Climbing Pulag: Surviving the Mountain Goat Challenge 2011

A few months ago, I got diagnosed with severe asthma. My pulmonologist said my respiratory function was down to about 40 per cent, compared to the average 80 per cent level of most people. Distraught, I did what any sane person would probably not do. I decided to climb Mount Pulag, the highest mountain in Luzon. The crazy idea was hatched during one of the occasional reunions of our UP Kule batch 83-84, when one of our fellow writers was in town. Through the years, our topics have gone from careers to babies to household appliances to annulments, and this time around, I think our idle talk turned to hobbies and healthy lifestyles. I’m not sure now how the Pulag climb came about, but the plan for the Mountain Goat Challenge was soon circulating in our e-group. I was easily dragged into the adventure, unlikely though my chances of success might be. Fast forward to March 2011, and I found myself cramming for the climb with two-hour walks around the UP campus on weekends. I’ve been doing walking exercises for a long time, but not with much regularity. To prepare for the climb, I could only squeeze in 30 minutes of outdoor gym reps twice a week. I knew it wasn’t enough, but I had decided that if I couldn’t make it all the way to the summit, I’d be happy just trekking in the park’s mossy forests. Supermoon at the supermountain Friday morning, and our alpha goat was busy herding our grouplet – the climb had spawned its own set of quirky terms – of five 40-somethings and one 30-ish kid sister into the express bus that would take us to Baguio City. We would be staying overnight in the condo of a fellow newsie from the ‘80s, who went up separately with his wife in a four-wheel drive vehicle. A week before the trip, I learned that our climb fell on a full moon. What’s more, it was a so-called supermoon, when the celestial orb was nearest to the earth and would be shining huge and bright. We bathed in its glow at 3 a.m. Saturday at the Europa parking lot while waiting for the hardy jeepneys that would lead the convoy to Mt. Pulag.

After fetching a gaggle of yuppies who arrived on the evening bus from Manila, our convoy of two jeepneys and two SUVs was soon on its way to the park superintendent’s office for the requisite briefing before the climb. The large crowd brought down the cost of the jeepney hire but it also dampened our excitement, which soon turned to dismay when we saw the hordes descending on the park office. Almost 180 people registered to climb the mountain that day, our guide would later tell us. Was it the prospect of viewing the supermoon from the supermountain, as park superintendent Emerita Albas described it, that drove the multitude to the peak on the same day we had long scheduled our climb? If it wasn’t for her deadpan humor, many would have been in a sour mood, but her hilarious spiel was enough to lighten everyone’s spirits. She cautioned the climbers about super lamig weather that can cause “sweet euphoria" or hypothermia, as well as possible cerebral and pulmonary edema (that’s fluid in the brain and lungs, first sign is vomiting) due to altitude sickness. She made sure each group had a team leader, a first aider, and a sweeper (ask your trekker or dive buddies what this means). Lastly, she warned the climbers against experimenting with planting – “Itanim ko nga ito, pagbalik tingnan ko kung tumubo na. Baka may kamatis at sweet pea na sa grasslands pagbalik niyo" – as this would cause havoc on the park’s native vegetation. The hike From the park office, the convoy wound its way along the bumpy mountain road towards the ranger station, the starting point of the trek. We arrived to find a scene that seemed like an adventure outfitter’s dream – all manner of branded backpacks, hiking shoes, breathable pants and shirts, water bottles, and hiking poles crammed in the narrow yard and outer platform of the wooden building. The swarm of climbers and colorful gear was dizzying. At this point, one of our team members who had been struggling with hypertension found out that her blood pressure had shot up. We had been monitoring her condition all week and she was okay the night before, but I had a feeling the lack of sleep and stressful road travel, along with the mounting excitement, might have been too much. Sadly, she had to forgo the climb, along with one of our friends who volunteered to stay with her. The rest of us started the trek under the intense heat of the almost noonday sun. My porter was an elderly lady whose slight figure belied her enormous strength. She turned out to be my savior during the first part of the trek, patiently waiting for me to catch my breath as we made our way to the waiting shed at Camp 1. The initial few hundred meters would have been a leisurely trek if the sun wasn’t beating down mercilessly on the open mountain road. Vegetable gardens lined the slopes in some places, while moss-covered pine trees punctuated the road here and there. Armed with my inhaler, water bottle, and a borrowed hiking pole from the alpha goat, I trudged wearily along the trail. I was grateful when we entered the shade of the forest, except when we came upon steep slopes. By this time, I had learned that I needed to stop every 20 paces or so, when my heart would start pounding in my ears. The other members of the group had gone ahead, and when I finally stepped into the clearing at Camp 1, they had almost finished their lunch at the waiting shed. I caught my first glimpse of the peak, which seemed very far away. It was almost 2 p.m. when we resumed the climb, and this time, the sweeper guide exchanged roles with my porter, who wanted to walk faster with her heavy load. On hindsight, I discovered this was a wrong decision, as I would soon be needing my warm clothes that had gone on to the summit camp ahead of me. But those are things that don’t come to mind when you’re hiking on a forest trail bursting with wild flowers and moss-covered trees on a warm and sunny day. Looking back, I’d say the trail from Camp 1 to Camp 2 was my favorite path, even though I was almost spent when we reached the junction at the latter. Most climbers set up their tents at Camp 2, then wake up at 3 a.m. for the assault to the summit in darkness just in time to catch the sunrise. However, our team leader insisted on what he called the Forbes park of campsites, the grassland clearing at Camp 3. From there, it would only be 30 minutes to the peak for the average climber. It was nearly 5 p.m. when I reached Camp 2, and I was ready to stay there if I had my gear with me. Unfortunately, there was no choice but to go on. The alpha goat volunteered to stay with me, but I found it stressful to have him breathing down my neck and knowing he would rather be hiking with someone else, so I stuck with the guide. Our planned buddy system had now fizzled out but I was feeling a little smug, having seen other unprepared climbers drop out after carrying their backpacks because they had failed to reserve porters, and so I forged on. The peak Between the two campsites lay the vast grasslands, and by now, I was beginning to feel like Frodo on the way to Mount Doom. The summit of Mt. Pulag beckoned in the approaching twilight, but there was still a tortuous and interminable trail before us. When we came upon the sign saying the grassland summit was just 1.5 kilometers away, I heaved a sigh of relief. On flat terrain, I could walk that length in 20 minutes. I figured I could make the winding mountain path in one hour, but it wasn’t meant to be. I was getting exhausted, and even as I gazed in admiration at the forested mountains below, I knew it was a matter of time before my strength would give in. “Okay kiddo you can do it, just put one foot in front of the other …" went the mantra inside my head, but the park supervisor’s warnings about hypothermia and edema were beginning to ring louder. At one point, I thought I could see the South China Sea from the heights of Pulag and when the guide said it was actually a sea of clouds, I thought he was just being poetic, until I realized he was telling the truth. We were well and truly high up the mountain. Plodding on, I welcomed the wondrous sight of the rising supermoon in the eastern sky, but the elation was short-lived. The cool breezes that I had welcomed in the heat of day became chilly winds as night fell, and my breathing was becoming more labored in the much thinner air at the almost 3,000-meter elevation. When I began stumbling in the path, I had to concede defeat. I may be weak-kneed but I’m usually sure-footed, so I knew I had to seek help or risk falling down the steep ravine in the dark. Fortunately, the chief guide had come looking for us, and he immediately gathered the other porters and guides. They piled their thick jackets around my thin windbreaker, as I was beginning to shiver and I could feel my insides freezing in the mountain cold. Together, they fashioned a hammock from a piece of cloth tied to both ends of a rough pole – a friend jokingly called it a palanquin – and that’s how I arrived at the summit campsite at around 8 p.m. In my weakened condition, getting up at dawn to watch the iconic sunrise from the peak of Mt. Pulag was out of the question, but it seems I wasn’t alone. From the ruckus in the camp, I could hear the other climbers groaning at the prospect as well. In the end, only two members of our grouplet joined the mob at sunrise. I had given up the thought of setting foot on the peak, but life, as they say, often springs a surprise when you least expect it. Breaking camp, I found out we had to go up a ridge to get to the downward trail. The peak was just a few meters away, and come to think of it, we really didn’t have to be there at sunrise, so off we went. I had regained a little strength after getting some sleep, but I was still the last to reach the summit. It was rather anti-climactic, but no matter. The photos will tell the story. And M3, I’m sure you’ll make it next year. Just walk slowly, like a mountain goat. It took me about six hours to get down, going at my own pace as I’ve always done. Looking back, ascending Pulag may have been a counter-intuitive move for someone so lame, but I’ve always been an outlier so who knows? This mountain goat might just morph into a mountain gorilla and attempt to reach the peak of Mt. Kinabalu, the highest mountain in Southeast Asia at 4,000 meters, the next time around. – GMA News Permits are needed to climb Mt. Pulag. Contact the park supervisor Emerita Albas at 09196315402. For jeepney hires, our alpha goat swears by Gina Epe, 09198169234.