It is a close encounter not only with nature but with the God of nature Himself.
Elwin Deo Arroyo
The hut we’re in shook violently as the howling wind blew hard against it. Although the creaking noise was very annoying, I fell deaf to it. I could do nothing more but slump my body on the floor in utter tiredness. The coldness of the dark night could render anyone helpless in its temptation to deep slumber. Even as I closed my eyes to float away into oblivion, sights and picture of the day’s experience still overwhelmed my thoughts.
As I looked blankly at the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp struggling to stay alit against the tease of the wind, I reflected on how my companions, Allan, a fellow student and Jonas, a professional, and I fought hard to stay alive. The three of us have found shelter at a shanty owned by a widow and her children who warmly welcomed us when we pleaded for help early afternoon.
Mount Kanlaon forms a natural boundary between the Oriental and Occidental parts of Negros Island. Towering at a height of 2,465 meters above sea level, it is a dormant volcano and considered as the second highest peak in the Philippines.
The Iloilo Mountaineering Club, a non-government organization dedicated to survey and help in saving the forest, organized the trip. The group is composed of students, most in the collegiate level coming from different universities around Iloilo, and professionals alike.
This trekking activity at Mt. Kanlaon was joined by about 30 people, mostly regular members of the organization, and some were applicants for membership. The ascent to the mountain started at around 10 o’clock in the morning at Brgy. Araal, La Carlota, Negros Occidental on October 24, 1992. By then, the weather was clear and promising a clear visibility.
For us, mountaineering is a hobby worth pursuing. Though no concrete rewards promised, for a true-blooded adventurer, the essence of “conquering” mountains by reaching the summit is enough to make a nature-lover feel as if he were on top of the world, looking down on the pitiful beings who cannot share his once-in-a-lifetime experience. It is close encounter not only with nature but with the God of nature Himself. Reaching the top of a towering mountain makes one feel as if he had come closer to God in human form. Standing on the highest portion of an area is a sensation as if one were suspended between space and time. A mountaineer undergoing this experience could only stand dumbfounded beholding the solemnity and sacredness of witnessing the vastness of creation unfolded before him. There was that deafening silence in the utmost tranquillity of nature never before experienced. The dew of the condensing clouds instilled the feeling as if one were soaked in the overflowing liquid of eternity.
Climbing a mountain isn’t easy at all. A climber must endure the rigorous negotiations with the unforgiving terrain, the cruel weather, the leeches, the risks and dangers, the rearing pain of cramped muscles, the salt of sweat flowing from the face to the tongue, the heat during daytime and the coldness of the night, the heavy burden of the backpacks, and of course, the inconvenience brought about by the absence of a decent toilet.
The body must take sometime, a day at least, to adjust to the environment and strenuous activities. For any climb, the first day is considered to be the most taxing and the slowest in pace. Nevertheless, we had to push ourselves to the limit to beat time.
By noon, we had to eat our packed meals along the way to save time. A few minutes of siesta is all it takes after eating before joining the trek. By late afternoon we were still hours away from our targeted campsite. Evening had long fallen but we were pushing in the dark to reach the campsite in the middle of the high mountain. We reached the place at around 8 o’clock that evening. We have not reached the peak of the mountain yet. We pitched camp, cooked supper, and retired for the night. The climb would continue early the next day.
By six o’clock the next morning, everyone was up, ate a hurried breakfast and prepared to continue the assault to the summit. We took off out night clothes and donned again the ones we used the day before, which were already damp with the evening dew. For a mountaineer to survive in such hostile environment it is essential to make his baggage light by keeping his things dry and taking along only what is only necessary. Taking off the cozy dry bed clothes and putting on wet ones is very uncomfortable. Wearing wet socks and shoes is a torture. We had to break camp and resume the trek as soon as possible to heat up our bodies and fight temperature lower than 18 degrees Celsius. Once the body starts sweating the discomfort lessens, for the garments gradually dry up. We were on track heading for the peak by about seven that morning.
We have already covered two-thirds of the height of the mountain and we would need only a few hours more to complete the climb to the summit. As we continued, the surroundings became stranger and darker. Vegetation appeared thicker, moss covered almost entirely the trunks of trees. Humidity is considerably high in this area because of the thick foliage. With these indications, we were sure that the peak was not far away. We passed by a rusty shaped bar measuring about four feet long and weighing up to 20 kilos believed to be a part of an airplane that had crashed years before. The area had an eerie ambience, with sounds of crickets in the backdrop and weird species of plants and trees not growing in the lowlands. A few hours of strenuous steep climb and the peak would be visible.
The climbing group was divided into three. The lead team was composed of those who could climb fast enough to spearhead the group. The main body were those who can walk at moderate speed and maintain a comfortable space between the lead team and the sweepers. Sweepers were composed of the elders of the team and those capable of carrying heavy loads - since they “sweep” the path not only of things dropped or left behind but even injured comrades who could no longer maintain the pace.
By eleven o’clock that morning, the lead team and the main body reached the shoulder of the mountain called Pagatapat, a flat rock with trees and heavy vegetation. Among those in the body were the five of us from CPU Mountaineering Society - Jonas, Allan, Lemuel, Allison and myself. It was already the second time for Allan and I to climb this mountain. For Jonas, Allison and Lemuel, this was their first. Surely, the excitement to scale the peak was so intense that the five of us decided to go ahead of the group and have a view of the dome. We headed out to a clearing, and there, looming ominously, enveloped by thick clouds was the crater dome. Below us was the Magaja Valley, a depressed area considered to be the centuries-old dead crater.
The weather that day was not so good than that of the previous day. Without our knowledge, low pressure had developed right over Mr. Canlaon, bringing along gusty winds and dark clouds. Vision was limited to 10 meters only by the thick fog. Nevertheless, the five of us decided to conquer the dome, an hour’s climb from where we were. We could hardly discern distant objects and the sun was not visible. The wind did not seem to blow in one direction but howls around the dome in a circling motion. Climbing upwards to the dome was not very difficult even without seeing the peak - just by observing the vertical growth of the trees. We were following a well-beaten path leading to the summit. Allan and I went ahead. Five meters behind us was Jonas, and ten meters behind him were Allison and Lemuel. Looking back over my shoulders, I could hardly see them because of the dense fog.
Confident that they were following, Allan and I decided to go on uphill until we reached the crater. The wind was so strong that we had to stoop down low while walking, crouching, almost crawling otherwise, we would be blown away. It was very dangerous to lose balance as we were crossing a ridge about six meters wide before reaching the mouth of the crater. We laid flat down on our bellies and viewed the crater below us, the seemingly bottomless pit to the depths of the earth. We gasped for air, suffocated with the stinging stench of sulphur. We could not see the entire expanse of the crater because of the thick clouds.
A few minutes later, the weather worsened. Jonas decided to go back to the campsite. He had left Allison and Lemuel waiting twenty meters behind. Hastily, Allan and I got up and joined Jonas in heading down back to the campsite. Descent was more difficult than the ascent because the weight of the body puts a direct strain on the toes. Maintaining balance was also very tricky. We literally groped our way back to the camp because of the absence of trail signs and vegetation. High concentration of sulphur in the ground in the uppermost part of the mountain inhibited plant growth.
We have already descended for sometime but there were still there were no signs of Allison and Lemuel. We continued walking for a few hours more, expecting the two to catch up with us but they were not in sight. And neither was the campsite!
Finally, the three of us, Allan, Jonas and I, concluded that we were lost. It was three o’clock in the afternoon - three short hours of daylight before darkness sets in. We must not waste time because we did not have any food with us. We left all our supplies in our backpacks in the campsite. We had to decide whether to go back to the top and find our way down again or, go down from where we were and seek shelter for the night. We furiously argued before reaching a consensus, the gnawing in our stomachs compelling us the value of every minute.
We tried to recall basic techniques of homing for base camp but to no avail – dead reckoning was impossible. The compass needle went berserk - the strong magnetic field of the volcano was tugging at it from all directions. The sun was not visible because of the enveloping fog, and the gusty wind comes in undulating howls and whines. If we go back to the top, we could be overtaken by the impending darkness and succumb to hypothermia, because of the cold. Our most probable way of surviving was to continue straight down. However, we could not see what was below. Thick palpable fog was engulfing us, the cold air sending shivers of fear and horror along our spines, the droplets of dew on our brows warn us of the stark dilemma we were in: go back to the top or continue the descent.
If we descend further we could either be heading for populated communities and be rescued, or be trapped in the old crater and freeze to death in the eleven-degree-Celsius temperature. It was a situation “between Cherubdis and Scylla.”
Anything could happen in that mountain during a stormy night. We must find shelter to survive. Amid this confusion, we could only look at each other silently. We were a pathetic melee of fatigue, hunger, hopelessness and chagrin. My mind was idling slowly out of the pity party, struggling out of the chaos we were in … formless and empty, darkness … “tohu va vohu.” I started convincing myself: God is not the author of confusion. The search engines of my spirit were reaching deep into the recesses of my soul, the repository of eternal promises painstakingly shared by my mentors in church, my parents and my teachers. “… and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. Let there be light, and there was ….“
Suddenly, one of us blurted to look up to God in prayer. An exhilarating realization flashed brightly to us - we forgot to call … to call to God for help.
We forgot to dial the number 333 – “Call to me and I will answer you …”
Like humbled sheep we bowed down our heads. Each of us expressed his sincerest prayer gushing forth from the depths of his heart pleading for guidance, protection and preservation. That very moment I recalled the biblical passage in Romans 10:13: “Those who call on the name of the Lord will be saved.”
Surely, as this verse holds true, the moment we agreed in an “Amen” the clouds before us burst like shattered cotton balls, as if meticulously untangled by an unseen hand, unveiling the panorama of hope shining and waiting for us. There, hundreds of feet below us were the galvanized-iron roofs of houses glittering under the afternoon sunlight. The clouds were opened like a lifted curtain, the skies cleared for but a brief moment – only about ten minutes – after which we were clamped again in utter thickness and almost zero visibility.
Praising God for His glorious majesty!
We scampered down the path knowing that The Lord’s provision for our survival was waiting for us below. By five o’clock that afternoon, we arrived at Brgy. Upper Masulog, Canlaon. We have literally traversed the border of Negros Occidental and Negros Oriental.
Along the way to La Carlota City, I was filled with nostalgic thoughts of fear, reverence and sadness as I examined from a distance the threatening silhouette of Kanlaon Volcano. I see a gargantuan mountain, like a closed wrenching fist of a mighty man, innocuous but potent, placid yet violent, where the forces of nature could lead a disoriented mountaineer into confusion and eventually to death. But for the three of us, it was on this very mountain where the Maker Himself, God Almighty, manifested His sovereignty and tremendous love for His children by sparing us from sure doom.
As I closed my eyes trying to grab some sleep despite the monotonous humming of the engine, I reflected on the verse from Isaiah 59:1 : “Surely, the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear.” Indeed, God is so merciful that He showered His mercy on us though we do not deserve it. He heard our prayers and extended His arms to save us from utter destruction.
THE AFTERMATH.
Lemuel de Jesus was declared missing until he was found alive three days later in a place called Guintubdan. He was found by a native of the place who went out with his dog to gather rattan. Without a survival food pack, Lemuel ate what he had along – a roll of tissue paper and some tablets of Diatabs. Dehydrated and weak, he has survived the ordeal with an injured and slight frostbite due to too much exposure to the cold.
The decomposing body of Allison was found by rescuers 13 days after the incident with the aid of helicopters. He was presumed to have died the very day we got separated and lost. He died of massive injuries after falling from a series of stair-like ridges, each measuring up to five feet high.
By June the following year, I joined the same team in climbing Mr. Kanlaon again. There in clear weather, I was able to see the spots where I had experienced a dramatic event with Allan and Jonas.
This momentous experience will ever be in our hearts and minds. It will be a story to pass on to our children and even to our children’s children.
I have not closed the opportunity to scare the heights again and savor the overwhelming sensation of adventure.
Nothing is final. But one thing stands certain – that the God of nature Himself would never forsake His loved ones.
First published in the Central Echo, Official Student Publication of Central Philippine University, Iloilo City, January-March 1998 issue.
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