GEM RIVER TREK '98
Our trail took us through Ansan, Boljoon to Salmeron, Malabuyoc. We have been hiking for over an hour, downhill over foot paths and dirt roads, until we reached the wooden bridge over the spillway. This is the starting point for the river trek.
Judge P instructed our lead pack to take a breather and wait for everyone to arrive. The 54-man group included 12 women, professionals and college students, of ages 17 to 50-something. Most were mountaineers, members of other clubs like C.E.BU., Trek-Out, RAMS, UST and UV Mountaineers. The others were "freelancers,"a handful were trekking for the first time, and about ten have been here before during the initial trek in November. Not one has ever completed the entire course though for lack of time.
It was a lovely day. The sun was shining bright but the verdant surroundings cooled our exuberant spirits. Members of Green Earth Mountaineers, who organized this eco-adventure and made several exploratory treks in the previous months, thankfully noted that it has not rained for days. Edmund Gonzalez, our trailmaster, studied the current of the water flowing from the spillway. Part of his responsibilities is to be alert for flashfloods in case the surrounding mountains that fed this river were rained upon.
Gathering the group once again, the judge repeated his instructions. For this river trek we will be hiking, wading, swimming and bouldering. There are parts of the river that have waterfalls with a 10-ft drop, that are over 6-ft deep, and that pass through a labyrinth of towering limestone cliffs so narrow it can only fit one person. "This is not a race to determine who is the swiftest," he fixed a stern eye on the rowdy teenagers in our midst. Take off your shoes before jumping or swimming, he continued, and keep a safe distance from each other, that is, wait for the person in front to cross "to avoid dragging the next person in case somebody drowns." Above all, maintain a single file and don't leave the pack to take shortcuts.
With less precision than a military drill we did another count-off. Judge P did a separate count for those who don't know how to swim, and the number of lifevests and floaters available.
We set off at 10:00 a.m. For the first 50 meters we pussyfooted over smooth slabs of granite rocks, to avoid getting our feet wet. Cries of cheerful dismay from the lead pack told us it was a pointless exercise. They have reached the first hurdle, a rotting tree trunk blocking the path. There was no other way to go except wade in the cold waters up to our waist or chest then go under the moss covered trunk. Whitewater made this more challenging as we struggled to keep our balance against the swirling waters and avoid bumping into the boulders. Further down we debated between taking the slippery, sloping river banks or wading into the brown waters of uncertain depth while avoiding the floating debris of branches.
Concentration was doubly hard with all the noise our group was making. Women squealed -- partly from the coldness of the water, or because they slipped and from mixed feelings of nervousness and excitement. The men yelled at each other: Is it deep? How deep is it? Which way did you go? Just follow me! No, this way is better! Wait for me, I need a hand!
We helped one another with our backpacks, letting these float ahead of us. The men were especially careful in keeping their cigarette packs from getting wet. One guy neglected to waterproof his belongings, and instead put his knapsack into a black garbage bag. He threw it into the river and to everyone's amusement, it slowly sank as water leaked in. Somebody else's backpack met the same fate which was greeted with louder hoots and laughter from his buddies. Trekking with a waterlogged pack was definitely cumbersome what with the added weight and considering that we had to let our packs float several times along the way.
Boy, that was fun! Many sighed with relief when the river became a shallow stream again. "I don't mean to scare you," I turned to the first-timers, "but that was not the challenging part they were talking about. We're not there yet." Oh, wow, how exciting, they replied.
We hiked along the stream for about an hour. There were gasps and sharp intakes of breath all around, not from exertion but due to the spellbinding beauty of Nature. We felt privileged for finding this pristine spot all to ourselves. We took in as much as our overwhelmed senses could hold: the blinding white limestone cliffs, old trees with gnarled trunks, creeping and hanging vines, lush ferns, wildflowers in bloom, birds and insects singing a happy chorus and the soft murmuring of the waters in the stream. Two guys started arguing in low voices because one wanted to take some exotic-looking roots for souvenir. His companion reminded him of the mountaneering ethics:
The excited voices up ahead warned us that we have reached the next obstacle: the waterfall with the 10-ft drop. Judge P and Edmund have tied a rope beside it to aid our descent. The judge didn't want us to jump into the 5-ft deep pool below because there was a danger of being sucked under the falls. Junie Abad and Bobby Requiroso positioned themselves close by to extend a helping hand. In the same spirit of teamwork the other mountaineers started passing our backpacks and throwing these into the waters.
There were three obstacles of this type. Waterfalls bounded by boulders and slippery walls. The hardest required some rappelling before dropping into a deep pool. Some guys chose to jump right in. They were either too impatient or too scared to rappell. Those who couldn't swim asked their buddies to push them, too scared to make that leap. They also insisted to have their backpacks close by so they can grab on to these when they hit the water.
That's how we resumed our "trek," by hugging our backpacks and letting the current carry us downstream. At least we didn't have to lug our backpacks all the way. Locals call this place Kamingawan. Mohammad Reta gamely pose for several shots against various fascinating backdrop. It must have taken a thousand years for the river to carve this deep gorge between the limestone mountains. And here we are having the time of our life as if we're in a water park. Ann Cheryl Vito lapped it all up like a kid, swimming backstroke and sitting on her butt, riding the current on a winding water slide, who-eeeeeeh!
Our tune hit a different pitch when we got to the part infested with leeches. Huge, greedy bloodsuckers that look like snails sans the shells. A three-inch fat specimen latched on to my calf -- "Eeeeeeeekkk, get it off me! Get it off me!" To my utter surprise one guy bent down and started pounding my leg with a karate chop. "What are you doing!?" He hit the leech on his third or fourth swipe but of course it plopped right back into my leg, "Eeeeeekkk, get it off me, get it off me!" I was like a screeching broken record now. More karate chops, until finally, with a contented burp, the leech fell back into the water. A curious Joy Castañeda asked me what it felt like -- more like a mosquito bite, and in my experience ant bites hurt worse than that, but the way it felt against my skin was just ugh!
That feeling of revulsion still fresh and the hair at the back of my nape still up, we gingerly continued swimming. Dondon Dimpas earlier assured us leeches can't swim. Hello, I suddenly spotted two swimming towards us in the water, if you call stretching and contracting like rubber bands swimming. We were chest deep in water, strapped to our heavy backpacks, but as soon as I shrieked "Eeeeeeekkk, linta!" -- yours truly and the guy right behind me were out of the water in two bounds, two secs.
Minutes later the sweepers' team led by Lito Paradela and Dencio Cortes caught up with us. It was past five in the afternoon already. None of us relished wading back into the river with the leeches and the sun going down soon. We headed off for Palari and took the dirt road back to civilization. Easier said than done the hike took us another three hours until a passenger jeep picked us somewhere in the upper poblacion of Malabuyoc. We were reunited with the rest of the mountaineers at 9:00 p.m. -- the lead pack with Vanessa Ollerenshaw got in at 5:00 p.m. -- we were the last to arrive, about 15 of us. There was nothing left of the lechon that our gracious host, Engr. Tuding Creus, prepared except bones. But there was still enough rice and food to go around.
A night dip in the seawater behind his beach house soothed our insect bites, scratches, and tired muscles. It was a fitting conclusion for this 30-km adventure.
January 30, 1999