Spirits of the Cordillera
Spirits of the Cordillera
“The Philippine Central Cordillera Traverse”
By: JP Alipio (August 2005)
The eyes stared over the horizon; half blind due to cataracts he surveyed his home from his perch on the side of the ridge. Fast losing his sight, his feet were splayed from a lifetime of journeys through these rugged mountains without shoes or slippers. He was old there was no doubt, yet his arms still betrayed the strength that had lay within them as he held on to his rifle, the glazed eyes watching as we filled our containers with water from the spring.
A few minutes before, we had arrived at the top of the ridge; carved rock, sprouting with green covered the mountains around us. It seemed like eternity as we stood silent on a small plateau of grass, an island in the midst of grandeur.
3 years ago I was climbing through a rainstorm up a Pine filled ridge. These were the first few drops of rain that would touch this earth after the dry season. Gray it seemed, but I watched as drop by drop the water seemed to breathe life into the land, the colors suddenly vivid, the trees and grass burst into green the yellows and reds of the earth springing to life. The air, clean and crisp –healed by the droplets from the sky, and suddenly, the smell of earth and pine enters your nostrils –like life being created within your body. All around me the mountain was alive as the crystal water flowed out of its breasts and the green crests of its ridges reached for the heavens. The clouds soon gave way to a few glints of sunshine making everything sparkle in the afternoon light.
I asked myself how long it would remain this way, would I be able to take my children to see these wonders or would I only be telling the tales of my adventures just as I write this story today. I could not stand to simply sit here and watch as the mountains I called home slowly disappeared before my eyes. Already many areas had been ravaged; large-scale mining operations had destroyed the very mountains I speak of, dams had stopped the once great rivers, commercial agriculture had destroyed much of our forests, and slowly our culture and land was being poisoned by values not of our own.
On April 1st 2005 after 3 years of planning, pouring through maps, historical accounts and my own personal forays into several areas in the Cordillera Mountains we started our walk. Supported on a large part by a grant from the National Geographic Society and equipment from our sponsors (Patagonia and Salomon) we headed out into the wild, but were it truly as wild as we thought?
Walking down the riverbed, our goal of crossing these mountains still a dream away, the heat of the sun, coupled with the barren mountainside and the 25 kilos of food and equipment we each carried; it seemed that crossing the span of ridges and peaks was all but impossible. Yet 23 days later here we stood staring out at the beauty of man’s creation hundreds of kilometers from where we first began.
Our skin dark from the constant exposure, roughly hewn leg muscles and the weight of a cavan of rice on our backs, we must have seemed strange to these people (just as we were strange to the villages we passed for most of the trek –always the question: why do you walk these mountains?). Passing through the many fields perched high up on the mountainsides, it felt like being in a fishbowl, as anxious eyes scrutinized us suspiciously on our intentions, and every so often one of the villagers, both young and old would pass carrying a long rifle, their fingers ready at the trigger if we showed the slightest sign of being one of the enemy.
Being regarded with suspicion was a new sensation, as passing through the homes of the Ibaloi and the Kalanguya we were often regarded as guests and even more so a part of the community, without even the question of our intentions or even who we were. We were invited to sleep in their homes and share their meals, we would begin our walks with boiled Camote for baon from the community’s fields and always these would arrive without even a question or request, to them it was simply the decent thing to do. But as we walked down the ridge of Betwagan it was as if we had entered another world. They were at war with a village in Kalingga –Botbot, and it had over the past years claimed lives on both sides. Pointing to a ridge right across from where I stood; there they said the last person from Betwagan was killed. His body parts chopped and scattered, his head taken home as a prize. These were stories of the old Cordillera, yet surprised as I was to hear that it was still happening in these mountains, I wondered if such savagery was still truly possible, and if it were true had these very people who tell of this tale done the same? I would not know, as it was not my place to ask nor were we here to meddle in the community’s affairs, besides it seemed that in this place of war, elation was just around the corner.
The date for the weddings had not been set, but the previous day a Carabao had fallen into a ravine and meat was a precious commodity. And so it came to be that four dark and weary travelers had walked all the way across the Cordillera Mountains to find themselves invited to celebrate five weddings. The gongs played from every corner of the village; Basi (sugarcane wine) flowed like water, while the families of the newlyweds arranged to exchange the different dowries of Basi, rice, and meat. In their colorful loincloths, the old men of the village squabbled on the proper way of performing the wedding, each one recounting what each had experienced in their own time. Eventually the wedding arrangements were settled and the old men went back to their old tales, dancing, pattong (gong playing), and jars of Basi. I woke up to the gongs the following morning and only when the sun had risen did the goings finally cease to play.
A week later we were again walking down a river valley, heading towards the coast of Ilocos Sur, how many we had gone through I had no idea. Some like this valley today were hot the mountainsides barren, aside from the dry brush that survived the searing heat and dry land, there were no trees to shade the ground from the rays of the sun. The river rocks had absorbed most of the morning sun’s energy and were now radiating this discomfort towards us as we walked across the riverbed. Lost in our thoughts and without a word, we each dropped our packs stripped our clothes and jumped into the cool flowing river… so far away now, we were nearing the end of our long walk… The trail passed along the rivers edges as it flowed down the gorge, the mountainside covered with pine and the mist glinting from behind the edges of the forest while the flowing river sparkled under the afternoon sun. Four seemingly insignificant figures in the center of all this magnificence, wondering how long beauty would remain in these mountains before the rest of the world caught up with them. The problem was –it was catching up too fast. Waking from a dream, the water flowed passed my body, my thoughts flowing with it.
Walking through the wilds as many nature writers have called their long sojourns through the earth’s untamed places, the great adventure as one would call it. I was not spared of this way of thought, even as I was a member of this regions indigenous peoples, I had been raised in settings quite unfamiliar to a way of life one would deem a part of Indigenous culture. Thus in my eyes I saw this as a great adventure rather than being a part of the landscape. A landscape that by the standards of the souls living in this area had long ago been a part of their lifeways and traditions, and thus by modern definition this place was neither wild nor was it tamed by human hands, instead it had arisen from the partnership between the people of these mountains and the living environment.
I wondered to myself, seeing all this beauty, was this it? Was this Eden? The natural wonders of the central cordillera mountains, too beautiful to be expressed in words, it was my home; the home of the gods, sparkling rivers, sulfur springs, dense cloud forests, veils of mist, and sunsets that tell you of the glory of the day that passed and the majesty of the day that is still to come. But this was not simply what made the Cordillera the place that I loved, more so than the beautiful sunsets, amazing vistas, crystal water and endless green, I treasured the people. People who without a moment’s hesitation and without any knowledge of who we were and why we came invited us for that brief moment to share their lives, to be a part of this beauty that made up the mountains, for on those days we were not travelers, nor were we tourists or adventurers –we were a part of the landscape. Just as these people were a part of the streams that flowed freely through the rocky gorges, the trees that spring to green whenever teardrops fall from the heavens, we were a part of what make these mountains more than mere pieces of rock, wood, and water… a part of what makes the mountains whole, the soul of the cordillera.
Illuminating the darkness with my headlamp I found myself staring down the end of two very menacing rifles (M-16 a1), 5 minutes later we were surrounded by an entire squad of drunken government soldiers and subjected to a very uncomfortable interrogation session. Fortunately, after repeated answers and a very long discussion we were able to convince them that we were not rebels although our dark skin and my long beard made us look contrary to our assertions, they finally gave up their interrogation and let us be for the night, returning to the bottle of gin that had occupied them before our arrival.
38 days after we started walking through the mountains, we finally arrived, Tirad Pass, the last stand of the Philippine’s youngest general against the American forces. We were standing on the ground where 60 Filipino soldiers died defending the pass from advancing American forces. Dark, our beards were long and most of our muscles had moved to our legs. We had finished the traverse, retraced the trails that connected the region, Spanish, Japanese, and Igorot trails that went through the mountains. Some of the trails had disappeared and turned into roads, some even sprawling 4 lane gashes in the earth, yet here we were walking through all of them. We had finished our walk, 38 days, 400 or more kilometers, strangely awakening from a dream, we now knew more of our mountain region. Our journey at an end we were going home. Yet before setting foot on the coastal town of Ilocos Sur the thought had occurred to me, was I not home for the past 38 days… I was.
The Team:
JP Alipio: The Team Leader and Proponent of the Philippine Central Cordillera Traverse. (Environment, Natural Resource Use, People and Cultures & Environment)
An Ibaloi who traces his roots from La Trinidad, Benguet, a graduate of Biology from the University of the Philippines, he is currently undertaking his Masters Studies in Environmental Management in a joint program of Ateneo de Manila University and San Francisco University. He has been involved with Indigenous Communities developing culturally responsive education and worked with indigenous peoples and communities on environmental and resource problems.
Francis Gerard Alipio: Medic and Researcher (Health)
The Team Leader’s Younger Brother who also shares his Ibaloi heritage. He is tasked to provide emergency first-aid care for the members of the team and will be providing the perspective on the health of the communities that will be passed through during the traverse. He is a Nursing Student from Pines City Colleges in Baguio City
Reuben Muni: Researcher (Historical/Anthropological)
The only member of the team who does not hail from the Cordillera Region, he is a Bicolano but with the heart of a Cordilleran. He finished his degree in BA Social Sciences majoring in Anthropology and Sociology from the University of the Philippines and is currently a member of the UP Baguio, College of Social Sciences Faculty. He was tasked to provide an anthropological and sociological perspective for the traverse.
Jen Godio: Researcher (Women/Education)
The woman of the team, Jen is an Ibaloi who traces her roots to Itogon, Benguet one of the areas most affected by mining. She has lived in an area that is now an open pit mine. All that is left of her home are the memories that her family tell in stories to friends. She is a graduate of Social Science from the University of the Philippines and was tasked to provide the women’s perspective for the traverse as well as a look at the different social structures that pervade in the different communities.
Clint Bangaan: Local Coordinator
Clint is a Kankanaey who traces his roots from Sagada and Besao, Mountain Province. He has been involved in various research and work with Indigenous Communities. He is currently a member of Tebtebba Foundation, an Indigenous Peoples’ International center for Policy, research and Education. He holds a degree in Journalism from the University of the Philippines. Clint served as the local coordinator for the team during the time when the traverse team was walking through the mountains.
