I was tired, sore and swollen as we headed
down the county road. With a bit of light guiding our path, we finally reached
the end of our track. Carrying a pair of hefty feet, smudged with mud and
clenched by engorged toes, I lay flat on the pavement I thought I had missed
for hours. Thinking, I asked myself: what was that I just did?
Recall. My man and I decided to take a
different escapade far from our regular Saturday. He reconnected with his
online travel-buddies; they call themselves the Storm Chasers. Later, I found myself at a bus terminal and
in the middle of bursting trekking jargons and high-spirited men and women who
still have hangovers from their previous adventure, yet are now good to diving
into another one on that drenched predawn of September 29.
“She’s a newbie,” said my man. With
amusement and caution, I thought I sensed in their eyes, a few of them told me,
“don’t worry, you’ll get by”. It was to me a sort of good luck wish and a
question of “are you sure, you’re taking that mountain, Miss?” There was a bit
of tugging in my heart, one side said “go,” the other was stepping on my
subconscious brake saying ‘whoa!’. But the strongest pull told me this is something
I should not miss for my life. And it was right.
After almost an hour of wobbly ride on a
three-wheeled cart, we finally arrived at the foot of Mt. Arayat. It was a cool
and dry morning with only a piece of sunshine slicing through the thick grayish
cloud. From there, we start.
I slid three times. I’m sure, I counted.
Trying to brush the soil on my knees and wrist while I’m still on my feet, I
listened to stories of their many walks, of the eyelid-biting-worm and of the
wild boar attacking at a feel of threat from mountaineers. I stood up,
straight-back, and get on my feet to keep going. Mine was not as precarious as
their experiences, who was I to complain for a bruise and lines of scratches
then?
I was there, traversing boulders, woods and
bushes, one after the other, sometimes all of them together. I was there taking
on three peaks for fourteen hours with only few minutes break. Clinging onto a
shaft, I breathe and grasped and inhaled the mixed scent of leaves and drenched
soil. All of these to get to
that summit for the first time.
There, I witnessed the thick white clouds
enveloping the beaming woods. I felt the muddish soil softened by torrential
rains. I was there, in between the heart and the soul of broad thorny leaves
and the enormous rugged hooves of trees centuries old. I was there balancing my
life on a stick, striving not to break off on a ridge. I was there,
approximately one thousand and thirty meters away from the fishes at sea and
few centimeters near the high soaring wings.
