Induction

Before this weekend, it had been three years since I last stood atop Mt. Pulag. Just being there inspired me to look for a piece I wrote five years ago about experiencing the sunrise there for the first time, and share it on this blog. Since that experience came the morning after my batch’s induction into the Loyola Mountaineers organization, I figured the timing couldn’t be better. Enjoy.

Induction

So this is where it all begins. Three thousand meters above sea level, on the summit of Mt. Pulag.

The gray haze envelops us in a blanket of ice, hiding secrets behind its dense, leaden fog. A breeze lifts stray drops of moisture to my face which cling to my skin and hair, creating the illusion of a thin sheet of frost resting upon my features. The cool mountain air causes me to fold my arms tightly across my chest in forage of warmth, as even layers upon layers of thick clothing aren’t enough to suppress the shivers that run through my body. The clouds swallow us completely, and I lose myself in the wisps of white and gray.

Another breeze blows against my face, stronger this time, getting minute beads of dew into my eyes. I look down quickly, turning my head away from the wind, and rub my eyes with a gloved hand. The glove feels wet and rough against my skin, and I take note of how dirty it is, how old it seems to be. Traces of unwashed soil remain on its frayed edges, and I can see my skin through the tiny holes littered along its palm. I’ve only had it for a few days, but it looks like it’s been with me for years. A simple testament to the rigors of the climb.

The rest of my clothes didn’t fare any better. My pants leg sports a long rip that extends from just above the knee to the middle of the shin, and dried mud from two days of trekking clings stubbornly to my boots.

Two days. After suffering through two grueling days of hiking, we were finally inducted as the fifteenth batch of the Loyola Mountaineers. But still they say we can’t call ourselves true members — not until we know what it’s like at the peak at the break of dawn.

So we wait, every single member of the newly inducted batch, wondering just what it is that we have to see.

We continue our vigil, but remain blinded by the mist. Seconds pass, then minutes in agonizing lethargy before the clamor of our restlessness echoes through the bleak morning air, breaking the sanctity of silence the site has long preserved.

The noise seems to awaken nature from its slumber.

The clouds begin to disperse and flow past us in lithe succession, finally granting us consent to gaze at the sunrise that signaled the start of a new day. The sun burns a brilliant white hue, framed perfectly by the blue of the open sky. I’ve never seen the sun shine this intensely, yet for some reason I’m not blinded by the light.

A sea of clouds lies beneath it, cascading freely in waves of white-tinted-gray and dissolving into a thin film at our feet. The blades of grass around us glisten with fresh dew, and my eyes follow the lush fields for miles through the countless slopes that make up the mountainside. A slight fog veils the surrounding ridges, giving the trails that snake through them an enigmatic charm.

The clouds continue to part, slowly baring the entire landscape. And for the first time since I set foot on this mountain, I see how vast it really is.

The grasslands alone stretch as far as the eye can see. Threadlike lines twist and turn across the green expanse, cutting through the forests, hills and valleys before disappearing into the shadow of the summit. Every single one of those trails leads to where I stand.

Pride overcomes me.

The wind picks up, and a particularly cool gust of air stirs me from my reverie. If only for a few moments, I had forgotten the chill that comes with the icy drafts, the moist air, and standing on the highest peak in Luzon waiting for the sun to rise.

I steal a glance at the rest of my batch, and I allow myself a smile. All are silent, some with their mouths slightly open, but each of them wears a solemn expression that completely gives away their thoughts.

We did have to see this — a fitting, final rite of our induction.

Some of my batch-mates soon start the trek back down. I let them go on without me. We’ll be heading back home later in the day and I want to savor my experience here at the peak.

I sit on the grass, still wet with dew. The sea of clouds begins to form again.

So this is where it all begins.

Pulag, Baby!

I woke up this morning to burnt skin, sore muscles, and incredibly high spirits. Fresh off the Loyola Mountaineers’ (LM) latest induction climb at Mt. Pulag, Benguet, I’m basking in the familiar afterglow I haven’t felt in almost a year.

Photo courtesy of Dru Robles, Loyola Mountaineers Batch 17

Wow.

It’s only when I started writing this that I realized my last climb took place during a weekend getaway to Pico de Loro, Cavite, last February. That’s a 10-month drought and the longest one I’ve had since I joined LM back in ‘04 as a college sophomore. Up until a month or two after my graduation, I had the chance to climb once every few weeks, and made the most of many opportunities. I’ve climbed the likes of Pulag, Apo, Ugu, Kanlaon, Guiting-Guiting, and various other mountains, each no more than a couple of months apart.

My own induction was in Pulag, which my batch climbed through the Akiki “Killer” trail, an unforgiving assault to the summit. This year’s batch of inductees took the same route along with the LM undergrads, but the habol ­group – composed of LM alumni such as myself whose time to climb is limited due to career responsibilities – had to reach the peak via the tamer Ambangeg trail.

Though the climb wasn’t as much of a challenge as most others I’ve had, the facts that it was my first in months and that it let me catch up with friends I haven’t seen in ages made it well worth the vacation leaves I filed. It also allowed Tammy to set foot on Pulag’s summit and experience LM’s induction rights as a member for the first time.

Speaking of induction, congratulations to the guys and gals that make up the 20^th batch of the Loyola Mountaineers! I don’t know any of you personally (yet), but kudos for surviving an admittedly grueling application process and entering your 2^nd semester as newly inducted LM members.

As you’ll soon realize, your journey has only just begun.

The Calm After the Storm

What would you do if you woke up on a lazy Saturday morning to the sound of rain?

Would you drift back to sleep, as many others did this past weekend, only to wake up later to the same thing?

Or would your heart race? Would your blood run cold? Would you wake with a start, leap from your bed, and rush to the window only to dread a look outside for fear of what you might see? For many, the answer depends on when the question was asked…and where they were when Ketsana – known locally as Ondoy – arrived.

An old saying warns about not knowing what you have until it’s lost. But until the storm came, you didn’t feel the weight of those words. On that unfortunate weekend, the only hints of what was to come were the familiar sounds of pouring rain and splashes made by passing cars. But the rain never stopped, even hours after you’ve waked, and the splashes soon turned into waves that ended feet from your door.

Shortly past noon, the flood entered your house. And you and your family propped pieces of furniture inches above the floor. When the rain didn’t cease, you raised them yet again, this time with your other belongings. You did so once more as the flood advanced further into your home. Before long, water had reached the electrical sockets, forcing you to cut off the power. Yet still, the rain didn’t stop. Soon everything you owned was at least a foot above the ground. But as the flood grew, you feared none of it was truly safe.

After some final preparations, you decided to leave. By then, the flood had already engulfed your bed. Valuables sat atop tables, countertops, and wooden shelves. Anything you could carry was wrapped in plastic and strapped to your back, save for your six-month-old beagle that shivered in your arms. You turned to the door knowing nothing could be done to save what you were about to leave behind.

Waiting outside was the incessant storm, which you chose to face to seek refuge elsewhere. Unlike your own, the home of a nearby relative had a 2^nd floor to escape to.

The flood was waist-high at the time of your departure, and a surprisingly strong current pushed you as you walked. A glance around you confirmed that it had also invaded others’ homes and claimed their belongings. Only the top halves of cars were visible above the water, and the remains of domestic fixtures, furniture, and possessions swept past you and all others who dared to brave the storm in search of sanctuary.

Despite the rain, current, and weight of your load, you advanced through the flood without much complication. But it grew deeper as you neared your destination. You lifted your things above your head as the flood reached your chest. You ended your journey with a final burst of effort, and looked up to see people watching from the balcony above. Their faces – both strange and familiar – held both concern and disbelief.

That night, sleep came early. It was only 8:30 when you retired to bed, hours after drying up, settling down, and making sure your loved ones were safe where they sought refuge. Though you retired early, the hours prior to your surrender were filled with troubled thoughts and an image of the last thing you saw when you looked down at the streets: rising water and slowly vanishing car roofs.

Bad as the night was, the day that followed was worse.

Unlike the day before, the rain was brief and scarce. Rather than rising, the flood subsided. And instead of separating, your family came together. But that day was the first of many you spent trying to cope with what you lost.

One look inside your house made you realize that the hours you spent trying to save your belongings were for naught. Food, clothes, furniture, books, electronics, photos, and memorabilia – almost everything you owned was taken away in a day.

Mud and filth covered every crevice of your home. Its doors were barricaded by upturned tables; its rooms littered with ruined books and garments; its single hallway blocked by a massive fridge laying flat on its side, which took the strength of four people to lift upright. Flood still remained, but was shallower than before. Along the walls, the previous day’s flood line was still visible — inches above your head.

Tragedies happen every day, but you never thought you’d ever become a victim. Disbelief quickly gave in to resentment, and you spent the next few hours in silent frustration. It was then when you first heard stories about the havoc Ondoy had unleashed in and out of your area. The news of ravaged homes, missing people, and floating corpses made you recognize the fact that despite your losses, you were actually among the fortunate.

Over the next few days, you and your family had to let go of things that took you years to earn. But it eventually became easier to say goodbye to luxuries and keepsakes, and the bitterness faded, slowly but surely, as you learned to celebrate small victories and the things you took for granted.

Like forgotten books that miraculously survived. Old photographs you never bothered to look at anymore. Kind words that you got to read one last time before the ink washed away. Precious minutes of conversation among family and friends. And the knowledge that though you’ve lost so much, you weren’t left with nothing.

You realized that after Ondoy, the perspectives of many may never be the same. In the wake of the storm, they may have discovered what’s truly important.

You may not have experienced these actual events, but if you were hit by Ondoy, what you went through can’t be that different. You, too, may have experienced the sting of loss. And hopefully, you, too, found something to make up for it.

Whatever you lost, whatever you gained, my prayers go out to you and everyone else affected by the sudden storm. May we all find a way to reclaim our lives and keep the lessons we’ve learned.

And lend a helping hand to those who still need it.

Wakeboarding Weekend at the Camsur Watersports Complex (CWC)

When I first started writing this, my wounds were still burning, my arms were still sore, and I was still groggy after a 2-hour nap that followed an 8-hour road trip from Naga to Antipolo. Fresh off a long weekend of wakeboarding at the Camsur Watersports Complex (CWC), the writer in me wanted to update the old blog prior to getting some much-needed shut-eye. Fatigue won that battle, but thanks to a good night’s sleep, I’m finally able to write an entry long enough to do the experience justice.

The Camsur Watersports Complex is known as the premier wakeboarding park in the Philippines and one of the finest wakeboarding locations in the world. Complete with world-class wakeboarding equipment and instructors – including CWC supervisor and Australian wakeboarding icon Reuben Buchanan – the park allows rookies to learn to wakeboard and veterans to get even better at their sport of choice.

Since Tammy and I were among the former, we had to spend our first hour in the wakeboard cable park on our knees. After what was literally a 30-second training session, we were speeding through the course on rented kneeboards, amazed at the powerful pull of the cables especially at the final turn, where beginners usually experience their first wipeout. (I’m proud to be among the fortunate few who didn’t crash into the water until after I got on a CWC wakeboard.) Exciting as kneeboarding was, though, you can only have so much fun bent over and on your knees. We didn’t want to limit ourselves to one position all weekend, so we couldn’t wait to hit the water with a couple of wakeboards.

We moved to Winch Park the next day to learn the basics and pick up some wakeboarding tips from our fellow novices, most of whom had already spent a few days in CWC. Though Winch has several lakes reserved for exhibition, it also has a long, shallow, rectangular lake with a single cable and two starting areas. A refuge for rookies, that lake is the only place in the entire Camsur Watersports Complex where you could accumulate more tumbles than turns and not feel a hint of shame. This is where I first fell flat on my face and into the water after the cable’s sudden change of speed and direction pulled me off my board.

It didn’t take long for us to get the hang of the wakeboarding basics, though, and before long Tammy and I could stand, steer, and turn with relative ease, and even make it from one end of the lake to the other on a strapless board.

This guy makes it look way too easy.

After only three hours of practicing in Winch Park, I bravely stupidly decided to go back to the CWC cable park and make my way through the course again – only this time, on my feet. Not a good idea, considering that:

• my collective wakeboarding experience in and out of the Camsur Watersports Complex amounted to a few hours,
• the cables in the main park are considerably faster and more powerful than the one in Winch,
• the park had way too many ramps I could smash into, and
• it was 430 PM at the time, my last meal was at 10, and after hours of non-stop activity, I was nearing exhaustion.

No surprise, then, that my first attempt to circle the cable park ended with a nasty – and rather painful – spill. As did my second. And my third. I could go on, but my head was so waterlogged from the brutal wipeouts that I lost count of how many tries I needed to finally make it past the first obstacle, complete the major turns, realize how freakin’ awesome wakeboarding was, come full circle, and get whipped into the water at the final, unforgiving turn.

At the end of the day, fatigue and inexperience still prevented me from circling the CWC cable park consistently, but I managed to do so a few more times. I was dead tired, but very much alive. My left hand sported new blisters, and my right had two fresh wounds – reminders of a particularly violent cable tug that tore off my skin and threw me off my board on my third-to-last attempt. The spill hurt like hell, but all I remember thinking at the time was that pain never felt so good.

My wounds were burning as Tammy and I left the park. My arms were sore. And I was spent as we started preparing for an 8-hour road trip from Naga back to Antipolo. But the writer in me knew prior to getting some much-needed shut-eye that when I woke up, I’d have something incredible to write about.

A/N: Keep an eye out for an updated version of this post that includes details of our trip that could serve as a guide to making the most of your own wakeboarding weekend at the Camsur Watersports Complex. And incidentally, none of the above pics are mine. They were all taken from CWC’s photo gallery, because my D70 chose last weekend of all times to screw things up.

The Tadpole 23 Era Begins

I’m now a proud owner of a Tadpole 23 camping tent from The North Face. But before I get into that, I’m glad to say it’s not the only reason I’m pumped.

Another is that I’m now in the Camsur Watersports Complex (CWC), about to enjoy a rare, long weekend of water, wakeboarding, and wifi. Yet another is that Karla Mercado, a good friend and author of Balancing Tenderfoot, was invited to join WellWire as a weekly contributor. Very well-deserved. Last but not least, my girlfriend has finally come back from her two-week trip to the East Coast and is now with me in CWC. It was shortly after her return last night that she gave me one of the best gifts I’ve ever received: a Tadpole 23 outdoor tent from The North Face, my favorite outdoor brand.

She bought the unused, 60% off camping tent at New York’s TNF outlet and even got a free Petzl headlamp along with the purchase. Though the Tadpole tent features an old design and has its critics, the 2-man, 3-season lightweight tent is durable, an incredible bargain (even without the discount), and has served many mountaineers well over the years, proving time and again why it is one of TNF’s most enduring tent models. The features and specs are below, taken directly from TNF’s website. Those who need more than the details The North Face chooses to provide can check out the tent reviews.

Tadpole 23 Outdoor Tent Features:

• Light and user-friendly as ever, but with improved ventilation
• DAC Press-Fit™ poles
• Lightweight, easy-to-use clip pitch system
• Comprehensive color-coded pitch system includes, poles, canopy and fly
• Fully taped bathtub floor and full-zip doors
• Convenient overhead pockets stow headlamps and fragile items
• Full mesh canopy for comfort and ventilation
• Abundant gear loops
• Fly-only pitching

Specifications of the TNF Camping Tent:

• Capacity 2
• Fabric canopy: 70D 190T nylon ripstop
• Fabric floor: 70D 190T nylon taffeta with 5000 mm PU coating
• Fabric fly: 75D 190T polyester ripstop with 1500 mm PU coating
• Floor Area 26 ft² (2.4 m²)
• Poles number: 3 diameter: 9.0 mm
• Stuffed Size 23″ x 6″ (58 cm x 15 cm)
• Vestibule Area 9.1 ft² (0.85 m²)
• Trail weight: 4 lbs 10 oz (2.1 kg)
• Total weight: 5 lbs 7 oz (2.37 kg)

Pretty much what you’d expect from The North Face, eh?

But if you think the Tadpole 23 outdoor tent is great, check out the card that came with it:

Thanks for the adventure. Now let's go make more.

Quote sound familiar? That’s because it’s from the movie Up, revised a bit to better suit the present. It’s also a show of support from an impossibly cool girlfriend who wants me not just to continue chasing after adventure, but to take her along for the ride. With my brand new lightweight tent from The North Face, the least I can do is gladly oblige.

In addition to the camping tent, she also gave me a Victorinox travel bag that can carry my laptop, Nikon D70 camera, and two Nikkor lenses, allowing me to pursue writing and photography even during my travels. It’s only a matter of time, then, before this blog is filled with new posts and photos.

Yep, my Tadpole 23 isn’t the only reason I’m pumped.

I’m now a proud owner of a Tadpole 23 camping tent from The North Face. But before I get into that, I’m glad to say that’s not the only reason I’m pumped.Another is that I’m now in the Camsur Watersports Complex (CWC), about to enjoy a rare, long weekend of water, wakeboarding, and wifi. Yet another is that Karla Mercado, a good friend and author of Balancing Tenderfoot, was invited to join WellWire as a weekly contributor. Very well-deserved. Last but not least, my girlfriend has finally come back from her two-week trip to the East Coast and is now with me in CWC. It was shortly after her return last night that she gave me one of the best gifts I’ve ever received: a Tadpole 23 outdoor tent by The North Face, my favorite outdoor brand.