The massive force of Tinuy-an's raging waters stunned me at first sight. It is ninety-five meters wide, and the sound of water falling from its 180-foot top mimics a roaring engine, as if you are standing in front of an aircraft on the runway about to run you over. The more you move slowly toward it, cutting the distance in slow and deliberate strides, the more enthralling it becomes. Splashes of water begin to droop over you, as if a dog is shaking its dripping-wet coat. Just when I thought I could not see it any better from where I was, I noticed a rainbow planted near the foot of the waterfalls.
For Whom the Tinuy-an Falls | Surigao del Sur
The Rugged Habal-Habal Ride
Clicking rewind for a few minutes. We went a little back to where we rag-tagged along a rough road from the town of Mangagoy in Bislig—aboard a habal-habal driven by a motocross race shoo-in whom we shall call Jazzy Jeff, because I am bad with names. It was a thirty-five to forty-five-minute ordeal of holding on for dear life or being thrown off the motorcycle. Nathalie sat in front of Jazzy Jeff, with Gael and myself behind him. If Gael fell off, she could grab me, and I could grab Jazzy Jeff, and we would all crash. That is the kind of science a habal-habal ride is supposed to convey. Nobody is thrown off alone; everyone rides and crashes together.
I was disappointed to see a few structures constructed to please lazy visitors. They had built a small pool and some small cottages near the waterfalls. There was a bridge that allowed people to cross and see the falls from a different perspective. That might be justifiable in comparison to the others, but I hoped they would not build additional infrastructure near the waterfalls. I wished the LGUs, the community, and the local government would learn from what had happened at Kawasan Falls in Cebu (which has been corrected already since Gov. Gwen Garcia ordered the demolition of structures near it).
Braving the Bamboo Raft
We took a small bamboo raft to the base of the falls. I handed over my camera to a middle-aged man whose family I had previously photographed with his camera. It was his turn to take our photos since it was our turn to use the raft. However, before he could take any pictures, we noticed him stumbling off his feet and slipping on his butt (my first concern was about my camera, lol). I breathed a sigh of relief when he rose to his feet and held my camera up as if to say, "Your Nikon is in good hands."
There was a trail leading to the upper cascade of the waterfalls on the right side, where you would find a few smaller levels of waterfalls suitable for bathing. I jumped into the knee-to-waist-deep water, and from the edge, you could see the main basin of the Tinuy-an Falls below. You could even dive right in if you had delusions of imitating Dante Varona.
Gael, one of my friends, was not thrilled. She kept telling us that Tinuy-an Falls was not as big as it appeared in pictures. Maybe she had seen a lot of waterfalls in her travels, which was why her level of satisfaction was difficult to match. Even though she gave it a thumbs up, you would still hear her say, "How come it doesn't look as big as it did in the pictures?" with a matching sad puppy face. I adored her when she made that expression. In my case, it was the tallest waterfall I had ever seen.
I had yet to see the many waterfalls in Iligan, Zamboanga, and other places. A month later, I visited Biliran and saw at least six waterfalls, all of which were impressive but not in the same league as Tinuy-an Falls. Most of the time, the discovery of a new place was what motivated us to travel further; it left an itch that we wanted to scratch on our next trip. My current goal was to find a waterfall that could rival what I would call the Philippines' Jimi Hendrix of waterfalls.
Hustle and Bustle in Bislig
We took a seven-hour bus from Surigao City to Mangagoy in Bislig, the starting point for Tinuy-an Falls. Aside from the usual beautiful countryside scenery found in the Philippines, the trip was uneventful. What stood out, however, was our bus driver voicing his dissatisfaction over missing the Pacquiao-Bradley fight that morning.
I was also trying to keep up with the fight, but the Globe signal always went out once we got to a long stretch of highway. As a result, I had no idea what was going on in the fight. At our last stop, around 1:00 PM, the bus driver vanished for more than twenty minutes. The passengers were already getting irritated. Then, not long after, we noticed a crowd of people leaving a nearby gymnasium without a smile on their faces. I knew immediately that Pacquiao had lost the fight.
Our bus driver crept back behind the wheel with the expression of someone who had lost a wager to a dog; I could not understand what he was saying, but he was so enraged that he was pulling his hair. I was glad he did not take his frustrations out on his driving. Going MIA during a bus stop-over, becoming a spoiler and a bearer of bad news at the same time—he really put the passengers in a bad mood for the rest of the trip.
So we arrived in Bislig shortly before 3:00 PM, found a place to stay, and went for a walk around town. Mangagoy appeared to be a busy town for a village I had never heard of. That was why it was referred to as a "small city within a city." There were a few hostels scattered around town, as well as a bustling marketplace, rows of street food and seafood restaurants near the fishing port, lines of tiangge stalls, and busy people doing random things. It was a good little foray into a strange town, but as Freya Stark so aptly put it, "waking up quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world." That happened the next day in the Bislig town of Mangagoy.
