In this age of Filipino ‘hugot’ culture, one could easily assume the name of this mountain was coined as a reverence to such Filipino movies like “Camp Sawi” and “This Thing Called Tadhana.” The real story behind it, though, stemmed from a tragic suicide that happened a few years back right on top of the mountain. A woman—as the story went—after experiencing a heartbreak, hanged herself on one of the tree branches of the now-mowed-down Balete tree. Locals originally named the mountain Mt. Sawing Balete, as a reference to the sad fate shared by the fallen tree and the lovelorn soul.
Spectacular Wow Atop Mount Sawi | Nueva Ecija
Spectacular Wow Scenery
Together with my friend April, we joined the rest of our group in Cubao—all strangers to each other and only brought together through the Tripkada mobile app (a now-defunct travel joiner app)—where the twelve of us huddled inside a cramped van and proceeded to Nueva Ecija just a few minutes after 3:00 a.m. Upon arrival after sunrise at the jump-off located at Brgy. Malinao in Gabaldon, Nueva Ecija, we all hurried out of the van to stretch our bodies to the sounds of satisfied moans from finally alighting from our sardine can-like ride.
Soon, the unfamiliar silence was replaced by gleeful recitations of “hugot” (unrequited love) quotes as a homage to the name of the mountain we were about to hike. “Gusto mo ng magandang tanawin, tumitig ka sa akin” echoed the girl behind me who appeared to be experiencing romantic tension with one of the trip organizers.
Despite coming from a breakup a couple of years earlier myself, I never saw the mountain as an allegory for such a feeling of romantic doom. Mount Sawi appeared like any mountain: lush with swaying grass and featuring a cool upswing and ebbing flow of countryside winds.
Situated on the slopes of the Sierra Madre mountain range, Mount Sawi rose one thousand nine hundred forty-eight feet above sea level over a sweeping expanse—a beautiful mash-up of barren mudflow trails and a blooming jungly landscape.
A solitary remnant of an old tree protruded like an unhammered crooked nail atop the peak. “Could this be the remains of the tragic Balete tree?” I asked myself. Its noticeably minuscule size, however, rejected that possibility.
Standing behind the half-dead tree gave me an unfiltered view of the remarkable scenery below. I could trail the river where the mudflow from Mount Pinatubo’s eruption had once flowed violently. Like a knife cutting through flesh, it left a visible imprint encircled by the thriving greens of the plains of Central Luzon and the rolling foothills of the Sierra Madre.
As if on cue, when it was time for my mind to describe what I was seeing, a movie about the heartbreak of adolescence came to mind—only that time, I associated it with a feeling of awe. “Spectacular Wow,” I came to declare to myself.
I looked around and saw the girl now holding hands with the boy she had been spatting with early on during the hike. They might find a happy ending together or not. Whatever, it did not matter, because the only thing that mattered was the NOW—and right there, they seemed to enjoy each other's company, and as for myself, the views from atop Mount Sawi were anything but lowdown.
