I finally climbed Mt. Pulag last May 26-27, after months of dreaming it. My resolve was made stronger when Mom passed away late last year, and after numerous personal setbacks. I'm still on my emotional rollercoaster. I've noticed that the more turbulent and despondent my life becomes, the more committed I am to doing foolhardy and risky things, testing my limits and tempting fate. Could a similar circumstance be behind those men who always crave to be on the precipice, with death just a few miscalculations away? We look at them with awe and admiration, and yet if their inspiration is no different from mine, then we should empathize with their misery. I'm entirely on my own, though, and I want neither sympathy or empathy. Whatever I do is my own decision, and whatever sad and ugly consequences I create, I must suffer alone.
*****
The trek on foot was steep and long and arduous. It gradually became apparent that I was a bit overconfident of myself. I was often running out of air. In the lowlands I'm in great shape, but high up there in the mountains, it's a different story. The option of quitting became attractive at times, like some ravishing devil offering me the pleasures of letting go. But I persevered, partly because this whole affair of a climb was a long-time dream, and partly because of encouragement from my kindred souls, for whom the climb was not just some sort of a jaunt up the mountain, but akin to a spiritual pilgrimage.
*****
We set out for the summit at about 3:30 Sunday morning. The cold was biting. In every direction one looked, it was dark, except when one gazed upward: An almost unimaginable dome of hundreds upon hundreds of stars! They didn't twinkle as much as in the lowlands, and in the crisp, pure air, they were more like blobs of light. It was the first time I had seen so many stars. Those stars alone would have been sufficient to make the climb worthwhile, but there was the summit to reach.
*****
We trekked on rocky, muddy, slippery, and bone-jarring trails. In some parts, the trails were narrow enough to make me feel like I was trying to balance myself on a wooden plank. Others were precipitous on either side, their abyss hidden by the darkness.
We walked single file, and the lights from our headlamps and flashlights reminded me of a scene from a movie about explorers in an inhospitable and forbidding alien landscape. All the while I could see the mist from my labored breathing partially obscuring the beam from my flashlight.
*****
I was fortunate enough to belong to the second group that reached the summit before the coveted sunrise. The first group broke away at a continuous, blistering pace; too much and too fast for my lungs unacclimatized to high altitudes. I wondered how they adjusted so quickly and well. Or was I experiencing the limitations of my age?
Those who left camp last, and who were likewise bogged down either by physical limitations or the challenges of the trails, or both, had to content themselves with awaiting the sunrise on the lesser peaks of Mt. Pulag. However, if not only for the certain pride you feel on reaching the summit itself, the view from the lesser peaks was of the same undiminished magnificence.
*****
When I reached the summit, I sat on wet grass and ground. That act of sitting, with its attendant heave of a sigh, was relief unlike any other, after the long, labored ascent. It didn't matter that the ground was muddy and wet, I just had to sit down.
Waiting for the sunrise was, I felt, like waiting for a miracle to happen. Some set up elaborate camera equipment. Others, like myself, had cellphone cameras and ordinary cameras. Some were standing, and others were seated. I alternated between standing up and sitting down, trying to decide which provided the better perspective. Thinking back, I realized that when one is on the summit, there was only one perspective to one of life's most spectacular views.
*****
Then the miracle slowly unfolded. First, a hint of gold on the horizon, above the rolling, puffy clouds. It gave hope. Then, slowly but surely, guided by unseen hands, the curtain of full splendor was raised. The hint of gold grew, with its long, slender arms, embracing first, nearby clouds, then on to more distant ones. It gave wonder.
The sun rose dramatically for all of us to see. It rose on its own terms, unaffected and unhurried by our excitement and impatience. Its pace was perfect. It gifted us with time to ruminate on why we so much wanted to be there. For the majority, it was only another summit to climb, another place to be. I had my own reasons. I was looking for something unidentified, without form or feature. I brought dreams with me, those still intact, and some already broken. I also brought along hope, this tenacious thing I sometimes despise, that makes me cling to dear life. I brought all these with me to the summit, for Heaven to see; perhaps to seek admonition, then mercy, then reward.
*****
The majestic sunrise was unstoppable. The golden, slender arms now turned into wide swaths of gold, and slowly crept towards us, bathing the rolling clouds, turning the grey into blue and white. The sunrise then held the summit and the surrounding peaks in its unmistakable warmth. It touched my face, momentarily looking at the dreams and hopes I brought along. It left me with inspiration. Then it went on its way to touch and hold other mountains, other souls.
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