STORY OF A HIKE ABOVE THE CLOUDS
I spotted the van for the shared tour and waved at the coordinator. After showing my ID and a quick round of introductions, I hopped in and met the rest of the group. Everyone looked a bit sleepless but equally excited. Once everyone was accounted for, we drove off toward the DENR office for our orientation.
We made a quick stop to get our medical clearance, which we needed to present at the park office to be allowed entry to the mountain. Since it was the weekend, the line was long and the orientation had to be done in batches. But the wait wasn’t too bad—everyone was friendly, and before long, I already had new travel buddies.
After the orientation, we returned to the van and headed to our homestay. It was warm and cozy, with a fireplace that felt like heaven in the cold weather near the Ranger Station. We were starving by then, so lunch was a treat. The food was delicious and plenty!
After eating, we were shown our bunk rooms. I was sharing mine with a mother and her three daughters. They were so warm and chatty that I instantly felt less alone. We shared stories nonstop and almost didn’t hear Ann, our coordinator, calling for the team huddle. She introduced us to our trail guides and gave a rundown of the next day’s schedule—what time we’d leave, what to bring, and what to leave behind. She was calm and reassuring, and I knew we were in good hands.
The 12 midnight wake-up call, however, was brutal. I questioned my sanity as I layered clothes upon clothes just to keep myself warm and dry for the twilight trek. In what universe is this considered self-therapy? After a cup of warm tea and a couple of boiled eggs, our group gathered outside. Our guide led the way, while Ann trailed behind me—probably to make sure I didn’t sneak back to bed.
Our Mt Pulag hike was long and painfully slow. I felt like I was part of the Death March—except I had five layers of clothes, was trekking under the rain, and was gasping for air. When we reached Camp I, Ann asked how everyone was doing, and we all chorused “Good!” with varying degrees of conviction. After a short break, we moved on.
The trek to Camp II felt endless. Every step tested my patience and willpower. I was miserable. Ninety minutes later, we finally reached Camp II. While others were looking for the latrines, I was searching for an excuse convincing enough to make Ann let me go back down. But before I could say anything, she looked straight at me and said, “You are so much stronger than your excuses. Don’t disappoint yourself.” Creepy how she read my mind—but she was right.
We took a short break for hot drinks and packed sandwiches, then pushed on toward the summit. It was still pitch black, and my headlamp was fading. I could barely see the trail when suddenly—splat! I slipped and fell flat on my face. The shock of the cold mud made me shiver. Ann helped me up and checked for injuries. None—except for my ego. That’s when I started crying. No, bawling. I just wanted to quit. But I couldn’t let myself down.
So, with Ann’s hiking stick and whatever strength I had left, I kept going. I slipped, fell, got back up—again and again, maybe twenty times. It must have looked pathetic, but I didn’t stop. I just kept walking, one step at a time, until finally, I saw it: the summit marker.
“Welcome Mount Pulag Summit, 2922 masl.”
I burst into tears again, but this time they were tears of pure joy. I was so proud of myself—me, a (slightly) chubby, newly single woman, standing at the roof of Luzon. Woohoo!
Mt. Pulag taught me that no matter how hard it gets, anything is possible when you put your heart and mind to it—and that having positive, encouraging people around makes all the difference.
