Of Mount Pulag, Babattan and Mount Pulit

My father told me that when an Ibaloi dies, tradition dictates that among the animals to be offered is a horse, for the departed to use in his journey to Pulag. Trekkers with sensitivity view their ascent as a cultural or spiritual pilgrimage, which he believes it’s a better way at looking at it than a personal achievement or feat.

My wife and I were disappointed when we were informed that there were about 260 climbers who registered for the Mt. Pulag Pre-Christmas Climb. The sum shot up to 300 and it looked more like a battle for Thermopylae and not a climb, so we backed out. 

At 4:oo in the morning, on the day of the departure for Pulag, I woke up and my mind was on the hike. Half an hour later, after I got dressed and grabbed my camera bag, I bended down to kiss my wife who whisperred me to take care. Then Lovelyn snuggled in between our sons on our single bed for four to go back to sleep.

I planned it out of the blue that I would be going to Babattan. I thought. . . if the party of 300 will be going up, then I should go down.

Babattan in situated below KM 18 Ambassador Tublay on the west side. Lovelyn and her siblings grew up here where her father grew vegetables especially sayote. The narrow winding road is steep and dangerous. Pepeng peeled off most of the mountains here with such cruelty that I felt like I was in another world walking through.  

This is my third time to visit Babattan. The first was when Lovelyn and I weren’t married yet and I helped out it in harvesting carrots. My second was a week before the Pulag climb, where I jogged down then up to prepare my legs for Pulag. School children walking up the road, teased me that I was a woman because of my 3/4 jogging tights. I was told that the children of Babattan never get sick at school or miss their class because of illness. Their immune system are strong that even in the rainy months they don’t get sick. Come rain or shine and the temperature can be hot or cold, the kids walk up about 45 mins to be in class then down again after school.

I met a lot of folks along the way. Most of them farmers and they would never fail to offer to drop by their house later.

Beyond Babattan is Dukot. The cooperative store there serves as a turning point for vehicles. About a kilometer further is where the road ends. I tried to look for a trail of some sort but found nothing.

Back at the cooperative I found a foot path that led to two Ibaloi huts which was a surprise for me. I took some photos and made small talk with the residents. Roxas, a man who smoked Champion cigarets, didn’t know why their place is called Dukot. He offered me home-grown and made coffee, which I thought he placed too much sugar on mine. Then he gave me directions to where two houses at near byPiloy were taken away be landslides during the Pepeng calamity. A man died there Roxas said.

Later on, I took Roxas’s directions and reached Piloy.

On the night of October 3, 2009 at around 11:45, Jerry Limwas, his mother Piana and his three children ran out the house just in time before their house slid down into a ravine. Jerry didn’t have time to get his uncle who slept in the other house next to them.

In the morning Jerry was able to send two text messages to his wife who was in Hong Kong before the battery went dead. Juanita, Jerry’s wife just arrived yesterday when I came to talk to them.

Samson Maakay, a barangay council man of the nearby place of Baayan, received news via text messages of what happened. Samson Maakay went immediately to Piloy and headed the help for Jerry’s family and the retrieval of the body of Milandro Solte, he was 43.

A shanty, about a kilometer up where their house used to stand, that Jerry used as a tool shed was now their home. At the back stood a tent donated by the UN. Piana offered to guide me to their fallen homes. Before we headed down, I had to use their comfort room. Juanita handed me a packet of imported tissue and apologized for they have only a “kaybu” to offer. I told her I really don’t mind.

After seeing what’s left of their houses. We went to see where Jerry’s uncle was laid to rest. Under a house of a relative lay his uncle.  Beside the grave, just outside under the shade, lay an old man. I got my second dose of coffee and it was the same as the first, sweet. Their brew is pre sweetened I was told later. 

Half way back up to their shanty home, I forgot to interview the old man. I wanted to ask him about the place and how their names came about. Since this morning every time I ask some one why their place is called Piloy, Dukot on so on. . . all their answers were ”I don’t know”.  I saw this as a tragedy because their children might grow up not knowing important thing like how their place came about.

I finally thank and said good-bye to Jerry and his family. Then I noticed inside one of my pockets that I still have the tissue. Handing it back, Piana told me to keep it because I might go nature calling again. I laughed hard as Jerry gently nudged his mother and told me to use the tissue for my sweat.

The coffee gave me energy as trekked back up to 18, relieved I didn’t have to use the tissue again. I’m glad our plan for Pulag didn’t push through. My adventure lead me to Babattan, met folks, took photos of this beautiful place and most of all I got beat and tired.  To cap off this fine day, my wife, in-laws and I went to the benefit concert for Mike Santos, held at the only place I’ve been through that played real country music.

On our last night at Ambassador, I got to spend the night on top of mount Pulit. A mountain just near our home in 18 and this was the icing on my cake.

My trek was not a spiritual pilgrimage, but a bit of cultural learning I suppose. But what facinated me most was the people in this part of Tublay. A stranger walks by and it’s like a long lost relative to them who found his way back home.

I’m sure I’d be back home some time again.

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~ by musashiboogie on January 11, 2010.