IN western movie lore, rippling-muscled
horse and evenly tanned human friend
are meant to explore the wilderness,
ford rivers, cross grassland, traverse mountains and spend
nights under the stars beside a crackling bonfire, lulled by
strains from a guitar.
In Wright Park, Baguio City, this imagery is the stuff of life.
But local trails provide
all-too-brief moments of
exhilaration--20 seconds
galloping thunderously
across a short stretch of
grass-covered ground,
two minutes padding
through tree-lined paths
carpeted by pine needles,
or crowing with
exaggerated glee (and
relief) after crossing a drop in the trail that wouldn't even make a
horse's gait falter.
Moments such as these only serve to whet the appetite for
adventure on the hoof.
Sitting on a cement bench one uneventful day in Wright Park,
Scott, Feliz and I killed time thinking up dream destinations for
ourselves and our favorite horses.
Somebody said ''Pulag,'' and unwittingly set our journey in
motion. Grins spread across our faces as we rattled on about
gently sloping hills, mossy forests, low temperatures, rolling
camps, 360-degree views, unpredictable weather, rough roads,
and logistics.
Mt. Pulag--playground of the gods, favored destination of
outdoor enthusiasts, second highest peak in the
Philippines--seemed a completely natural, albeit intimidating,
place to head to. What a difference it would be, compared to the
dusty, crowded Wright Park rink.
We vowed to each other that we would do that some day, even
if we had to wait 10 years for the right time to present itself.
As luck (or the gods) would have it, less than a year later we
found ourselves huddled around a bonfire just outside Scott's
house, listening to a mambunong (shaman) pray for our safe
passage over our atang (offering) of chicken, duck, rice, salt
and tapuy (rice wine). He told us that the entrails promised a
successful journey.
The ritual ended close to midnight. We headed home, eager to
hit the beds and recharge for our horse trek to Pulag.
Day One
We were awake by 4 a.m. While wolfing down breakfast, we
checked and rechecked our food supplies, first-aid kit, tents,
sleeping bags, jackets, water bottles, hats, rain gear--the list was
endless!
Feliz, Pinay and I yelled at one another between mouthfuls:
Hydrate! Carbo-load! Don't forget your flashlight! Will you be
warm enough in that! What about batteries! Pass the rice! Scott
must be bathing the horses now!
In our excitement, everything we said came out sounding like
rah, rah, rah!
When we got to Wright Park two hours later, we found pony
boys Scott and Jovan and mountain biker Renolph all set to go.
The horses were being fed their morning fuel, and their own
food supply of eight sacks of feed and five sacks of cut grass
was being loaded onto our support vehicle.
The grass was intended for our first day, after which we were
sure there would be places where the horses could graze. The
feed, we estimated, was enough for the three horses over seven
days.
At 7:30, most of the members of the expedition were present and
ready. Feliz jumped up on Holiday, an extra spirited white pony
with purplish-brown highlights in his mane. Scott hoisted me up
onto Black Shadow, a sedate, sure-footed brown pony. Finally,
Scott leaped onto Braveheart aka Big Boy, Holiday's constant
companion. Our riding alternates, Pinay, Solana, Christian,
Kulot, and Jovan, boarded Manong Edgar's trusty jeepney.
Renolph forged ahead--way ahead--on his bike.
A few kilometers out of town, a car caught up with us and CJ
jumped out and joined us, leaving his friend to drive home.
The day was slow and scorchingly hot. The road seemed
endless. When we reached Adunot six hours out of Baguio,
everyone, horses included, took refuge under the bridge and
spent the hottest time of the day lolling in the Agno River.
Solana and Christian gathered rocks and pebbles as though
they intended to start a sand-and-gravel company. Holiday was
in his element. With his ears perked forward, he splashed and
churned up the water with his front hoofs.
Just before dark we rode past Ambuklao Dam and set up camp
at a mango orchard. We had a splendid view of the Ambuklao
reservoir and a yellow-orange sunset. Sticks were gathered and
we had our bonfire. Scott shook his head with a smile and
remarked that the only thing missing was a guitar.
Day Two
Strange. Today, on
just the second leg,
the whole trip seemed
a little less fantastical.
When we broke camp
early this morning, it
felt as though we had
been doing this for
months.
I could do this for
months, I thought smugly. In the next moment I humbled myself,
remembering to breathe a prayer for everyone's safety. To
reassure myself, I replayed the atang in my head.
Solana announced that she would join the first batch of riders.
Jovan took her on Black Shadow. Feliz and Pinay rode Holiday
and Braveheart. The rest of us rode the jeep front, back, and
top.
From atop the jeep, the mountains, trees and river beds
stretched, swerved, rose and fell around us. We established a
routine of stopping every kilometer or so to let the horses catch
up. During these stops we fed and watered the horses, then
switched riders.
We made a little detour down to Badacbac, Daklan, to inhale the
sulfuric fumes of a steaming, boiling pool of mud. At about 1:30
p.m. we reached Ambangeg, where we stopped to feast on a
lunch of tilapia fresh from Ambuklao.
Kulot could whip up a great meal anywhere. Or were we just
hungry?
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