Another mountain climber is struck with Pulag's dropdead charms.

Pulag

by Toby Martin, The Daily Tribune, 18 December 2001, p. 20

The best things about travel for me, specially of the outdoors kind, is not how much the trip meets my expectations but rather how much it defies them.

Thursday morning, the 29th of November, I, along with four other members of my team were on a bus to the town of Kabayan, Benguet in the foothills of Mt. Pulag, Luzon’s highest point, the Philippines’ second. The roadtrip is reminiscent of the Baguio-Sagada one to those of you who’ve braved it. Soon, but not soon enough, the trailhead came up, clearly marked with a sign saying "Mt. Pulag National Park, Akiki Trail" but it didn’t include the moniker this trail was given: Killer Akiki. This is where the expectations began to be defied. The first leg of our trek deposited us at the bank of the Eddet River near a wire bridge over small rapids. That night was the night before a full moon and its brightness made ihe white water of the rapids glisten in the dark.

You could actually see the water cascading down with your bare eyes. When dawn broke and the sun finally rose, the multicolored scene that replaced the black and white one was equally pretty: The green grass and gray rocks and blue (!) water were the perfect scene to start our actual trek to the summit.

The next leg would take us further along the pine tree-lined banks of the Eddet River. It seemed like nature was preening her feathers with all the shades of green and gold and with scents fresh and pure. I was amazed, thinking such scenes were only to be found in the alps or the sierras hut here they were before my very eyes just a days travel out of Manila.

At this point the trail took a steep turn that was hardly felt as the whole group was just awestruck. For the rest of the morning hours we trekked through pine forest with scent of pine so thick you could swear it stuck to your nose and clothes. The first break in the forest was a small vegetable farm and its farmer community that guided us to a trail used primarily with locals. We were apparently way off the regular trail hut not lost and all it took was a shortcut to get us back on our way. But this was only a shortcut in distance it seemed.  Forty-five to sixty degree inclines, disappearing trails and loose soil made it quite a challenge climbing it for three long, arduous hours. Finally at the crest of this trail was a campsite where a couple of mountaineer friends were camped. After trading stories of the harrowing climb and getting info (we didn’t hire a guide) we decided here was too much light left in the day to stop and o we pushed on even at the thought of a possible night trek. We were at the edge of the mossy forest, a damp and dense jungle of trees covered in moss, and inhabited by at least two wild boars, which we spotted on a short rest break. Night came soon after.

Trekking in nothing but the glow of headlamps, in below 10-degree temps and through strange vegetation isn’t exactly a calming task, it turned an uphill battle into a world war for one of our team members causing him to almost pass out from exhaustion. A quick meal prepared in the middle of the forest restored his strength quickly enough for us to reach the nearest decent campsite by 8 p.m. By then the temperature was around six degrees and the wind chill made it feel even colder. Five people crammed in one tent to take advantage of body heat and the thin shelter the tent provided from the wind. Everything we did was to avoid the cold. We cooked at the door from inside the tent, we all hung out inside and drank hot drinks but when the moon came out from behind the clouds there was no keeping us inside the tent. I have never seen a noon so bright that it cast shadows like a daytime sun. Some things you either have to see for yourself or take someone’s word for it. Things like these are worth the seeing.

From our camp the next morning we could see what seemed to us like the peak of the mountain or at the very least something close to it. We were more correct with the latter but not entirely so. It was a few hours walk through grasslands before we would reach our goal. But like the cliche goes, it’s not the destination but getting there that counts and that applies just right in this case. The few hours to the summit was an ascent for most through meadows of dwarf bamboo, an endangered species, I am told, that grows primarily in the Pulag summit grasslands. Again, nature showing off her very finest. These were grasslands that stretched on and on over rolling hills which in turn we trekked on and on and rolled up and down over till the summit.

The summit of any mountain is always the cherry on top of a sundae. The medal for a fight well fought. I’d like to say that it isn’t everything but in the ease of Pulag it is definitely close, I’ve faced tougher climbs whose summits didn’t feel quite like this one. The first thing that strikes you is the visual beauty of it all. All around you are absolutely stunning mountain views of seas of grassland, mystical faraway forests, clouds beneath your feet and clear skies above you. The next thing that you realize is that on our country’s largest island no one stands taller than you. I’m glad I took the killer trail up. It made me feel like I did justice to the beauty and purity I saw.  It made me feel like I deserved to see those things. That I didn’t merely pay a fee to see it made me feel like earned an honest wage paid with more than I had expected.