our dinner, I returned to the store I was just at last night, where I left one of my Phone, intentionally, to recharge it’s battery. It might sound ridiculous to leave your phone with such carelessness, but unlike in the city, where almost every stranger can be a Mangagantso, decent folks still populate most of the outskirts.

The local kids who guarded our tents.
Photo of Jerwin de Pedro.

Abbey and Josh joined me, and we bought a liter of Beer, poured on a pitcher of ice, while Manang, the store’s owner shared stories of other tourists who visits them. It’s also worth noting that the prices of goods here are not as high as one might think for an island who imports them 5 hours away. The sofdrinks are even cheaper here than in some stores in manila. I just hope that the influx of tourists here, as it will surely soar on the coming years, would not alienate these good natured Jomaligins, like what I’m seeing in some places like Zambales, and Batad, where prices are doubled.

Driven more by practicality rather than a lust for physical strain, we opted to walk all the way back to our campsite in Salibungot, as the milieu of colors flooding the horizon caused by the impeding sunset, highlighted an already glowing shoreline.

And as if the superlatives of how massive Salibungot bay wasn’t enough already, the converging tourist population funneled on its sandbar to witness its fabled sunset never gave a hint of over crowding. There was just plenty of room for everyone.

As night fell, and our bellies were brimming of the Sawsawan-Less dinner that were brought by the kids from the village, we once again resumed a night of debauchery but this time being cautious of our guzzling of alcohol having been reminded of the perils of a hangover. While some of us succumbed to the comfort of their sleeping bags early, most of us remained for a while, lying on the beach outside our tents, passing beer and stories around. On my part, I made every effort to remain awake, marveling at the moonlit scenes, knowing that I will wake up tomorrow with an overwhelming reluctance to leave.