At the Foothills of Mt. Apo

“Some days he climbed over the foothills of indifference to see the landscape of his life and future for what it was: mappable, traversable, achievable.” – Dave Eggers, A Hologram for the King

I have lived my childhood in Davao, and in its entirety, have considered it home. Just like every Davao local, I am fully aware that from the city proper, one can occasionally see the peak of Mt. Apo on a clear day. Every Davaeño takes pride in the fact that this is the highest and the basis of comparison of all the other peaks in the country, yet for most of them, it was enough that they have seen it at least from a distance.

I am a typical Davaeño then, who loves the beach, eats durian and can have it as a replacement for lunch, and devour a regular-sized marang like a lollipop on one hand.

When I left Davao to enroll in UP Diliman, the lure of mountaineering was presented to me. Most of my climbs outside Manila did not take longer than a day, since these were usually intended as leisurely weekend escapades or as a respite from humdrum.

It was much later, when no longer a student, that I had to also confront Mount Apo and its numerous foothills.

As a graduate student, I had to climb Sibulan to speak with Tagabawa Bagobo settlers in the area, thereby exposing me to their wealth of local and indigenous culture, from handwoven textiles, beadwork, and even metalwork. The frequency of my climbs and length of time spent with a family in the area have made them consider me now a part of their family; I make it a point to spend a night with them each time I go to Davao.

Lately, I have been frequenting Kabarisan. My first exposure to the area two years ago was with my sister and her husband, who was visiting from the US; our visit led us to Camp Sabros, which provided more than enough reasons to go back and explore other mountain resorts in the area.

The experience of not being able to predict the weather and the outcome of each climb was not something I was used to. Despite the infamous traffic and the jungle of urbanity in Metro Manila, one acquires habits which may give one a sense of control and a level of predictability for the day’s outcome. For instance, with one’s smartphone or laptop and a sufficient internet connection, one may finish every task or item on one’s to-do list while in transit.

However, one can never predict visibility in Kabarisan. The online weather report at the start of one’s trek may predict good weather, but the wind can easily direct a thick fog to allow you to only see so much. In Kabarisan, the mountain decides what part of its grandeur is shown or experienced. It is humbling to be at the mercy of nature. On the other hand, witnessing a new sprout or chancing upon an artesian spring fills one with wonder.

This nudges the visitor to be open to the possibilities of life, to the realization that life should not be merely limited to earthly considerations. It should in fact lead one to grow in faith, for indeed, the start of the climb may be rainy, relentless, and hopeless, but one’s arrival may be sunny and even explosive as you find oneself in a field of vibrant and sweet-smelling lavenders.

If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. (Matthew 17:20)