Arayat; That Epic Climb

I was there, approximately one thousand and thirty meters above sea level and millions of inches above land planes. They call it traverse dayhike, I call it the breakthrough to my so-thought bounds in life. Indeed it was hard, indeed it was fun, but definitely it was not just fine—at least, not for a first time.

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. 

Yes, I was there, in that epic mountain of Arayat doing an awesome epic climb. And now, i think, i'm going back.