TRAVEL

Landing on the island with its archaic layers of rock was a cinematic experience.

GIDYONDER, By GIDEON LASCO

THE MOUNTAIN WAS AN ISLAND and the island was a mountain; it rose sharply above the high seas at the very edge of the Philippines. It had no coastline, no trail, no inhabitants. Unknown was its elevation, and unknown were the perils that lurked in its jungle. No ferry has ever operated a passenger service to it; no tour operator has ever offered a tour. Yet it was there and early morning one fine October day in 2009, I joined the Batanes Mountaineers to explore it.

Di’nem Island, it was called – the name a reference to its order from the north. I counted: Mavudis, Y’ami, Siaya, Itbayat, Di’nem… I counted five but actually the first Ivatan island lay in Taiwanese territory. We were desperately close to Taiwan. The fishermen who took us to Di’nem spoke of storms past that swept them to the first island whose inhabitants spoke a mixture of Ivatan and Chinese.

The culture of seafaring, so integral to the Filipino race with all our islands, is very much alive among the Batanes fishermen, who continue to build boats in the traditional Ivatan way. They believe in the sea, holding it provident not only in life but in death: William Antonio, the president of the Batanes Mountaineers, brought me to the Nakamaya Burial Grounds where the ancient Ivatan used to bury their dead in stone boat-shaped grounds which seemed to point towards the sea. The rest of us, although long estranged from this way of life, still find affinity with the sea and its blessings. The raw tanigue served with soy sauce and lightly-boiled octopus –both caught just hours ago– were culinary epiphanies.

We set out early in the morning. It was “Little Summer” in Batanes, coincident with the autumn of northern lands. Gone were the rains and monsoons of summer, but the chilling winter winds from Siberia had not yet arrived. “Winter?” I enquired. But the fireplaces in Ivatan houses should have answered my question in the affirmative.

We were already in Basco, Batanes–a good two thousand kilometers north of Manila, but we were about to edge further, beyond the comforts of civilization to Di’nem. Gradually Mt. Iraya receded in our south, replaced by the looming giant in front of us. The steep profile of Di’nem juts out of the sea like an intruder, its malevolence perhaps seconded by the rough waves that crash upon it. To its east lay nothing but water–and no island touches its latitude in the Pacific until Hawaii.

After three hours, we arrived on the island. We had already passed the tip of Itbayat, from whose coral plateau rose Mt. Riposed. The fishermen began looking for a safe harbor to dock the boat, but to no avail. Instead, they had to settle for anchoring the boat close enough for us to comfortably swim towards the island. It would be my first time to start climbing a mountain by jumping to sea. Yet that was exactly what we did: we had to swim a good fifty meters to reach Di’nem. And even the “small waves” there were powerful enough to nearly smash my head on one of the rocks.

Landing there was a cinematic experience, and the island was everything that a director can dream of: a forbidding shore, the core of the island seemingly one gigantic slab of rock slashed by the forces of time – timeless yet on the verge of collapse. But unlike in the movies where actors utter some profound words upon arrival on an unknown land, there was nothing to say. My only paean to its grandeur was a silent gaze, and some measure of anxiety (and excitement) about what the island had to offer.

We started trekking, stepping from rock to rock on a steep slope with nothing to cling on. And the trail we were blazing was getting destroyed as soon as it was created, for the rocks were loose. Just as in Indiana Jones movies, sometimes you only have seconds to take the next step before you will get eroded. And when you do find a stable rock to step on, there are the rocks falling from above; there are ants that will crawl their way to you. The pain is gone and now only the good memories and pictures remain, but at the very moment of adventure there is no glamour, only adrenaline.

Soon the open trail gave way to a dense jungle. The steepness of the slope remained but at least there were branches and roots to hold on to. Yet, I had to quickly be cautioned by our Ivatan guides that some trees are not to be held, lest their poisonous leaves touch your skin. Even though there wasn’t any trail and we were basically just scrambling up the trees like monkeys in that very steep slope, we pressed on. By three o’clock, we finally reached the summit area – there is no view, only a feeling of triumph. And immediately afterwards, the anxiety of the return journey. The prospect of swimming against the waves to reach our boat at night was quite scary!

Hurriedly we went back; the arduous ascent depleted me of my water but fortunately there were tiny streams. The unstable trail was a challenge to descend on, and sometimes I myself (together with the rocks) would erode from it. Finally, after this, we were back at the shore. As some sort of celebratory feast our guides scoured for urchins and they offered it to me. I love sushi, particularly uni sushi, but not even when I was in Tokyo did I get to taste it this fresh: when I was sucking the sashimi, the urchin’s tentacles were still moving!

Fortunately the waters were calmer, and the mad swim for the boat proved easier. It was already dark when we started the trip back to Ivatan. It was my first experience on a small, open boat at night. There, the heavens spoke powerfully; the stars and the constellations seemed real. The desolation of the open seas was unsettling, but the Biblical promise, “The winds and waves obey Him,” was a great comfort. Accompanying us on our journey were tiny, luminescent sea creatures that William called the ‘fireflies of the sea’.

Soon the lighthouses of Sabtang and Basco became clearer – faint lights that are beacons of hope and comfort amid the open sea. What a comfort to reach civilization! Yet there are other places in this world, and it is always a refreshing experience to be there and step on lands unknown. Your footprint on that island may quickly be washed away, but that island’s footprint on you will certainly stay forever.

The author would like to thank Mr. William Antonio and his family as well as the Batanes Mountaineers for accommodating him in this unforgettable trip beyond the usual Batanes experience. Dios mamajes!