A band of 4x4 monsters came trailing behind us, frolicking in the stream, racing with each other until one of them bogged down in the lahar. Then another. Good thing there were other vehicles to rescue them. "No one gets left behind," seemed to be the motto of the Angeles City 4x4 Wheelers Club. These guys --- professionals and businessmen --- volunteer to chauffer Pinatubo trekkers once a year into this desolately beautiful landscape. As the trek organizers (DOT Region 3) put it, "These well-to-do guys pretend to be drivers for a day."
The wheelers club dropped us off in the middle of something akin to a valley. But instead of solid hills and mountains, huge compacted volcanic ash surrounded us. A strong gust of wind or vibration in the area was enough for the ash to come crashing down on our heads, like a gray avalanche.
We started walking with our local guides among the rocks and endless lahar. Basically, we had to follow the river upstream---it would lead us to the center of the volcano that wreaked havoc in Central Luzon a decade ago.
Is this the way to Mordor?
My boyfriend, Mel, and I were trudging through the soft ash and were criss-crossing the rocky river for an hour when exhaustion swept over me. I was leaning on my bamboo walking staff (necessary instrument in this trek) when I asked our guide how far we had to walk further.
"Malayo pa," he replied. About two more hours.
My heart dropped to my toes when he pointed out the farthest peak. It was a portion of the Pinatubo ridge jutting out among the gray hills. I felt that my legs couldn't carry me further and I was on the verge of blacking out. This must be how Frodo felt during his journey to Mount Doom. The eerie landscape and lonely atmosphere of our road have added to the feeling that I have encountered this scene in Tolkien's books.
The journey seemed endless. The land was lonely but breathtaking (literally), without chirping birds and crawling animals. The signs that the place was not yet dead were the rushing river, gurgling brooks, and grasses struggling to survive on top of the hills of ash above us.
There were occasional pieces of charcoal on our path --- signs of the fiery past this part of the world endured. Our guide, who belonged to the Aeta race of Central Luzon, told us that this area was once a forest where his family once lived. His dark face glistened in the sun as he looked towards the direction of the volcano, "Dati inaakyat namin ang Pinatubo---mas matagal dahil maraming puno," he said wistfully. It seemed like it happened eons ago, not 10 years ago.
Danger lurks
I came too close to a wall of ash to shield myself from the unforgiving sun. But suddenly sand came falling on my head. I looked up --- and saw the wall above me cracking. I was quickly pulled away from the wall for I may end up buried in ash. True enough, the wall collapsed in the afternoon when we were on our way home.
Is there any chance of us getting lost in this gray nothingness? Nope, replied our guide. As long as you have a local guide, you're not going to be running around in circles. "But how about the other trekkers (in the news) who got lost somewhere here in Pinatubo?" we asked. That, our guide told us, was a case of not knowing what they're doing. They didn't have local guides and just arrogantly went out on their own. Plus they went to Pinatubo via Zambales, which was a more dangerous route where the lahar becomes loose and goes cascading down the slopes, said our guide
Beauty and madness
As we got nearer the ridge of the crater, the vegetation slowly crept in. There were signs of what they call in ecology the first succession of living things. The cogon grasses were taller and there were occasional shrubs sprouting along the creek. After a number of years, there will be trees growing again and thus the birth of a forest. But I'm getting ahead of things.
When the trail got narrower and the rocks got bigger (I had to hold on to the rocks to support my aching body), we met fellow trekkers going down and greeted us with the news that we were already near...But I should have known that what they were saying was an underestimation. It was still about 30-45 minutes away. I was dying to gobble my lunch and rest for I was stiff all over.
Beyond the tall cogon grass was --- voila! The crater! It was blue, sometimes green and looked inviting. Other trekkers who attempted to swim the waters said the lake was warm. The peaks (actually they were jagged ridges) all around it were gray---a nice contrast to the emerald waters around. I could not imagine that this serene place was the heart of the fire that caused the loss of livelihood, homes, and lives and yet echoes of its violence were around us, enveloping us. Pinatubo blew its head off, the slopes collapsed, and the rain flooded the crater (to put it simply) and now we have this magnificent view.
Beauty created by madness.
Note: Fees paid by trekkers go to the guides and to funds for community development of villages around slopes of Mt. Pinatubo. For trek information and arrangements, please contact Department of Tourism Region III.
