I Survived Mt Apo (Part 2)

Previously, in Part 1, we had failed to reach the top of Mt Apo due to the risks posed by the strong storm winds and the cold temperature. Now, we had to get down from that precarious spot near the top of Mt Apo before the cold and the possibility of heavy rains make it even more difficult for us.

For me, a different problem was forming at that time. Hypothermia, after I failed to bring the proper clothing for the climb, was slowly setting in. The extreme cold had manifested itself in silence at White Sands. That frozen whisper was growing into an anguished cry, even as we went down the mountain with care. We had to descend as fast as possible; yet careful, lest the strong winds bring us tumbling down the dark deep crevices that scarred the mountain. We needed to retreat from that cold part of the edge of the world, and return to the safety and warmth of the lowlands.

But haste breeds missteps where careful precision is needed. I twisted my left ankle slightly while traversing a tricky slope. It was the kind of twist that comes from a moment’s misjudgement of the rocks and the terrain. The pain seemed bearable at first, but the constant braking as one descends the mountain, coupled with the need to favor the aggrieved ankle, only opened up 2 more pain points then: first, with the toenails, as the front end of the shoes impeded the toes’ forward motion; and then the left knee, as I tried to favor the pained ankle. From hereon, every step would bring a grimace, with pain a constant companion. But we moved on – we had to – and slowly, stubbornly, with a dogged determination born of those early days with the Scout Rangers (SR) and the Special Forces (SF) spent in the company of the mountains, we made progress.

By 2pm, we finally reached the Big Rock E-Camp. Famished, but now no longer confronted by the freezing temperature, we took a break for a quick late lunch. I was lucky in that I had with me 2 of DENR’s finest guides, James and Sarge. The 2 made my struggle to go down more bearable, with the physical and morale support, the silly talk and more. We even discovered a fondness for a common song by the time we were halfway down the mountain. And we sung that song – Bruno Mars’ “Die with a Smile” – with gusto. Singing that song did wonders for me, as it somehow diverted much of the attention from the pain on my knees and ankle.

After a while, we heard the kids’ voices as they came barreling down from their gutsy attempt to reach the top. I was fortunate that Win brought with him some pain reliever tablets plus a topical pain relief cream. He took time to give my bum knee a brief massage, with the cooling sensation giving me some extra comfort. And what a big relief indeed! Within minutes, I felt my knee joints get looser. I could now walk a bit faster and with less pain. Plus, I had an extra ‘caregiver’ as Aly elected to stay with me as we gingerly limped our way back to Camp 1.

That long grueling descent back to the base camp was truly challenging. It seemed like this was the longest 2 days of my life. The clock seemed to slip backward mysteriously, as if the mountain itself was toying with me, prolonging my agony and testing the limits of what I could endure.

We finally staggered back to Camp 1 at around 4pm. Only to find out that the strong winds had toyed with the tents we left behind that midnight. Everyone busied themselves to fix the tents, as the wind was getting even wilder now. But minutes after we reached camp, we were advised to secure the tents, and seek refuge instead inside the abandoned shelter houses, as the storm drew close. We then had a quick early dinner, gathered our gear, and struck down the tents before darkness set in. That night, heavy rains fell, the winds screamed, and the cold creeped into my bones once again, denying me precious hours of much-needed sleep.

Thankfully, the storm would exit as the morning came. The sun was up, and the winds had died down. We looked around and saw the damage done by the storm. Some trees and branches were felled. At our tent area, we saw fallen branches where our tents were once planted. Indeed, the decision to strike tent was providential for us.

We then had a hearty breakfast at the camp. As we ate, some monkeys ventured close, seeming to ask to partake of our meal. Someone provided them some leftovers, and I wondered how these almost unprotected creatures could have survived the storm’s fury that night. Nature, despite its harshness, somehow must have known the limits of their endurance. We bade the monkeys and the camp goodbye. And made preparations for our final trek down to more familiar lowlands.

As we made our way back to warmer grounds, I looked back at Mt Apo. But this time, with more respect for this grand old lady. I underestimated Apo, I must admit. I underestimated the fact that she could bring in the cold, the wind, and that quiet capitulation as the air bit deep into one’s skin and bones – to the point of freezing one’s very soul. I also underestimated how my own body, as seasoned and as stubborn as it could be, could misread its own limits.

I wish to acknowledge the nextgen members of our ‘expedition’. For the younger members of our Apo Hiking Society, this was a rite of passage. They pressed ahead, even when the mountain’s voice grew louder than the voice of wisdom in our heads. They reached Crater Lake, a place that looked beautiful on the map and provided the promise of a breathtaking peak. They almost reached the top, and I’m sure they would have, if the conditions had been more forgiving, more favorable.

I wish to salute our guides, whose hard, weathered years brokered the sound advice for the kids not to push further. Theirs were the voice of calm, the voice of reason. The wind’s constant cry had become a threatening, terrifying wail. Truly, one must respect the boundaries where nature’s force becomes all too risky for the human frame.

The decision to turn back was no cowardly retreat. It was a deliberate, yet respectful acknowledgement of the danger I could no longer deny. The ankle throbbed with every careful step down, but the mind steadied it with a stubborn vow to bring me back to the safety of the flatlands. The climb would end, but the memory remains. It would bear witness to what I rediscovered on this old, stubborn mountain: that strength has different faces, and humility is not surrender but a clearer understanding and acceptance of one’s true limits.

It had been a difficult and truly humbling experience. Yet there was a fierce, hard-won fulfillment that made it all worthwhile. There is some sort of enigma in a journey that defeats you in the moment, yet feeds you with small consolation wins to cherish in the aftermath.

On the way down, the world’s more familiar sounds – of birds, of gentler winds, of the distant rustle of leaves, and of clean gentle streams – started to chime in to welcome us. There was no more evidence of the recent storm. A friendly sun was out once more, welcoming us with its warm embrace. It was as if the mountain had finally decided to let us go, after unleashing its hostility on us the past 2 days.

Soon, the pathways eased, and the terrain became friendlier. I tried to review the many wonderful memories our ‘Apo Hiking Society’ had experienced in this great test of fortitude. From the jump-off at the foot of Mt Apo, to our slow, cautious descent. It was a strange mix, counting pain and fear against perseverance, yet one which has given me so much fulfillment. To be almost seventy and to still choose the hard road is borderline crazy. But sometimes, it is the heart that insists in living a life that is not measured only in ease and comfort.

When we finally stood again on level ground, with the mountain behind us like a patient, undefeated adversary, there was in the air a scent of rare relief – an air that spoke more softly of understanding and mutual respect. Some say that the grand old lady always plays hard-to-get for first-timers. That day, she had made that very clear, while silently serving an invitation to a more pleasant climb next time. The day’s soft warmth, the sky’s bright disposition, and the simple fact that we were back on more familiar grounds brought some quiet relief. We may not have reached the peak of Mt Apo, but there was great fulfillment in having tried and endured this difficult path, a path that demanded more than I thought I had enough to give. Truly, this climb has been the toughest, most taxing adventure I’ve ever tried in the past few years.

What did I learn from this experience? I learned more about myself on Mt Apo’s stern slopes. I learned that the body remembers more than the mind wants it to forget. It remembers the cold, the wind, and the fear all too clearly, and yet it also remembers that old stubborn fire within you, taking pride in the decision to keep moving when every other sign, every ache and pain, was telling you to quit. I learned that mountains test not just the body, but the soul’s capacity for listening. They demand caution as much as courage, and they give both in equal measure – a subtle balance between risk and reward. I went to Apo seeking a glorious dawn; and while I failed to catch it, I found more than a spectacular view. I found a measure of myself, worn but intact, tempered by wind and weather. And I recalled my plebe year in the Academy where I developed a quiet, stubborn knowledge of what it means to endure and survive. I learned when to push forward, and when to retreat when the costs were simply too high.

The quest is over. But the story does not end with an unplanted flag at the summit. The mountain has its own way of writing in the margins of life; and I am grateful for the honor to have been a part of this unforgettable journey. Apo has proved to me that the world’s most poignant stories are not always about reaching the top, but about returning with something intact, something earned, amidst the challenges one has to hurdle. It is about chasing a dream; something that will echo that madness in taking on a most difficult challenge, yet has gifted me with a sense of pride for having at least tried. And if I ever forget, I will listen to the memory of the wind – the same wind that refused to yield my glorious sunrise in Apo; and instead whispered a different, humbling truth: that to live is to endure, and to endure is sometimes the bravest ascent of all.

Videos and pics courtesy of the ‘Apo Hiking Society’. Many thanks to Aly, Josh, Toia, Win, Neesha and to Wit. For a closer look, just click on the pics.