I Fell Off a Mountain on A Friday, the Thirteenth

By Apolinario Villalobos

How does it feel to fall off a mountain? Well, for one thing, it does not sound good, more so with the rolling and it is not funny, either. But it is more embarrassing than hurting. And, it happened to me on a Friday, the thirteenth, yet.

I have climbed Mts. Apo, Banahaw, Sierra Madre, Pulog, Mayon and the low-rising Taal in the past, but nothing was more remarkable for me, than when I joined the PAL mountaineers who scaled Mt. Hibok-hibok on Camiguin Island.

I had a lingering fever even before we left Manila and I was hoping that a good dip in one of the volcano’s hot springs would completely make it vanish. I was wrong. All that the sulfuric water did was to worsen my colds and fever.

In Camiguin, the morning we left Esperanza where we camped for the night, I was already dizzy, but nobody had knowledge about it. Somebody, however, commented on my flushed  face.  I even managed to crack jokes to hide what I really felt that time. I was determined to “conquer” the rocky Hibok-hibok come what may.

We scaled the first obstacles – walls of volcanic rocks that looked more like they were piled by man than by nature. Halfway to the top, I paused to observe Melba, Neri, Nanette, Thelma, Janet and Ceres, the girls in our group and who were practically making it on all fours. Gone were the smiles that they were sporting when we left Manila. Neri, especially, seemed to have been suddenly transformed into a fierce-looking creature with the deep furrows on her forehead, due to her herculean effort. She got that dagger look that seemed to pierce my person when she looked at me. But petite Melba, who would rather crawl than be helped by any of us, still managed to sing despite the perspiration that was beginning to give her a “wet look”.

I heard somebody curse. Another commented that he almost tripped while catching up with his flight, only to sweat it out here on Mt. Hibok-hibok!

As before, during previous treks, I knew that they would change their impression when we have reached the summit. Just as what happened while climbing Mt. Apo, some swore never again to join treks, but changed their mind when they reached the crest, as their legs were hidden in thin wisps of clouds.

There were two sudden downpours that soaked those who had no parka or raincoat. I chilled and felt like quitting. I almost decided to stay behind and just wait for the group on their way down. Pride, however, prodded me on. As we ran out of drinking water, Timmy and I licked the droplets trapped in the sleeves of Nanette’s parka…as dictated by survival instinct. It was my first time to experience a killing thirst ever since I joined the mountaineering club. The thirst weakened most of us that some even began to hallucinate. Tom imagined a big boulder to be a big hut. So he hurried towards it.

I was dizzy and almost crumpled to the rocks while negotiating perilous trails. We were afraid that one little wrong step would cause an avalanche of rocks and sands. I was going very slowly and had to be patient with my slow pace if I wanted to reach the summit which seemed to be taunting us with its garishly-looking tips.

Somebody positioned himself atop a big boulder and gave directions due to the bad visibility caused by the heavy mist. He was shouting at the top of his voice for us to take a shorter and safer route which he was indicating with a staff. But my condition was telling me to take the regular route which was actually a very narrow and almost vertical trail hugging the side of a mesa leading to the peak. Besides, I could barely make another step so I rested on a boulder while waiting for Janet and Roy who later on arrived, gasping for breath.

Despite a reduced visibility when a thick fog suddenly enveloped us, I persisted, clinging to rocks and clumps of sharp blades of grass. I got cuts alright, but they’re better than losing my balance. Each one was busy with his or her grip to the rocks, unmindful of who was ahead or trailing behind. The silence was broken from to time by the shrieks of Janet and the mountain calls of Nanette.

One last stride and we at last reached a flat ground. Sticky, who took another trail, called me from somewhere behind the mist. Soon, he materialized and panting for breath, slumped to the ground for a much needed rest.

With the help of Fabie’s rope, we managed to pull ourselves up a winding a notorious trail. I cursed it and somebody else behind me was also cursing it but more loudly. I could not blame him. He scratched his elbows, very badly while almost losing his balance. That’s mountaineering for you, man, I just told him.

As we reached the peak, we found the rest to have settled down and were preparing for lunch. Tins of sardines, cheese, baked beans and bread were brought out of daypacks and passed around. We drank to the grotesque looks of Hibok-hibok while feasting our eyes on steam vents that hissed white vapor. After, the traditional photo opportunities despite the mist, we finally decided to go back to where we left our packs a few meters down.

In going down, everybody was extra careful not to dislodge any of the loose rocks, as a simple mistake could cause an avalanche. My runny nose and bleary eyes irritated me so much aside from my aching head. Dizziness gripped me after covering just about a hundred feet. But still I went on and even overtook Ric and the Mayon boys.

Ben, one of the Mayon boys tried sliding down a sandy trail. Ric followed suit. They were obviously having fun and this prompted me to do the same despite my condition. Unfortunately, while going after them, I made a misstep and before I knew it, I was already going down very fast for more than 30 feet, blacking out before I finally tripped and rolled down.  As I came to, I saw Ric trying to block my way, but he failed as my acceleration doubled. My head hit a rock and I again blacked out. This time, I felt like I was floating. Maybe it was my will power that made me regain my consciousness although, I was still rolling down.

I was helpless and I could feel that sands were filling up my shoes, pockets and ears. I have rolled down for 100 feet or more and the sight of jagged rocks a few feet below urged me to use my left elbow and knee as brakes, skinning them in the process.

Manny, Ben, Ric and Joe rushed to my rescue but were at a loss as to what to do first. Finally my aching chest and back were massaged with a certain ointment. My knee was numb and so was my left shoulder. Except for a few muttered invectives, nothing was heard from me. Not even a groan. I did not want them to know that I was that hurt and deeply embarrassed.

While gingerly inching my way down, Manny was beside me, helping me with my footholds and from time to time imploring me to rest. But I kept on telling him that it was no longer necessary as we were nearing the camp. However, the truth was, I would like to show him and the rest that I was not a weakling. While fighting back tears every time I bent my knee, I limped all the way to the camp. Nobody paid so much attention to me as they knew that it would just irritate me. They were aware of my temperament and were very much cautious not to provoke me, then.

The incident would have just been part of a normal trekking except for what some members of the group did – spread the news on what happened to me. When we went back to Cagayan de Oro, the Department of Tourism staff approached me to express their sympathy. I was shocked for I did not expect them to know of the fall. I just wondered who told them all about the incident. In Manila, friends were asking me what really happened. And, worse, even those in the far off Cebu knew what happened to me.  I was just thankful that mongers did not kill me in their stories. From then on, I made a promise not to let similar incident happen as I would be doubly careful the next time I trek up mountains. But most especially, made a resolution not to climb a mountain on a Friday, the thirteenth!