There were nine of us all in the group who trekked to Babag valley one Sunday to rappel from a 130-ft cliff. Four - including myself - were attempting it for the first time. Luckily, Judge P, our team leader, brought two sets of ropes and harnesses so each novice was paired off with a "veteran."
My partner was Babes, a bearded Ian de Leon look-alike. We were second in line, after Judge P and Vanessa, a nurse intern. Beneath her sweet and smiling demeanor she is a gutsy and tough person for a beginner. Earlier, while we made that tricky climb to the top of the limestone protrusion there was nary a whimper of complaint from her. I, on the other hand, was a third-rate pain in the neck.
Them: "C'mon Tonette, let's move."
Me: "Wait, I have some dirt in my right eye."
Them: "Don't worry we're right behind you"
Me: "Don't rush me I'm caught in this vine."
Them: "Give me your backpack so you will feel lighter."
Me: "I need this bag to balance the weight of my fat ass."
Them: "Give me your hand and I'll pull you up."
Me: "It's okay, I think this vine can support my weight."
Them: "Why don't you put your hand on that crevice."
Me: "Gosh, did you see the size of those ants!?"
I knew being bitchy to hide my nervousness didn't suit me, so I tried to ward my companions off with my dry wit (?).
As we grappled for whatever we could put our hand or foot on, one of them commented that he felt like a monkey, and I shot back, "You're a monkey, I'm a toad." Somebody else piped in, "actually we should imagine we're lizards," and I thought, "great, now we're talking about reptiles."
Halfway up the cliff the only way to get across the cavern-like rock formation was through a small hole in the wall where I had to crawl over soft earth, sort of inch my way through using only my elbows. "So this is what it's like to be born!"
As I performed amazing contortions with my body, twisting, wriggling, crouching, stretching, I couldn't help thinking, "Oh, this is going to hurt tomorrow."
Finally in exasperation, I declared loudly, "how come nobody ever told me mountaineering involves more positions than sex?"
We made it into the cave just in time as it started to rain. To pass time, they entertained us with stories about Lilibeth, our intrepid trailblazer. She's only in her early twenties, a college student, who could outrace macho mountaineers. "She's our best bet whenever we participate in national climbs because she can get ahead faster and secure a good campsite for us," Judge P said.
"Once," he recalled, "she gave me a one-hour headstart and she still overtook me." I found that easy to believe because earlier, while we gingerly made our way up a slope she simply ran past us, sat on a stump and started to sing "where do we go from here?"
It is not unusual for Lilibeth to get separated from the group, lost and missing for hours. In one such occasion she sought refuge in this same cave until it got dark. "Didn't you feel scared, all alone by yourself here?" I asked. "Naah," she replied with a casual shrug.
A former commercial model and aerobics instructor, she doesn't look like the tomboy athletic type at all, until you catch her effortlessly swinging from a balete tree vine. They call her Pakistani because of her slight resemblance to Benazir Bhutto when she wraps a scarf around her head. Poised and carefully made up, with arched brows the guys refer to as "Kilay 2000" and a matte lipstick that stays even when the going gets tough.
It was drizzling when we resumed our climb. Our path to the jump-off point consisted of jagged teeth and daggers of limestone punctuated by thorny bushes. One guy behind me couldn't help commenting that he felt like a Shaolin fighter in training. Another one corrected him, "No, this is more like the path to heaven."
When we got to the edge a thick blanket of fog had descended limiting visibility to 5 meters. Only five of us could fit in the narrow ledge two feet below so the rest stayed back. Our guides and porters, all mountain boys of ages 9-15 tried to seek cover from the rain in the rock hollows, shivering like wet puppies.
Judge P and Ely busied themselves tying the rope to a tree, checking the locks and the harness for safety, etc. By the time they were ready to put the harnesses on Vanessa and Judge P the rain started to pour again but the fog suddenly cleared up.
The view was spellbinding. The steep mountains of Cebu lined the horizon like silent majestic sentinels, the rolling plains and valley nestled at the base. A few nipa huts dotted the greenscape, and here and there were beds of flower plantations. We were, after all, in the heart of Cebu's cut-flower industry.
I stepped forward to look at the bamboo trees below and suddenly realized the depth of the 130-ft. drop of this cliff. The sight of the slabs of stone below made my knees buckle. Still shaking I joined one of the guides. "You're right, it is cold," I muttered to him but that mischievous twinkle in his eyes told me he wasn't fooled.
It was time to give Vanessa her first and only instructions about rappelling. "Remember, trust the rope. This can support the weight of 1,200 lbs." Judge P said. I couldn't help wondering if the same were true with the tree to which the ropes were tied to. "What if lightning strikes this tree?" smart-alecky me asked. Only Babes, my partner, found that remark funny.
Ely piped in, "no matter what happens, your right hand should remain at the back and never let go of the rope. You can remove your left hand and you'll be okay as long as your right hand is in position." The stern warning "maintain presence of mind," was repeated over and over again.
All completely forgotten when my turn came. It was confusing hearing all these instructions delivered at the same time by three people.
"Keep your right hand at the back!" Lilibeth barked at me.
"Okay," I replied meekly.
"At the back" Babes echoed.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah" I answered back.
"At the back," Ely insisted.
"I heard you the first time!" I said, a little irritated now.
Then they all pointed to my right hand which was resting against my hip. That's when my right hand stirred, as if saying, "Oh, you meant me?"
Funny about fear. My mind ordered me to lean back this way, put my right foot here, the left over there, then kick with both legs to bounce off the ledge and start rappelling down. A minute or two later my body asked, "you talking to me?"
I quickly found myself rappelling down. It was a smooth, fluid "flight." I was thrilled. "I'm doing it! I'm really rappelling. This is greeeaaaattt!"
But then I got too cocky and started increasing my speed, leaving my partner behind. Midway in the air, hanging by this single rope, I got tangled in the protruding branches of a tree. Being right-handed, I automatically let go of the rope with my right to push the branches aside. "Your right hand, your right hand!" Judge P yelled from below.
While I dangled there, momentarily frozen in fear, Babes hurried down to my aid. "Babes, tell her to put her right hand back!" Judge P urged us. "I can't I'm stuck in these branches," I managed to catch my voice. "She can't, she's between two branches," Babes confirmed on my behalf.
Using his legs to raise the offending branch, I was able to wriggle my way out and return my right hand to its position.
Chastised, I resumed my rappelling a bit cautiously, but also a bit faster. I couldn't wait to plant my feet back on firm ground. "Slow down, slow down!" Judge P yelled again. "Look this way, look this way" other voices from below joined in. Christ! Now what? I stole a quick glance and realized Judge P was trying to take our picture with an idiot camera.
"Hold it, hold it! Look this way! Now, smile!" Because my right hand was still in the wrong position I had trouble steering my body which kept turning to the left, then to the right. Finding my center of balance, I was able to hold off for a few seconds for that good photo moment.
Next to go were Lilibeth and Mark, a skydiver. They, too, had a close encounter. Halfway down Lilibeth shouted that Mark couldn't breathe. That was a scary moment for us below. We felt helpless as it was really all up to Lilibeth. No one else could go up or down to help. Such is the importance of having a competent and quick-thinking partner. Since this was also a first attempt for Mark, I mistakenly thought he had a panic attack. It turned out that his big backpack was strapped too tight. Its weight and straps were cutting off his airflow. But Lilibeth managed to adjust these straps and they landed safely to our relief.
Jerome, the last novice, did it with more style and flair. Wearing Mark's dark shades, he looked as cool as any pro in those action magazines and ads. "Perfect," Judge P noted his smooth descent. Approaching him to shake his hand it was hard not to notice the pungent smell of liquor. Mark took out a half-empty bottle of rum from Jerome's pocket and expressed his dismay. "I had to, man, to steady my nerves. I got goosebumps watching the girls do their thing," Jerome grinned apologetically. "Man, why did you do that. We agreed we'll drink this to celebrate after not before we do it," Mark muttered.
Lilibeth was oblivious to our chattering. She was busy retouching her make-up after one of the guys teased her about her missing brows, erased by the rain and perspiration.
Nothing could dampen our exhilaration when we were all reunited. Vanessa, sweet as ever, greeted everyone who came down with a warm hug. There were handshakes, high fives, and that sort of thing. We were proud of ourselves. In true mountaineering spirit, we all felt a strong bond and kinship for one another, for having shared something so thrilling, moving and stirring.
Truly, mountaineering is a team effort. It didn't matter that I only met them this morning, or that they only see each other once weekly. We trusted one another with our lives. That is an inexplicable bond among mountaineers. Of people who live off the edge between fear and thrill, dread and excitement, guts and glory. Face to face with one's own mortality and immortality altogether in an instant.