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Romancing the river (1) |
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Source: Inquirer |
Author: Teret Peņa |
Date: 2000-03-27 |
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OUR ADVENTURE began on a Friday
night at the EMC Bus Terminal on
Roosevelt Avenue, Quezon City. For
EMC buses, all roads lead to Tuguegarao City, and trips are
scheduled regularly. There were nine of us--four men and five
women--all geared and psyched for the journey ahead.
We were awakened every now and then by the few stops made
along the way. I stepped out of the bus only at the last stop,
and feeling the first gust of wind, I knew we were safely out of
the city's clutches. A full flame-orange moon was framed by a
glowing blue sky and mountain silhouettes. It was our constant
companion until we reached our destination, its light reflected
on the rice paddies along the road.
Before the trip, all communication was done via the Internet.
Even paying the all-inclusive fee of P4,500 was a simple
transaction, confirmed instantly through e-mail. But we had no
idea who would be in charge of our lives for the next two days.
All we had was a name (Anton Carag) and a vague physical
description (big, dark guy with a full Van Dyke).
As soon as we disembarked in Tuguegarao at exactly 5 a.m.
Saturday, we turned toward the street to find just that, except
that there was a giant smile to go with it. Even in the
early-morning darkness, it was clear in Anton's sun-weathered
face that here was a man who knew the wilderness well.
I was craving for coffee, but the taste of strong hot cocoa at the
Carag home was a welcome surprise. It had enough caffeine and
sugar to get us started on the first leg of the
adventure--kayaking on the Pinacanauan River.
Self-rescue
Kayaking isn't just a matter of paddling. Anton's basic training
course includes a number of rowing techniques to help
first-timers maneuver through various paths on the river. The
objective is to get to know the movements of the kayak and how
it reacts to each stroke, combined with the unpredictable motion
of the river.
Vital to the training course is self-rescue. In the water, one by
one, Anton flipped our kayaks over and demonstrated how we
could turn the capsized things upright and, holding on to our
paddles, get back on.
Sounds simple? Believe me, it's far from easy. The river flows
fast and constantly so you can't expect your kayak to sit still for
you. And getting back on is like dragging a slippery 100-pound
fish on board. There is no conceivable way of doing this with
poise!
After the training course, we loaded the kayaks onto two motor
bancas that would take us upriver. The trip up is a feast for
city-weary eyes. The clear water glistens beautifully in the
sunlight, and the sight of endless greenery towering above and
stretching beyond will leave you awestruck.
From the boat, we witnessed life on the riverside. Bancas
navigate the river regularly to get people and their supplies from
their remote mountain villages to the town proper and back.
Even horses are loaded onto the motor boats. Men in skimpy
shorts go down to the river with fishing nets for their daily
catch, while women in tapis bathe and do the laundry.
Along the way, we spotted egrets and swiftlets. But what held
our attention was a bright blue bird that swiftly swooped
between branches and the provocative red of the fire trees
along the banks.
Finally we docked at Anton's designated put-in point. The
descent back to our camp was about two hours away, and we
would do it on kayaks. Anton led the way as we struggled with
our oars. Following his lead meant choosing the rougher parts
of the rapids, and at any bend in the river, taking the outer curve
was always a tougher enterprise.
Taking the easy way often prompted a chiding remark from our
leader, which, of course, challenged me to try and wrestle with a
tougher route.
The river's challenges came randomly--a long calm was often
followed by a quick ride on the rapids, and sometimes, a long
rough stretch was barely interrupted. Part of the thrill of this
river run was anticipating an oncoming rapid, with our ears
serving as a reliable guide. We would brace ourselves as soon
as we heard a strong hissing sound, and soon we would be
maneuvering through foaming white swells, dodging tree
branches and jagged rocks along the way.
Exhilaration
Getting past a wave of rapids was exhilarating. A few of us
capsized while negotiating a rough bend, but no harm was done
apart from scrapes and bruises. Besides, all pain and exhaustion
was forgotten each time the river slowed down, allowing us a
leisurely view of the forest and towering rocks.
Thankfully, the Pinacanauan River is now officially a protected
site, where no logging or fishing is allowed.
A chill was filling the air as we docked at the camp, the sky
turning a pale shade of orange in preparation for sunset.
Despite aching arms and shaking knees, we loaded and boarded
a motor banca with a lingering energy. It was probably the
adrenalin still pumping in our bloodstream, and it gave every
sensation a sharpened edge, getting us ready for the event we
were about to witness.
Directly above us, a cave etched at the edge of a high cliff
began to spew a thick swarm of bats. We watched, captivated,
as a seemingly endless cloud of insect bats jetted out of the
cave toward the trees that lined the cliffs, sometimes swooping
down so close to us that it elicited a scream. Evening had come
and it was feeding time for the bats.
As the sun went down on our sleepy way back to Anton's
home, we were sure that the bats weren't the only ones who
needed a feeding after that long hard day. A full moon remained
suspended over Cagayan Valley that night, watching over us as
we gorged on a home-cooked dinner and then collapsed on the
Carags' comfortable beds.
(to be continued)
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