Conquering Mt. Binalabag

The sound of crickets was like the haunting song of Circe, echoing through the mountain slopes and hypnotizing you that you may forget your way back home. There were 17 of us who alighted from a truck and ferried to the mountains of Upper La Paz, located 47 kilometers from the city proper of Zamboanga. Each one was geared up for a most memorable adventure.

It was Lord Edmund Hillary, the guy who conquered Mt. Everest, who said that the reason he did it was because the mountain was there to climb. We shared the same feeling when we decided to climb Mount Binalabag, the highest peak in southwestern Mindanao and considered one of the most unreachable mountain in the Mindanao area.

It was my friend Edwin Dionisio who, after reminiscing about our childhood days in the Boy Scouts, contacted a local mountaineering group and some friends from the Chrishelle’s Gym for the climb.

Mt. Binalabag stands at 4, 648 feet above sea level. It’s not the tallest mountain in Mindanao (Mount Apo in Davao is a towering 10,311 feet) – in fact, it’s practically a baby. But for the pioneering group of the Zamboanga Eco Mountaineers, it was a challenge, not so much for its height but for the difficulty in climbing it. So far, only two of the Eco Mountaineers have ever reached its peak before our attempt.

There was a deeper meaning to climbing the mountain for the 17 of us. Climbing the mountain was part of our commitment to save what remains of our forest shed area by way of documenting the mountains and pushing the concept of eco tourism through education.

Mt. Binalabag is situated inside the watershed area of Zamboanga. Unlike so many other mountains that have been conquered in the past, Binalabag is situated within a canopy of a virgin forest that has not been fully chartered except for the few forest guards of the Zamboanga City Water District, under whose stewardship the watershed area falls under.

No one is allowed within the reserve, which is one of the last untouched forest reserves in the country. For this, we felt very lucky that the Zamboanga City Water District bent the rules and decided to give us permission to do the climb. However, the go-signal came with very specific restrictions, that is, to "take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but memories." We were not even allowed to build a campfire or bring in plastic water bottles for fear that we might cause a forest fire or leave behind our trash.

The group was comprised of people from different walks of life, led by our guide for the climb, Raul Bendanillo, who is an artist by profession and a mountaineering veteran. He was also one of the mountaineers who volunteered to recover the remains of a fatal airplane crash at Mount Lumut in Cagayan a few years back. Edwin Dionisio and Jojo Nanquil, weekend warriors like myself, are bankers who’d like to prove that being 40 does not mean going over the hill. Fidel Baro, 55, is a jeweler and businessman who came with his son Michael, a freshman at Ateneo de Zamboanga University. For Fidel and his son, this was a great opportunity to have that rare bonding experience. Besides, just like us, Fidel said that he wanted to be the oldest person up on the mountain. Then there was Chris, Prince and Jun, all body builders from Chrishell’s Gym who wanted to prove that the leg presses they’d been doing so diligently would come in handy in the climb. Danny Tuazon is a chemist from the Zamboanga Coca Cola Bottling Plant; Rey Lumactod from the DENR is an expert environmental engineer. There was Cherry and her husband Reig, weekend mountaineers and certified butchers in one of the most popular meat shops in Zamboanga. Along with us were several seasoned mountaineers.

It took a good one hour and 30 minutes before we reached our jump-off point at Kilometer 14 in Camp Susana, an old logging camp on the west coast of Zamboanga. Already we were beginning to feel the change in climate from the stifling heat of the city to the cooler mountain air as we entered a dirt road surrounded by tall mahogany trees and lawaan.

The vehicle that brought us to the jump-off point was not the most comfortable ride you could find, but it was the strongest one and capable of traversing rocky dirt roads and 45-degree inclines made more difficult by the sticky red clay that turned into a slippery death trap up a precipice if you’re not a seasoned driver.

We reached our jump-off point at about 8:30. As we peered up the mountain, I could see my companions gasping with awe, some with silent apprehension perhaps wondering whether they would go along with the group. No one spoke about what they felt at the time but you could see it in their eyes, especially the older guys. Yet no one backed out. Perhaps it was pride or it was just too late to back out.

I was worried about whether I could carry my 40-kilo backpack all the way to the top. Nevertheless, we began our pre-climb briefing while Raul Bendanillo passed on several unlighted torches, which we were supposed to keep until we reached the peak of the mountain and descended down towards a lonely forester’s cabin about five kilometers from the top of Mt. Binalabag.

For myself, the fear of going up the mountain was just beginning to set in, especially since newspapers recently published a story about the death of a lady mountaineer. I must admit that several scenarios were beginning to form in my mind. I suddenly realized that we would be going up a place where rescue was near impossible should an accident happen. Then, suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of an eagle crying midair. One look at that majestic bird of prey flying in the clouds above the mountain we were about to climb, all the fear was gone. I just had to be there on the top.

We began to check our gear to make sure that we had everything for the climb, each one checking the other’s gear, whether the straps in their backpacks were properly fastened and other safety considerations. Then we huddled for a prayer and began our ascent up the mountain.

The first few steps started easy. As we left the dirt road and began climbing up a dried creek bed, one could literally feel the air thinning out. We were gasping for breath with every step we made. A few hours later, you could even hear your own pulse as you struggled up a muddy water passageway and tried to make sure that every footstep on that rock was a sure one.

For every short respite that we took and despite the difficulty of acclimatizing to the altitude, we marveled at the panorama in front of us and realized what an artist God must be. Not every man is privileged to stand above the clouds and see two eagles mating midair in a ballet that inspires poetry. Now I know that monkey eating eagles are not just found in Davao but in Zamboanga as well.

You begin to notice the strangest things about nature. We found a fallen tree whose trunk had a gaping hole that was just like a little pond. And in this little pond were small fishes….and this was way up there on the mountain. You begin to wonder how those fishes found their way into that tree trunk. After three hours of climbing uphill, we began descending into a valley where we found a small creek. Raul said that the creek is the main source that feeds the entire La Paz River. It was about 30 minutes after we reached the creek that we decided to rest and gather enough strength for the challenge up ahead. The thick compost of dead leaves under our feet was slippery and wet, but there was no other place to sit, and quite frankly after the long march, I couldn’t care less whether the ground was wet to sit on.

Lunch was a bag of crackers, energy bars, and a can of carne norte, which all seemed like a feast to the tired bunch.

The tall ferns shot up like green fountains around us, as tall as trees, making you feel as though you were a gnome in the kingdom of Liliput. Suddenly Jojo jumped up, startled. He just found out the hard way that leeches in the mountain can fall down from trees.

The butterflies around us were of the most exquisite colors, some of which I had never seen before. It was unfortunate that at the time, I was just too tired to pull my camera out.

After regaining our strength, we began our ascent up the mountain again. This time the path looked steeper with granite rocks sharp enough to cut through your soles. Coupled with this, we had to dodge several times against rattan branches that were protruding like barbed wires. Danny was the unfortunate one – he got caught by a rattan thorn right in the ear. It felt like forever, as though you were passing through some hellish mace. I felt like giving up, especially when my backpack got tangled up. I began talking to myself as I struggled to make every step, trying to convince myself that the top was just a few minutes away. "Just a couple of steps more…."

As the atmosphere got thinner, you could hear your own lungs struggling with every breath. That’s when the dizzy spells started. Then suddenly Raul called out from the front. "This is it guys!" He peered at his altimeter and turned to us with a wide grin on his face and started congratulating everyone in the group.

Reig pulled out a banner from his pack and asked the group to gather for a group picture. Then Raul called each one and ceremonially placed a native amulet over our necks. It was a pair of native Subanen bells, which the tribe’s people use to bring in good luck. That little amulet became the symbol of what human endurance can achieve, of what every man can do with enough willpower. For all 17 of us, it was a badge of courage – and not a single one of us has taken off the little amulet from his neck.

We descended from the peak of Mount Binalabag to a forester’s camp some five kilometers below. The little cottage seemed like a picture from Brigadoon, surrounded by tall trees covered with wild orchids all the way to the top. It was 5 p.m. when we arrived at the camp, but I could have sworn it was 7 p.m. because it was really dark.

We wasted no time in putting up our tents and preparing our evening meal. I decided to cook "Paella a la Ronnie" using tomato sauce, carne norte, green peas and mushrooms, which everybody enjoyed.

That evening, we lit our torches as a symbol of our solidarity to save the remaining of our forest reserve and to educate the young generation. We symbolically signed a logbook to seal our accomplishment and to record our solemn promise.

That night, we slept amid the cries of wild owls, eagles, and the furtive purrs of the wild gatorgallas, the mountain wild cat. It was as if they were there to remind us what we had promised during the night.

We descended from the mountain the next day, each one a different man from the day before, each one with a different sense of awareness of the environment around him, feeling like a small element in a big cycle of life.

Having a close look at nature teaches us just that. I have listened to the crickets in the mountains and somehow been lost in nature’s beauty. But like every mountain that you climb, you must come down to where you belong and make the most of what you’ve learned from kissing the clouds and communing with your God.