PROLOGUE TO THE MALABUYOC RIVER TREK

Cebu has that peculiar distinction of having so many mountaineering clubs, about 20, when its highest peak is only a thousand meters high. This merely proves that interest in this outdoor sport is growing here. Clubs with creative names like Tracks, Trek Out, Rams, C.E.BU. and UST (Under the Sambag Tree). And there are the Cebu Mountaineering Society, University of San Carlos Mountaineers, University of the Visayas Mountaineers and Habagat.

Unlike the Bonbon River Trek in 1997, Green Earth Mountaineers did not send printed invitations to these different clubs for this year's Boljoon-Malabuyoc cross-country adventure. Learning our lesson from that first river trek when 140 participants joined, this year we limited the announcement to press releases in the local newspapers three days before the trip. It came as no surprise that only 18 mountaineers and wanna-be's showed up at the bus terminal last Nov. 25.

Again, again, again, they said. A request echoed by others who missed it. Imagine our mixed feelings of delight and anxiety when 30 backpackers from various clubs and schools turned up at the terminal for the sequel on Dec. 26. As the bus pulled out of the terminal an hour later at least a dozen mountaineers appeared out of nowhere. Not seeing their friends inside the bus they opted to wait for the latecomers and catch a later trip. We wondered how many more were coming. We were expecting a maximum of 30 participants.

President Lito and Junald traveled to Boljoon the day before to set up the campsite. Vice president Vanessa, who lives in the neighboring town of Argao, was dispatched early that day to contact the guide and find a vehicle to ferry us to the campsite. Judge P also went ahead to drop off his family in Malabuyoc. They traveled with a car of single women, scuba divers who are trekking for the first time.

A courtesy call at the town mayor's residence got us an earful of lecture. He was upset that we didn't pay him a visit during the previous trek. "You have to let us know in advance so we can advise our barangay officials," he said, "we don't want anything bad to happen to you." He explained that there are marijuana plantations in the mountains. If mountaineers are spotted at the area and a raid is conducted later the farmers might blame the mountaineers for it, as what happened in Mantalungon. Also, he added, the men here get drunk on weekend nights and who knows what they'd do to strangers like us. Chastised, we thanked the mayor for his concern as well as his assistance in securing a 50-seater jeep to take us to the campsite in San Antonio. Vanessa arranged for a 40-seater jeep but its owner was not sure if it could manage the steep climb halfway and this would have entailed over an hour of hiking to barrio San Antonio.

We assembled everyone -- 50 people -- into the 50-seater vehicle that was promptly crammed with bulky backpacks as well. Some trekkers opted to sit atop the roof. It was a fun one-hour bumpy drive. Some were sleepy, a few were mildly intoxicated after downing a few shots of rum while waiting in Boljoon, and the majority were teasing, joking, and laughing in high spirits. One guy named Dondon kept grabbing whatever his hands could lay on while the jeep whizzed past bushes, hedges and tree branches. Then he would hand this to Gelena, a spunky Chinese-Filipina, and she and her seatmate would try to guess what it was. First it was a clump of herbal leaves, wild flowers, then a twig, and later an insect.

Upon arriving at San Antonio, Judge P ordered us all to form a single line and start counting off. Then we started hiking towards the campsite, a dry rice field about 15 minutes walk from the road. With the chattering of so many smart-asses in our pack, some locals must have been disturbed from their sleep, and if they bothered to peek through their windows would have been surprised by the sight of a long line of headlamps and flash lights under the quarter moon. Lito and Junald met us and we became 52.

Everyone busied themselves in selecting a good spot for their tents. There were several shouts as friends who got separated in the hike called out to each other: "UV Mountaineers, over here!" Same old story I still don't have a tent. Neither does Vanessa, who brought a hammock which was useless in that tree-less rice field. Judge P offered his to the youngest participants, 17-year old Ellery and her classmate Ann. I took out my sleeping bag and made myself comfortable while others were still groping for their tent poles and pegs in the dark. Now and then dark rain clouds would veil the few stars. I befriended Jun, the guy in the nearest tent, about a meter from where I lay. He agreed to let me in if it rains. Bobby, who has been eyeing my machete (a Christmas present from my mother), borrowed it to cut wood for a bonfire.

The judge assembled the group for a complete briefing for next day's trek. He and Edmund described the trail and hurdles, estimated the schedule, and gave a few rules to follow. We were reminded to take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints, and kill nothing but time. Everyone had a good laugh when Judge P dismissed us with a wave, "but what you do tonight is up to you and none of my business."

There was a good number of female participants in that trek, about 10. Jojo announced he was single and available to the four career women/scuba divers, his recruits. "You can raffle me," he suggested. "Can't we just have you on hourly rotation," asked one gamely.

Huddled in the middle of the camp was Vanessa, surrounded by guys her age, early 20's. Mohamed, a glib-tongued know-it-all ruled the roost like a stand-up comedian on speed. He had a partner and they tried to keep an upmanship of taunts and insults for hours.

The "conversation" hopped from the X-Men (why the professor found it easier to train Cyclops than Wolverine or Storm) to Edward I ("No, but Henry V is my neighbor" to which the other retorted, "You dumbass, Edward I is the first king of England, the foe of William Wallace, didn't you watch Braveheart?").

It was hard to make any sense or take these guys seriously as they spewed punchlines in stacatto bursts. "What is God's number?" If the number of the Anti-Christ is 666, somebody figured God's is 1. Wrong, Mohamad snorted, then he recited a chapter, verse and the complete words from the New Testament. "I know why the US really bombed Iran," the other responded. Then they argued again over Monica. "How do you know, how do you know," Mohamad challenged, "you talk as if you were actually there." Yes, he was an intern at the White House, his friend replied. "Yeah right, a janitorial intern!"

Vanessa couldn't stop giggling. Somebody who sounded like Dennis (he prefers to be called Cio for Dencio), hollered from the far side of the camp, "cut it out Mohamad, you're going to give Vanessa gas pains." "Hey, at least I can say I entertained her with my mouth," Mohamad responded. Quick to the draw, Vanessa dissed some naughty jokes of her own.

Mohamad, in sotto voice, complimented a guy "you have such a smooth complexion, man," then quickly added, "as smooth as testicles." Somebody piped in, "what do you mean, they're wrinkled when it's cold, and smooth when it's warm." Dencio yelled again, "you would only know that if you have been touching yourself!" From there the jokes turned to toilet humor. "I knew it," somebody declared, "it was just a matter of time before the talk turns to shit."

It was hard to get any sleep that night. The slugfest of jokes and insults was followed by a round of snores. In the stillness of the dark night the tiniest whisper was amplified. I could hear sounds from the five tents around me as its occupants tossed and turned. Moments later tiny droplets fell on my exposed forehead. I roused Jun, and crept into his tent. It smelled of chorizo. So that's what he had for supper, I thought before finally blacking out.

Judge P woke up everyone at five in the morning. Some started fires in their portable stoves to cook breakfast. Jun and I agreed it was much too dark so we cuddled under our individual sleeping bags again. Thirty minutes later there was too much noise and activity outside to continue sleeping. "Want some coffee, I have capuccino," a drowsy Jun asked me. No, thanks -- leave me alone, can't you see I'm trying to savor extra minutes of sleep, I almost added. "How about spaghetti? I'm cooking spaghetti for breakfast," he added, now fully awake. "Wow, is this room service?" I teased him.

The others were showing off their culinary skills as well. Jojo brought out the fruit cake he made ("it's my best recipe!"). Ann Cheryl offered her brownies and chocolate cakes. Judge P had the more traditional oatmeal and noodles soup which he shared with Ellery, who stuffed her bag with chocolates (which she ate the night before) but failed to bring breakfast. I split my Fiji apple with Jun and shared a can of sweet corn with Vanessa. "And where did you sleep last night?" I teased her. We earlier agreed to team up as buddies for this trek. Blushing a bit she replied, "at Junald's tent." I introduced her to my "roommate." "Have some spaghetti," he offered.

Two more trekkers arrived that morning, Bench from our first river trek and his friend. We are now 54. We packed up and refilled our water canteens at a nearby spring. We fell into formation -with Judge P leading the way with the guide, Edmund as pacer, and Lito and Dencio as sweepers. We hiked through fields of wildflowers while the irrepressible Mohamed sang. He was with the sweepers team, about forty people behind us, but everyone could hear him for miles in this wilderness. "Like he swallowed a microphone," observed young Ann.

Everybody was in a jovial mood. The trail sloped downhill and some decided it was easier and faster if they trotted. Pretty soon it turned into a race as others started running. College students here are really still kids. Their unbridled enthusiasm was infectious. We reached the spillway an hour later. The river trek starts here.

[To be continued]