Having climbed my
fair share of mountains during my college days, I knew well enough that when a
guide says, “Just 10 more minutes,” what they really mean is that a good hour
or more separates you from the summit. By the time I reached the boulder face
of Mount Apo, I was already battling a sea of massive stones. These boulders,
remnants of an undocumented ancient eruption, lay scattered like imposing
obstacles one has to hurdle with both hands and feet, and an impressive
balancing act, before reaching the peak.
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| A clearing and a sea of clouds |
If there’s any
comfort, it comes from the horizon, where the first streaks of gold stretch
across the sky as the sun begins to rise. The view is stunning, and for a
moment, it helps ease the aches in my knees and the fatigue in my body. Just
minutes ago, I was asking myself why I chose to climb Mount Apo as opposed to
just relaxing at the mountain resort of Camp Sabros, also in Davao del Sur. By
then, while staring at the sky, I begin to understand as the magical sight took
hold of me. I gather more deep breathes because despite our guide’s “10 more
minutes,” promise, I find myself relying more on instinct that we have indeed,
a long way to go.
Knees gone bad at
Camp Gudi-Gudi: a hiking timeline
We began our climb
just after 9 a.m. Our route: the Kapatagan back trail, one of Mt. Apo’s
shortest, but by no means the easiest at it presents an advanced and challenging
trail. The first leg took us through sloping farmland, a steady 20 to 25-degree
uphill slope that lasted for hours.
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| Group photo at Camp Gudi-Gudi |
Eventually, the
trail led us into the forest, where the soil gave way to patches of mud, and
the incline grew steeper. There were stretches that made me question my lack of
proper training, preparation, and even my desire (while imagining myself at
home watching Netflix instead).
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| Campsite meal |
But we pushed
forward, pausing for rest when needed, and taking an hour-long lunch that gave
our bodies brief but welcome respite. We reached Camp Gudi-Gudi around 3 p.m.,
six hours after setting out.
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| A variety of flora and fauna amuses you on the forest trail |
Because it was Holy
Week, the campsite was more crowded than the ordinary long weekend scene.
Still, we managed to find a quiet clearing about a hundred meters from the
campsite signage. We pitched our six tents there, while our guides and porters
set up near the shared camp kitchen. The rest of the day unfolded in soft
rhythms; naps, warm meals, the comfort of hot snacks, and an early lights-out
at 8 p.m., with the night air growing colder by the hour.
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| The mountain is also a great place to go bird watching |
We rose before 2 a.m.
the next day, so we can properly pack our day-hike gear, have coffee, and layer
up against the chill for our summit push. At 3:00 am, we began our second day
trek.
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| Century old trees are everywhere along the trail |
After nearly eight
hours of navigating loose rock, steep ridges, and lunar-like terrain, we
reached Digos Peak, one of Apo’s three summits, just after 11 a.m. There, above
the clouds, we lingered for an hour, staring into a panorama that made the pain
worth it. From there, we made our way to the other two peaks, retracing our
steps to the white sand flats for lunch, and finally descending back to camp by
3 p.m.
Why Climb Mt. Apo?
I asked myself this
question several times, especially when my knee started acting up on the trail.
The British climber George Mallory famously answered it in three words: “Because
it’s there”, when asked why he sought to attempt summitting Everest. For many,
that response has endured. But for those who walk the ridgelines and forests of
mountains like Mt. Apo, the reasons are often far more personal.
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| Standing against the magical backdrop around Mt Apo |
For me, climbing
Mt. Apo is a fitting exclamation point to the journey that began with my
wanderlust in college. As a freshman in the UST Mountaineering Club, and
following in my brother's footsteps, I was first introduced to travel through
mountain climbing. We trekked to peaks in Batangas, Bataan, Mindoro, and Bicol.
Those early climbs opened a world far beyond the campus and city streets I had
known about.
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| One of the sulfuric vents along the trail |
Mt. Apo, the
highest peak in the Philippines, became a long-held dream of mine. Not as a bucket
list item, but as a way to mark a chapter. To remember a formative period in my
life that shaped the way I see the world and myself.
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| One of our tour guides, Joyce Cee Olebang |
For Joyce Cee
Olebang, one of our Mt. Apo guides, the mountain carried a different meaning, one
formed by grief.
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| Sunrise at the boulder phase of Mt Apo |
“When my father
died, I promised to climb Mt. Apo,” she told me. “So at least I could feel
closer to him from here on Earth.”
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| Nearing the top of Mt. Apo |
That promise led to
a single climb. Then another. And another. Before long, Joyce found herself
returning to Mt. Apo over and over not just as a daughter honoring a vow, but
as a mountaineer in her own right. The mountains of Mindanao became her second
home.
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| at the crater lake of Mt. Apo |
When the
opportunity presented itself to become a certified guide, Joyce grabbed the
opportunity. While continuing her career as a teacher in college, she pursued
on her free time, to lead others up the very trails where she had once grieved and,
in time, healed.
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| Group photo on the way to Camp Gudi-Gudi |
“It was a different
kind of high,” she said to me with a smile. “I didn’t expect it, but I found a
new purpose here.”
Reaching the Peak
My knees, sore from
the previous day’s effort, were less than cooperative. Every step felt heavier,
slower, more uncertain. I began marking time not in hours, but in the gentle
lies of our guide Kuya Bador, who reassured us with a cheerful tone of “15 more
minutes” to the boulder phase, to the white sand flat, to the crater lake, to
the peak. We all knew those 15 minutes stretched closer to an hour. Still, the
infamous mountaineering “15 more minutes” illusion helped.
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| Finally reached the top, Digos Peak, one of three Peaks of Mt. Apo |
At that time, my answer to the eternal “why do you climb?” wasn’t exactly Mallory-level profound. There was no poetic longing or search for self. Honestly? I just needed content. Some good photos, a few solid notes enough to write a halfway decent travel story and move on to the next assignment. But then it happened.
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| All tired but happy |
We reached the summit and found ourselves staring at what our guides described as a rare occurrence, a perfect combination of a clear sky and a sea of clouds. “Most days, it’s either the peak is covered in fog, or there’s a clearing but no sea of clouds,” said our lead guide, Kuya Bador. “Today, you got both a clearing and a sea of clouds,” he added with a smile.
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| From this mossy forest part, to the rocky section, and finally to the top of the Philippines |
And just like that,
the climb stopped being a bucket list checkbox. It wasn’t just about paying
homage to my college-era hiking roots. It wasn’t even just posting a photograph
on my socials captioned with a cliché “Finally, I conquered Mt. Apo” flex.
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| Yes, "Because it's here" |
It was about being
there. Not performing it for a story. Not thinking about captions. Just
breathing albeit painfully, looking around me with wide appreciation, and
living fully in the moment.
And yes, Sir
Mallory was right. There’s really no better answer to it than, “It’s there.” So
I did climb, bum knees, poor training, and all. And I wouldn’t have it any
other way.
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| Can't stop staring at the sea of clouds |
In total, we had
spent close to 12 hours on the trail that second day. Somewhere between fatigue
and exhilaration, doubt and awe, I found clarity not in the peak itself, but in
the journey it required. I had questioned my stamina, even my purpose. But as I
sat by my tent that afternoon, tired but unbowed, I felt nothing but gratitude.
Mt. Apo, the rooftop of the Philippines, had welcomed me at last.
To sit here now in
a coffee shop, replaying the experience of summiting Mt. Apo, is to understand
what makes a memory great: not just the act itself, but the story it becomes.
It wasn’t merely material for a travel piece, it’s something I’ll carry with
me, something to look back on with fondness and let fuel my future journeys.
And next time? I’ll
gladly do it again, bum knees and all, but better trained, and with more energy-boosting
trail food.
This article first appeared on Esquire Philippines.
