ngyaw's travels: mount pulag

Waiting for sunrise at the peak of Mt. Pulag. (November, 2012)

At 2922 masl, Mt. Pulag is the highest mountain in Luzon and the third in the whole Philippines. This was the first ever adventure I had with my human. It was also the first peak exceeding 2000 meters that she conquered. Taking the Ambangeg trail, this was a no-sweat trek for me. I cannot say the same for my human though.

With the majestic sunrise view it offers combined with the relative ease of making it to the summit, hundreds of people flock here, mostly in the weekend. This makes it the most popular 'high-altitude' mountain for climbing enthusiasts in Luzon, if not in the country. But concerns have been raised against the large volume of traffic in the mountain which may be doing harm to its delicate ecosystem. So if you decide to climb this mountain (or any mountain), climb responsibly and follow the leave-no-trace principle.

Ngyaw's purr-fect tip: Bring lots of layers because the cold in the mountain isn't a joke. And layers, not a bulky winter jacket because once you start the early morning ascent to the summit, you'll get warmer and would have to peel a few.

huayna potosi: my failed attempt to summit a 6000+m peak

Standing 6088m high, Huayna Potosi near the city of La Paz in Bolivia is considered as the easiest mountain above 6000m to climb. Each year, many backpackers who aren’t exactly mountaineers but simply outdoor enthusiasts attempt to reach the summit of this mountain. Armed with crampons and ice axe, the successful climber is rewarded with an astounding view of sunrise over the Andes upon reaching its peak. And maybe the bragging rights, if he desires.

Returning to the city from my journey around the stunning landscapes of Bolivia, I had this hunger of doing something really challenging. Huayna Potosi had been on my mind but I had doubts that I could make it. The only peak I had successfully scaled that time wasn’t even half of its height. Perhaps I had been talking to the wrong people when I decided to sign up for a 3-day climb of the mountain.

In a three-day climb, the summit attempt only commences at an ungodly hour of the third day. The first day is generally spent on ice climbing practice and the next on a 4-hour hike up to the high camp. I was climbing with a French couple who said that they also didn’t have much experience with mountains and that their only advantage over me was that snow and cold wasn’t new to them. We’ve had much of our conversations filled with charades. I really wish I had studied Spanish before going to South America.

We went to a nearby glacier to practice the use of our crampons and ice axe. Just like most of the glaciers around the world, that one was also receding. And it had been receding fast, according to our guide. Only a few years back, the glacier extends much further.

We were taught how to use the ice axe as support while walking up or down the slope. And how it could help us in case we accidentally slide down. The hardest part was climbing an almost vertical slope of ice. With crampons on, we had to thrust the tip of our boots on the ice and push ourselves with the help of the ice axe to a wall of ice that is almost five meters high. Upon completing the task, I was told by my guide that I did great and he was confident that I would make it to the summit. Apparently, he was wrong.

A French group was climbing a day ahead of us. I was supposed to go with them but I felt like I wasn’t ready to leave yet and hoped that I wouldn’t be sick anymore after a day. They all made it to the summit and were very positive that our group could also make it. They suggested that I get a porter. Maybe I should have gotten one but everyone was going back to the city that day. I didn’t have a choice then but to carry my own pack.

The supposed four-hour climb to high camp on our second day took me more than five hours. While I was carrying all of my stuff at the beginning, my guide offered to take some of my things when he noticed that I was lagging behind. I gave him my water bottle. And then my sleeping bag. By the time we reached the first high camp, I just wanted to lie down. But ours was still further ahead, 200m higher.

I looked up. It was a very steep climb. My guide started to walk and I hesitantly followed. Every move I made caused my heart to beat really fast and hard. For every minute of climbing, I needed three. My guide kept on telling me that we’re almost there. But I couldn’t see the camp anymore. He told me he’d carry my backpack. I wanted to say no but it was getting late and we needed to move faster. I gave it to him and he carried it on top of his own backpack which was probably a lot heavier.

Once we reached the refugio, I collapsed on the bed. We were so far behind that the other guide was already preparing our dinner. After having our meals, we went straight to bed.

It was a restless night for the three of us. I wasn’t even sure if I get to sleep. All I could remember was being really cold and then hearing the voices of our guides waking us up, telling us to prepare. I was still groggy as I put on my boots and gaiters. My guide strapped a harness around me. The two of us would be connected with a rope during the climb for safety. I checked the time and it was 1:30 in the morning. It was snowing when we stepped out of the refugio.

A lot of trekkers from the other refugio were already making their way up. I could feel their enthusiasm but mine was lacking. I wasn’t feeling well, though it must be purely psychological. I only had my water and camera in my backpack but it felt like I was carrying a lot more. Aided only with our head lamps, we followed the tracks made by the groups who went ahead of us. And though we were walking at a steady pace at the start, I had felt really tired after some time.

I kept on moving, but each step I took made my leg muscles shout for pain. My heart was pumping so hard it felt like it would beat out of my chest. I took really deep breaths but the thin oxygen in the air wasn’t enough to supply what my body needed. My stomach was tightening and I was about to throw up. I called my guide and lied about having altitude sickness. I didn’t want to do it anymore.

My guide was named Jesus. And I thought since I got Jesus by my side the whole time, I’ve got nothing to fear (pun intended). But Jesus was so merciful that when I told him that I couldn’t go any further and that I wanted to turn back, he immediately agreed. I wished he pushed me a little more. Maybe it had made a big difference.

Jesus untied the rope and ran to the other group to inform them that we’re turning back. I sat on the snow feeling miserable. I still wanted to reach the summit but the pain and discomfort was already too much to bear. I felt deceived. Why call it ‘easiest’ when it wasn’t even easy?

I wanted to blame others for my failure. My uncomfortable boots. The pain on my back because the backpack they lent me wasn’t good enough. The lack of sleep. My colds and clogged nose. Even hyperacidity. But more than a year later, I realized that it was simply I who must take the blame, if I really must blame someone. I wasn’t prepared physically. Neither was I prepared mentally. Just recently while trekking in Nepal, I learned that in order to achieve something, one must accept and surpass the pain that goes with it. I didn’t know it back then. And now that I’ve gained more wisdom, I’m ready to face that mountain again.

2017, come fast.

chasing the sunrise in gunung merapi

It all started with “Hey, how about Merapi?”

The idea didn't come from me, though. It was Kris who gave the suggestion while we were looking at possible things we could do while in Yogyakarta. She knew I love mountains and volcanoes. But Merapi wasn't really high in my list. In fact, it wasn't even in my radar and I had never given it a thought until she mentioned the name.

The web wasn't that helpful when it comes to planning a climb to Merapi. Information (costs, logistics, or budget tours) was very scant. We concluded that we’ll just figure everything out once we get to Indonesia.

If Merapi rings a bell to you, it is because of its recent activity. From October to November of 2010, a series of violent eruptions occurred, killing hundreds and displacing hundreds of thousands of people. The ash plume it produced also led to disruption to aviation.

Fast forward a few weeks later in Yogyakarta. It was a little unexpected that it would be that simple to organize a climb to Merapi, or rather to join an organized climb. We merely booked through our guesthouse and paid 300,000 IDR a day before the climb. Inclusive of transportation, guide fees and breakfast, the trip was an easy bargain.

The fairly new service vehicle arrived at our guesthouse a few minutes past 10pm, went around the city a little bit to fetch other climbers and then we were off to a supposed two-hour drive. I wanted some sleep before the climb but it was impossible with the driver driving a little too fast and maneuvering the vehicle a little too hard that I got tossed left and right on my seat a few times. In fact he was driving so fast that we got to New Selo, the base for climbing Merapi, in just a little over an hour.

We were scheduled to start the climb at 1am and passed time inside a house/guesthouse/machine shop in New Selo helping ourselves with coffee. With an elevation of around 1300m, it was a little chilly at around midnight. Lying at the foot of an active volcano, this town survived the 2010 eruption of Merapi. The destructive pyroclastic flow went down to the other side of the volcano, obliterating the villages along its path. But thick layers of ash still covered the town, keeping its people out for about a month.

We started as a group of nine climbers and three guides. The first part of the climb was spent walking up a steep asphalt road that crosses the village. Once we reached the end of the road, we had a few minutes to rest and waited for the others behind. Two people decided to go back to the village and not climb anymore so we had to let go of one guide.

Not that long into the climb and it was evident that two groups exist among us – the fast group and the slow group. Kris wasn't feeling well since the afternoon so she had to stay at the tail end of the group and continue with a slower pace. I could have joined the fast group and I knew she wouldn't take it badly if I do so but we only brought one backpack (ergo, our water was in one bag) so it wasn't really practical to separate.

The trail that we had to take was steep and slippery, the ground covered with ash. I chose to walk to my left where there were some grasses so I wouldn't slip but what I could make out with my head lamp seems like a deep ravine. Telling myself that I would just pay really close attention to where I was stepping and that I was more prone to slipping, I continued on the side where I was walking. Thankfully, the trail later on snaked away from the ravine.

At first I stayed really close with Kris, making sure that she wouldn't be that far behind and encouraging her to continue. But one of the guides was also staying near her and I realized that I was a superfluous. So I went ahead and just took more rests, waited for them and once I saw the light from her lamp, I would continue. I actually needed those rests because for at least the first two hours, the trail didn't even out. We were continuously going up following a steep path and it was at times challenging. The trail was clear but choosing where to position your foot as you climb to keep your balance was a little tricky. There were instances where I had to hold on to tree roots or shrubs to push myself up. Sometimes I would catch up with the fast group. Sometimes it would feel like I had lost them when I couldn't see their lights anymore.

Once we reached the ridge, my leg muscles were rejoicing from relief. But we were also exposed to the strong winds, which didn't stop as we walked. We lingered by a large rock outcrop protruding on the ridge and found a number of tents, positioned there to be sheltered from the cold wind. It was good to know that we weren't the only ones climbing Merapi, some people just spent the night there and was already on their way to the peak.

By then, the darkness was starting to give way to light. From where we were standing, we could see the silhouette of what was waiting for us. Our guide pointed where we were going and said that it would take about an hour to reach the peak.

We resumed walking, Kris and I still at the back of the group. Since the slope was just rolling, we were going at a faster pace, until we reached the base of Merapi's cone. We had to climb again. And although it wasn’t as steep as what we had gone through for the first couple of hours, the slope was made of loose volcanic materials. Because those materials couldn't stand our weight, climbing was a case of two steps forward and one step back. We kept on sliding.

At that moment, the horizon, interrupted only by the hump of a distant volcano was already telling us that the sun was on its way. From the darkness of what seems like a vast plain, a layer of red, orange and yellow was expanding upwards; the moon above which will soon be out-shined was giving us its last smile. We already had a good view. But I wanted to be at the peak as I watch the sun as it rises. So I hurried, overtaking the others.

Actually if you walk fast enough on those loose materials, you wouldn't slide back as much compared to when you do it slower. After we got passed through that part, we had to climb over huge boulders, which wasn't really a problem to me with my long legs. A little care should just be taken because the boulders’ surfaces were rough and sharp and could cut ones palms.  Although Kris was previously going slowly, by that time she was just behind me. We were covering a pretty decent distance, pressed by time.

The climb ended when we reached the crater rim. While in most climbs where you can celebrate, jump for joy or crash on the ground, the case in Merapi is different. Before its 2010 eruption, according to our guide, the peak of Merapi is simply more beautiful and more appealing. But today, its rim is dangerously too narrow. One wrong move and you might fall to the very steep rocky slopes or towards the crater. With gases continuously being spewed out, it was difficult to say how deep the crater is. We couldn't see a thing. We were just told that it is a fatal 200 to 300-meter drop.

With the strong wind raging continuously and my balance that I sometimes doubt, I inched my way to safety – a spot which was just wide enough to sit and with a stumpy wall of rock I could push my back against and keep me from falling. Kris sat beside me and we gazed at the rising sun in quiet. While everything that we had been doing for the past four hours was exhilarating and heart-pounding, the view offered to us only gave a feeling of serenity, bliss and a sense of pride. Being there to watch the magical sunrise was something that we worked hard for to accomplish. And I can’t help but be proud, especially of Kris who could have easily given up but never did.