https://youtu.be/EcZx8q9jvnY
Amidst the vibrant greenery of Bansalan, Davao del Sur, in a quiet corner called Sitio Balutakay, Purok Pluto, something captured my attention. Spread across the rolling slopes was a lush mosaic of vegetable farms, their rows of green and bursts of color reminiscent of the landscapes I had once seen in Changhua, Taiwan. The familiar sight brought both nostalgia and awe, as if two worlds were gently overlapping before my eyes.
The weather, calm and promising, seemed to bless our hike that morning. With curiosity tugging at my steps, I set out eager for the journey ahead. But nature, ever unpredictable, had its own plans.
As we ascended, the sky gradually darkened, clouds weaving a mysterious veil over parts of the mountain. Along the narrow trail, we met a caravan of horses, their backs heavy with bundles of fresh produce. Guiding them were friendly farmers, their smiles warm despite the fog creeping down the slopes. Their presence was grounding— a reminder of how deeply life here was tied to the land. Around us, wildflowers bloomed shyly by the trail, softening the climb and adding splashes of color against the gray mist.
At the first base, we paused for a much-needed lunch. By then, the fog had thickened, embracing our surroundings in an otherworldly silence. The mountain seemed to breathe, its presence both daunting and intimate. Soon, the adventure shifted into something bolder. The path ahead was cloaked in white, our vision reduced to only a few steps. We relied on sound—the chirping of insects, the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds—to guide us. It felt as though the mountain itself was testing our resolve, urging us to listen, to feel, and to move with care.
Hours later, as though hidden by design, we stumbled upon a small farmstead. It was a sanctuary of simplicity: a modest store stood at its heart, where a humble family greeted us with shy but welcoming smiles. The mother and daughter watched our arrival quietly, while the father worked patiently in his cabbage patch. Chickens scratched the earth nearby, and livestock grazed contentedly, completing a picture of life sustained by patience and resilience.
Our journey pressed on, pulling us into steeper, muddier trails. We crossed streams, slid through sticky mud that clung stubbornly to our shoes, and navigated deep forest paths where every step tested our determination. Yet the forest sang to us—the gentle symphony of flowing water, insects, and bird calls reminding us that we were never alone.
At last, after hours of relentless effort, the summit revealed itself. A surge of triumph washed over me. Before us towered the majestic Mt. Apo, its presence commanding yet serene, surrounded by a landscape painted in countless hues. The exhilaration of that moment was indescribable—an unspoken understanding that the struggle had been worth it.
But the mountain had one more challenge. Descending toward the crater, I gripped ropes to maneuver steep cliffs, confronting my fear of heights head-on. Every step demanded courage, every movement a test of will. By the time I stood at the crater, I felt both physically exhausted and deeply alive.
That night, sitting inside a cave while rain poured outside, I found myself reflecting. This climb, I realized, was never just about reaching a peak. It was about the people who made the journey possible—the farmers who carried their harvests down treacherous slopes, the porters who shouldered our loads with quiet strength, the local guides who led us safely through uncertainty. Their sacrifices and dedication, often invisible to the casual traveler, were what transformed the journey into something more than a personal conquest.
In the end, what enriched the adventure was not only the breathtaking vistas or the physical triumphs, but the stories interwoven with the land. This mountain was alive not just with forests, rivers, and sky, but with human spirit. And as I closed my eyes that night, listening to the rhythm of rain against stone, I carried with me a humbling truth: nature’s grandeur is undeniable, but it is the lives intertwined with it that give every journey its deepest meaning.
