A jungle adventure on Carabao Island
Another adventure for the sake of history began last Saturday at noon and ended just at midnight at the Marine Base in Ternate, Cavite, an isolated training ground that gets extremely dark at sundown. I went with non-commissioned police officers from Philippine Public Safety College’s schools nationwide to witness the Pekiti Tirsia Kali martial arts lessons. Specific destination: Carabao Island, which was described as “this southernmost, once fortified island, along its eastern shore rises from the sea to tall cliffs more than 100 feet high,” plus a hill 185 feet higher. I confirmed this report myself, standing on a narrow cemented footbridge (the balusters of which had been stolen) joining two cliffs. “Don’t look down,” the men warned. Of course, I did otherwise, and saw plants and trees of emerald and apple green colors and the sea charging at the islands rocks. On another location I was standing on a precipice and I remembered Joan Fontaine in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie Rebecca. Anyway, I suddenly had the desire to jump off because I didn’t want to walk through the darkness and ward off numerous bats nor walk upon their undisturbed filth and earth accumulated through the past century stuff that made Guila and Maricel in Japanese thong slippers curl up their toes while walking through the cave-like buildings. My officer borrowed rubber shoes for me from a Marine Serge disinfected of salt water.
By the way, our country has colorful “place names” of barangays, sitios and villages named after animals, trees, fruits, even after weeds. Manila was named after a shrub called nilad. Tarlac came from a weed called malatarlac. There’s Camote (sweet potato) Island in Cebu. Siquijor Province was called Isla de Fuego. During calm nights she flickered like a lantern because of fireflies, and the Carabao Island, Ternate, was named after its shape.
At Ternate Force Recon Marine Base we rushed to the rubber boat. “Just like the lifeboats in the movies!” Guila said. It was bobbing up and down on the waves and required three men to hold down. Guila Maramba, PO1 Maricel Gomez, Colonel Herbert Tuzon and myself wore orange life jackets and bumped into each other inside the tiny boat. Twenty minutes after crossing 35-foot-deep waters, we jumped onto the shore waters that were thigh-high. Still wet, we did as instructed and stepped cautiously over tall boulders and rocks, smooth and jagged, blown apart after military exercises due to detonation or civilian gold hunters searching for crates with silver coins thrown overboard from General MacArthur’s ships.
Where are we going? “Up here, Ma’am,” shouted an officer at the top of the hill. There? It’s a 90-degree incline! Up that high? Going, going, 180 feet uphill as we ducked under tree branches. Lucky nature took care of us as we held on to trunks and roots of trees and branches, even onto bush-colored fatigue sleeves and our officers’ pockets. “I didn’t know that, to go see a hospital, we would need to climb this hill and end up a patient!” Guila joked. Guila, returning home for the presidential inauguration, didn’t expect to be challenged into mountain climbing.
Wobbling along, an hour later we arrived at a clearing a helicopter landing area but we had no time to rest. We proceeded downward on the other side of this torturous incline into a cave-like tunnel leading to an oval dome, its ceiling made of steel and heavy cement. Numerous steel trusses had been stolen. For God’s sake, what if the ceiling fell on our heads today, in this former military garrison built deep in the bowels of Carabao Island! Named Fort Frank, it was used to defend Manila and Subic Bays, Cavite and Corregidor for the Spaniards, Americans and against the Japanese.
What could this tunnel have been like, with giant manholes ex-tending three flights down that scared us? “May butas… Stick to the left… Walk on the right side, flashlight. Ilawan mo ang paa natin!” shouted Major Harold Depositar, and a Master Sergeant to 55 students. There were rows of rooms on both sides of wide corridors. These extremely thick walls were ready to withstand cannons. We asked each other many questions. Could this be a hospital? Rows of prison cells? Barracks? A garrison or stables? It was more than that; it was also a desalination plant.
Panting, Guila was consuming two bottles of water when we noticed letters painted on red faded walls. Scrutinizing them, I read “Greer” and “1907… Crofton Tunnel.” Upon researching, I learned this fort was named in memory of Brigadier General Royal T. Frank and had several batteries or units of artillery. I hadn’t comprehended what batteries were until today. One battery was at the northern end of the island, Battery Greer; on the west side was Battery Crofton; the north side was Battery Frank North.
Heavens, how did I get convinced to see this fort, built downward from the top, not upward, by the Philippine Department of the US Army Engineering Brigade in 1907. Fort Frank stocked mortar, guns and their carriages, which were shipped to the island in 1912 and mounted on emplacements by June 30, 1913. Troop strength was 349 men in every battery, 215 more men for the mortars. A normal tour of duty at Fort Frank was four months. Seven years ago such information would never have interested me, but working with uniformed troops I learned to appreciate their skill and sacrifices, recalling that 300 Philippine Scouts were assigned in Carabao Island to defend Manila against the enemy.
There was a ramp built for one battery. Probably to carry food? Ammunition swiftly from end to end? How about beddings and luggage and medicine? Surely one or more of those. In fact, Crofton Tunnel served as an infirmary and garrison. On the morning of March 20, soldiers lined up to be inoculated. While waiting, powerful 240-mm shells penetrated its roof, which exploded. I thought those tunnels could withstand hellish firepower, but instantly, 280 men died and 20 were wounded. Bullet holes still riddle the existing walls. No wonder the orbs/spirits appeared in photographs.
A high structure on the side of the cliff constructed in 1930 was the desalination plant used to purity seawater and supply the island with potable water. The water came from mainland Cavite and was conveyed through a pipeline connected to the Calumpan Dam on Carabao. Today there is no water because the pipeline in 1942 was destroyed by the Japanese marking the beginning of the end of Fort Frank under Colonel Boudreau.
Supposedly privately reconstructed and owned at present, I believe the fort belongs to our national heritage. Built a century ago, used for the defense of our mother country, it is utterly historical in purpose and architecture. Being what it is, it should remain solely in the possession of the Republic of the Philippines.
We watched uniformed men and woman go through their Pekiti exercises with sticks in a mock duel with grand masters Army Technical Sergeant Tap Prado and Police Chief Inspector Serafin F. Petalio II, assisted by Police Chief Inspector Harold P. Depositar and PO2 Leo Pete Manongdo. Pekiti Tirsia Kali is a type of martial art: graceful yet deadly, its purpose is to attack and second to defend. It is based on Filipino dance steps. Slow at first, than taunting and swift, it is an indigenous fighting method native to Panay Island 1,500 years ago. The Tortal family claims ownership of this art of self-protection and aggressive combat popular among FBI students in America, Europe (including Sweden, Norway, Germany and other countries) plus five South American countries. It is taught by foreign-based Grandmaster Tuhon Leo T. Gaje Jr. and his worldwide disciples of different races. Pekiti Tirsia Kali has been featured in the documentary Fight Quest on the National Geographic and Discovery TV channels. Yet unfortunately, it is less known in our country. Grandmaster Gaje stresses: “The practical use of counter-offense techniques against impact and edged weapons has always been the focus of Pekiti Tirsia Kali training.” A skilled knife fighter or empty-handed combat does not rely on muscle power, but timing and coordination: 1-2-3-1, 1-2-3-2, cross-line footwork, attack, tap and cover. All the while PO1 Maricel inspected and felt our surroundings, using his “third eye.” “There’s a man following SPO4 Paguntalan as tall as him, it could be his father who just died.”
After exercises a prayer ritual found the men huddled in silence. Then picture-taking, posing, kneeling… Maricel stood still in my khaki and white T-shirt to replace her police uniform (of course, before our boat ride) while Guila joked, “Oh gads, my knees are locked together. I can’t get up from crouching for this picture.” Two men lifted Guila as we laughed ourselves to tears.
It was getting dark and only 10 people fit in the orange rubber boat at a time. Improvised stairs were carved into the
ground for a shortcut downhill. My blouse tore in two areas from the thorns. “If you think you look good in front look at your stained behind,” said Guila chuckling.
The challenging sea howled, inviting us to sit on the rocks as we waited for the Recon men. We obliged, dangling our feet in the cold water. Already very sweaty, many decided to jump into the not-so-salty water, including me. Anyway, I’d take a bath by the shallow hand-pump I saw at headquarters surrounded by nipa walls built just like in the movie South Pacific. (I recall Mitzi Gaynor, who must be 95 now, singing “I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair.”)
Finally we caught sight of our lifeline to civilization. Our commander said, “Girls first into the boat.” Arriving at the Ternate beach, we jumped into the water no choice! and found out that the beach is dangerous and deceiving, shallow giving way to sudden depth. After several splashes we walked directly to the bathing enclosure. Shampoo, conditioner, Ivory Soap. Guila couldn’t believe I had brought my cosmetic and overnight bag and for modesty wrapped a malong around myself over my clothes! A strong army Sergeant jumped out the water and two anti-terrorism police chief inspectors poured water over me and finally themselves while Guila and Maricel laughed while watching Guila with glee and puzzlement at herself for what she had first experienced ever, and PO1 Gomez quiet as usual, having no recourse but to obey.
Researchers and warriors must adjust to many circumstances, dedicating every moment to discovering and learning, becoming local active participants regardless of their surroundings But it surely helps to have a good-humored friend like Guila Maramba willing to have fun (and who now calls me an ex-friend).
