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crocifixio · 4 years ago

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THE BOY GENERAL

There was this nagging voice inside my head during this ‘history hike’ that I found too hard to ignore. That since I was walking in the shoes of the rayadillo, I will not be crashing for comfort in some manicured campsite to slurp hot Jin Ramyun nor will I be locked in snuggle fest with my warm blanket. Instead, I will be curled like a ball on cold bare earth, sharp rocks poking my back and unable to get a few minutes of shuteye due to heightened senses. I will be waiting for enemy bullets to come flying over my hair and if I were not to come out of my shithole with guns blazing, The Boy General is waiting to practice his Bulacan brand of poetry on me, the relative smallness of my balls (or lack thereof) is his subject.

Truth is, there is no other way you could take this historical trail without imagining yourself in the shoes of our ancestors. Knowing that they walked the very same path puts one in the same perspective as tracing Rizal’s last steps from Fort Santiago. So let it be said that I was utterly beside myself during the entire hike, for I got to be Carlos Celdran (Walk This Way Historical Tour) and Gideon Lasco (Pinoy Mountaineer) at the same time. But then maybe my hiking buddies saw nothing more than just a mere reincarnation of Contemprato in me.

Contemprato was the local wacko from our town who was said to have lost his mind from some war-related trauma. During the eighties, kids would loiter on rooftops to watch him fight an unseen enemy around the local Parish church grounds. He would dive, dodge bullets and shoot with an invisible rifle in what would appear as a choreographed act. And since I was experiencing Tirad Pass to the full, there I was, two hundred fifty miles away from home, at times finding myself diving, dodging bullets and shooting with an imaginary rifle. Sometimes getting hit – may tama ako! Daplis lang, malayo sa bituka! – but able to carry on, much to the amusement of our local guide. I would tell him to wipe the smirk off of his face because the damned Texas Rangers were still in hot pursuit, and we were running low on ammunition!

All the amusement seemed to dissipate however, once we got to the Tirad Pass monument. In spite of the festive mood typical of Philippine campsites, there was a heavy cloud hanging about. Lying here once was a boy of twenty-four who fell from a sniper’s bullet. A boy who made a name for himself from fighting with valor one fierce battle after another, and winning on every occasion save for this last stand. Stripped of his clothes, belongings and dignity, left for all the crows to feast on.

I wondered if all the campers scattered around the monument knew of all those details. Amidst the tired limbs, the whiff of tinola and cheap brandy in the air, the loud Bluetooth speakers- I did not think it would even make it as a passing topic for drunk backpackers.

The larger group already settled by the campgrounds around the monument was unaware of my thoughts and was in fact delighted upon my arrival. This was because they had run out of booze and I was their hero of the day and not The Boy General. I called them earlier on a number I got from the local tourism after checking out if there were any other groups scheduled for a climb, hoping me and my buddies could hitch a ride. Unfortunately they had already left when I made contact, so I asked if maybe they had room for three more on the way back and you probably have an idea now of how the liquor came into the picture.

But we never got to ride back with them and the liquor never got paid. By summit bid the following morning, my group had to wait for two full hours at the lower ridge while they took their sweet time taking pictures at the summit of Tirad Peak, a small pointed rock that could hold only a few. We took our own sweet time at the summit during our turn as well. It was one of the best summit experiences I have had in a while, mishaps notwithstanding. It was so good that we were far too detached at the possibility of the other group breaking camp in such a hurry and leaving us without a ride back to the city. But a wave of nonchalance was already flying by and me, Liquidator and Dirty Harry decided right then and there that maybe we should tell them by text that they could go ahead without us. We ain’t chasing them now after waiting for them for two hours at the summit. So fuck it, like all of our other previous climbs, we would again leave to luck our ride back home. Our guide was not sure how we were going to do it though, knowing how scarce small motorbikes at the jump-off were. But we made it back to his house at the exact time his neighbor was backing up a monster jeepney, ready to go back to Candon City on a sudden errand. I had the whole seat for myself and nothing but Ilocos empanada on my mind for the whole ride back.

Watch your six!

PS;

I am not done with the whole liquor debacle yet. The worst part was actually at OUR campsite. A site that I had deliberately placed far from the Tirad Pass monument where everybody was, to savor some peace and quiet. The larger group’s local guide had actually stolen one bottle from the stash that we had bought for their team and decided to drink it all by himself- at our designated camp kitchen. He was already drunk when he came over, talking gibberish and had incoherent nonsensical outbursts. He was spitting everywhere for the entire evening. The ground where we had planned to lie on should the tent’s heat become unbearable was now full of spit. Soft pine needles for natural bedding, but full of gob and phlegm. Liquidator forgot all about it and came out of the tent crawling on all fours, looking for something. I woke up from his howl, let out a soft chuckle, and went back to sleep.

Wasted the following morning, the guide was not able to control his group who had overstayed at the summit as he was down in the lower ridge with us, mumbling again. Some friends say, I actually attract these types.

The actual climb happened on Jan 7-8, 2017 and still follows the chronology of my hikes. We wanted to ‘start the year right’ so it was scheduled this early in the year. A lot has happened since then- I have seen the movie, read the book and the mountain has since claimed another life.

Below are some more pictures;

L-R; Dirty Harry, Liquidator and Me at the summit

Shadow of the sharp peak of Tirad

Summit, Tirad Pass Welcome sign, Some beach in Candon.

For two hours I had been looking left and right: left at my watch counting down the hours and right, at the peak waiting for the other hikers to come back down

It was really Edo noodles, not Jim Ramyun, that we brought here. Along with Vigan longganisa purchased earlier at the market.

One of the reasons why we stayed behind was to appreciate this monument in peace..

Doing the 'syano pose only to realize I was looking down- UP the barrel of Gregorio del Pilar's revolver. Anyhow, two hooves up means rider died in battle, one hoof up says rider was wounded but lived, all hooves on the ground- died of natural causes. It was a myth but a pattern ensued and latter-day sculptors seemed to follow the trend. (copied from my iG post, too lazy to edit)

#philippinemountains #hiking #pinoymountaineer #history #ilocos #backpacking #mountaineering #phmountains #tiradpass #tiradpeak

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