Sliding and Shooting at Camp Sabros

Camp Sabros got stuck in my consciousness after hearing the fascinating tales of a colleague who’s tried the zip lines of this scenic eco-adventure resort nestled near the foothills of Mt. Apo. Rising some 1,200 meters above sea level, the mountain haven boasts of having some of the country’s most exciting zip wires which treat “death sliders” to a thrill ride over a dazzling canopy of verdant conifers, trees, bushes and shrubs with the Philippines’ highest mountain looming at a distance.

Little did I know that it would also become the setting for what I consider my first “professional photoshoot”— alas, minus the professional fee!—of former officemates, a group of bubbly, wannabe cover girls (isn’t it too late, ladies? LOL!) who were craving to be snapped with the majestic mountain at the background. Although I wanted to see the place, I never expected it to happen so soon. But the eager beavers at my previous office found a way to fix everyone’s schedule so there we were during one weekend, having the time of our lives in the highlands of Kapatagan in Digos City.

The visit to Sabros presented opportunities for each one of us to realize what we had long wanted to do. On my part, it would enable me to accomplish at least four things: one, make up for some “broken promises” I made to the women; two, do my homework on nature photography; third, gaze anew at Apo’s grandeur (which I haven’t seen up close for about five years since climbing it in 2005); and lastly, try the resort’s zip lines, which, I got to see for the first time on a TV show (Sports Unlimited, if I’m not mistaken). So, I gave in to the “request” (or was it a “demand”?) for a late summer shoot in the uplands.

After picking up my models from all over Davao City, we went on with the trip to nearby Davao del Sur. I felt nostalgic as I caught a glimpse of the many familiar sights in the progressive town of Sta. Cruz which I haven’t seen in a long time. A few kilometers before reaching downtown Digos, we turned right and headed straight towards Kapatagan. As we trod the narrow zigzagging road that reminded me of Baguio, the journey treated us to charming vistas of the countryside, leaving everyone gushing over the magnificence of God’s creations in that part of the country.

Two hours down the road, we finally reached the outpost of the Mt. Apo Natural Park, which is adjacent to the jump-off point for visitors going to Sabros. Although cars may be brought up all the way to the mountain resort, we decided to leave and park our SUV at the vacant lot near the outpost for fear that we might get stuck in the muddy trail. Since it rained hard the night prior to our visit, the dirt road leading to the camp was almost impassable to four-wheel vehicles.

That left us with three options to get to our destination:  go on foot, ride any habal-habal plying the route, or hop on any of the horses.  Jay, our driver, and I opted to hike all the way to the camp. Mabel, Tess and Bing joined us while Cynthia and Pris rode the horses. Halfway through the trek, however, the three got on the first horse they could find when the going got toughest.

An overcast sky hovered above us as we continued treading towards the camp. The featureless white sky somewhat worried me because I wanted so much to take my subjects’ snaps with the rustic beauty of Kapatagan’s terrain—gently rolling knolls, pine tree-lined paths and verdant grasslands—and the formidable presence of Mt. Apo at the background.

I shot a glance at the mountain but couldn’t see a trace of it as thick clouds shrouded it. Maybe it’ll show up later, I thought. But if it doesn’t (and it didn’t!), then I’ll have to consider some options. At that point, I also became anxious over the glaring brightness overpowering the other elements in my frame. So, I started cracking my head for alternatives. I may have to narrow my focus on smaller scenes and close-up shots that wouldn’t depend on an overcast sky. I may have to block much of the light with trees and foliage. Or, I may have to leave the vanilla sky out of the frame entirely.

After some time, we chanced upon a few locals every now and then whom I bothered with the same question: “How far are we from Camp Sabros?” Their standard reply was: “It’s just around the corner”. But as we trod further, the trail seemed to get longer, the air colder, the terrain steeper. The whole stretch, I found out later, turned out to be over a kilometer away from the highway!

 

By the time I reached the entrance to the camp, I was already breathing heavily and sweating profusely. I haven’t hiked on rugged elevations for ages so it felt like my lungs would burst. Geez, that made me realize that lowlanders who  hardly leave their comfort zones—that includes me!—ought to re-examine their understanding of distances if they are to survive the mountains.  

It was past chow time when we arrived so everyone was eager to find a place to eat. The women immediately found us a table near the camp’s viewing deck, placing all the food they prepared. The hearty lunch turned out to be one of best meals I ever had with old friends, spiced up by occasional pauses for photo ops and humorous banter as we talked about anything under the sun.

After eating, the models got ready for the shoot while I roamed around Camp Sabros in search for perfect backdrops. But I didn’t meander too far because every nook and cranny of the resort is a photographer’s delight. When my models came in, a golden blaze of sunlight began to fill the camp’s surroundings. 

It was the moment I’ve been waiting for.  I had to shoot fast before it’s gone. In minutes, my shutter started to work. Flushed with excitement, the wannabe cover girls displayed their picture-perfect poses. Like convent girls who’ve seen the outside world for the first time, they smiled, shrieked, snickered and shuffled to their hearts’ content as we went shooting around the camp. Hours later, they felt they had enough and called off the shoot. Except for Pris and Cynthia, the rest went back to our quiet corner at the viewing deck to rest.

Meanwhile, the three of us headed for the zip lines. When we got there, a fairly large crowd was already at the staging area for the 400-meter zip. I was amazed to see a diverse assemblage of people who’ve been infected by the zipping “virus”—men, women, parents, children, teens, adults, singles, couples, families—all wanting to experience what it feels to fly.

Like the zip lines in Lake Sebu, “zippers” were made to wear safety helmets and fastened to a harness that was hooked to a cable wire. They were also asked to fall into a lying position as they slid into the air. But unlike my Lake Sebu experience where I flew with a buddy, I went solo this time. While waiting for my turn, I felt giddy knowing that I was out on my own crossing the great divide. But I psyched myself up to just enjoy the trip through the wire. After all, I’ve done it before—at a much higher elevation at that. So before the crew released me into mid-air, I was already in a ready-for-take-off mode. 

Soon, I was flying over lush conifers, shrubs and vegetation. No word comes close to describing what I felt during those few seconds in mid-air. I wanted to shout but no sound came out of my mouth; I was tongued-tied with wonder as I gazed at the beauty all around me. Geez, Clark Kent must have felt that way when he learned he had the gift of flight.

While waiting for the jeep that would take me and the others to our return flight, I killed time taking snaps at the awesome foothills of Mt. Apo which appeared nearer from where I stood. Later, I joined a band of vivacious zippers, who came all the way from Cebu just to experience the flight of fancy at Sabros, as we headed for the staging area of the 380-meter zip where we had another great flying experience.

All told, the shooting and sliding at Sabros were among the most exciting and daring things I’ve done in years.  It was one weekend well spent to accomplish so many in one sitting. But there are two things I missed doing when I was there. One is riding aboard the cable lift (which I’ve tried once in Singapore) and trying out one of the camp’s more recent attractions—the treetop rappel. Hmmm…I think I know what I’m going to do the next time I visit that mountain haven in Kapatagan. :D

Sliding Above Lake Sebu’s Seven Falls

pic courtesy of E. Gales

I’d been raring to do it for the longest time. But something often got in the way of my best-laid plans in the past.  Recently, in one blink of an eye, the moment I’ve long been waiting for was suddenly unfolding before me.

With quiet aplomb, I climbed a short stairway leading to a steel platform where I will be taking off for what would eventually become the reality of a flight of fancy.  But I wasn’t taking that helluva “death slide” alone; I was about to fly with a fellow travel photography buff, Leo, who, I think, must have done it a number of times in the past. Before our turn at the zip line came, there were several other tourists who’ve already crossed the deep, wide chasm between the stage where we stood and the other end of the line.

Stepping into the platform, my zip buddy and I were geared up by the crew with some kind of protective suit. Then they attached our harnesses to the cable. To prepare us for our flight, one of the staff kept telling us to relax and enjoy the ride. Quickly, I held on to my digital camera, which was strapped around my neck, and touched the red button to start recording what was to become my first zip line experience.

The two of us were part of the 60-plus entourage who came all the way from Davao City just to experience the “death slide” up in the highlands of Lake Sebu. Leaving the city in the wee hours of the morning, the bus carrying our boisterous group reached the heartland of the T’bolis at about 7:00 in the morning.

We then proceeded to Lake Lahit, one of the three bodies of freshwater dotting the municipality that’s known as South Cotabato’s summer capital. There, our group had a hearty breakfast of fried tilapia, scrambled eggs, and piping hot rice at one of the lakeside eateries along the highway.

After eating, we negotiated for a habal-habal (which accommodated only two passengers per ride) that would take us to Falls 1, the first of seven magnificent cascades that’s been charming Lake Sebu’s visitors. Warning: the habal-habal ride isn’t for the fainthearted. It would be best for those with motion sickness who want to go there to just hike for a kilometer to get to the first falls. For there was a whiff of danger every step of the way as we raced through the winding stretch.

There can be no margin for error. One wrong maneuver of the driver over the muddy path could send everyone tumbling down to—heaven forbid!—a fatal crash into the ravine. But it’s the peril and suspense that spiced up that trek of mine into the first of the seven cascades.  Good thing, our driver knew his way around that serpentine dirt road. Otherwise…

I was beginning to enjoy the lush scenery when the thriller of a commute suddenly ended as we reached a sprawling vacant lot where a number of motorcycles and other vehicles were parked.  From there, we hiked towards Falls 1 where we had a grand time snapping ourselves and taking in the beauty of the breathtaking cascade. After seeing enough of the first falls, we hiked towards the staging area of the first zip line where I had my daredevil ride. 

“On the count of three, sirs…one, two, three!” the staffer barked as he released the harnesses that held together two devil-may-care shutter guys whose hearts were almost bursting with hysteria as they slipped into their mid-air adventure.

Geez, this is it! I thought as I felt the cool breeze brushing against my face. Before I could say anything, there we were, speeding at 120 kph into the other end of the 700-meter zip line. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!,” I roared endlessly as we dashed at breakneck speed from the foliage-covered ravine into the great divide. I held my camera tightly for fear that it would escape my grip and fall into the 700-feet deep expanse underneath us.

As we zoomed up in the air, I sensed the surge of adrenaline pumping into my bloodstream. I felt my heart skip a beat, my pulse quicken, my spirit teeter with tension as we darted past the picturesque vista below us. Less than 40 seconds later, we slowed down, reached the drop zone and then ground to a halt.

The crew then rushed and helped us get out of our suits and harnesses. So, there, in one fell swoop, my spellbinding flight of fancy was over. But that was just the first one. We still had to conquer another “death slide”, albeit a much shorter one—300 meters, if I’m not mistaken—which lasted for about 20 seconds.

At the speed we were doing the second zip, I hardly caught a glimpse of the breathtaking charms of Falls 3, 4 and 5 hundreds of feet below us. Later, I just took some distant shots at those three cascades for posterity's sake. Since reaching them entailed trekking for almost an hour, I also passed up the chance to see Falls 6 and 7. Instead, I joined most of my fellow zippers who lingered at Falls 2, talking about our experiences at the zip line while basking in the beauty of the lush surroundings.

Never mind if I didn’t get to see the five other cascades up close and personal, I thought. For it’s the zip wire odyssey that really counted the most. It was a fantasy fulfilled for this incorrigible thrill-seeker, a rare opportunity to upsize my sense of self and push my personal boundaries to the max. It was an exhilarating joy ride that gave me a wispy but gripping aftertaste of life on the edge.

Organized by RTours, a group of Davao-based travel aficionados, the zip line adventure we had in Lake Sebu has become one of the many reasons why throngs of tourists these days are heading towards that part of Mindanao for some adrenaline rush. 

In different parts of the island, a number of such attractions have sprouted overnight in response to the growing demand for extreme forms of adventure. But I think Lake Sebu’s thrill rides are a cut above the rest. I guess nothing beats the magnificent views that await those who zip there, most especially the town’s awe-inspiring Seven Falls. 

Here's a video showing my encounter with the death slide...

More pics:

Trekking to Surigao del Sur’s Tinuy-an Falls

Having seen so many waterfalls in different parts of the country, including world-famous Magdapio (that’s Pagsanjan to you, which should have been named Cavinti since it’s found in that town, not in Pagsanjan, Laguna), mysterious Cambugahay in Siquijor, and slim yet stunning Katibawasan in Camiguin, nothing seemed so breathtaking to me anymore. Seen one, seen them all, I thought. 

That was until I found myself gazing (or was it gaping?) one blissful morning at the picture-perfect magnificence of one cascade hidden somewhere in one of Surigao del Sur’s lush rainforests—Tinuy-an Falls. Suddenly, I was at a loss for superlatives that would aptly describe the three-tiered cascading wonder found just about an hour away from the concrete jungle that is Bislig.

What’s so special about this beauty? For one, it’s often touted as the country’s Little Niagara Falls with an awe-inspiring drop of about 55 meters (180 feet) high. Anyone who’s been to or seen a pic of New York‘s famous falls would surely notice the striking resemblance. Also, Tinuy-an is considered the Philippines’ widest falls with a width of about 95 meters (312 feet).  With its three-tiered flow, it’s undoubtedly one of our most picturesque.

The visit to Bislig’s beautiful cascade came part of a marathon tour of two attractions, the other being the Enchanted River in the neighboring town of Hinatuan. Through a long-time friend, I learned about the adventure being organized by some Davao-based travel aficionados. Immediately, I decided to make myself available one weekend so I can join the escapade to Surigao, which was a homecoming of sorts for me having last visited the place a couple of decades ago.

Leaving Davao City in the wee hours of the morning, the bus carrying an eclectic bunch of nature trippers reached Mangagoy after a night of meandering through the highways of three provinces: Davao del Norte, Compostela Valley and Agusan del Sur. Most of us were snoozing en route to our destination when we were evicted out of dreamland as the bus drove towards a long, potholed stretch that is the old PICOP road. Geez, this used to be a fine access road but it seemed like it had seen better days.

In Mangagoy, we took a quick breakfast and scurried to the secluded village of Borboanan in the outskirts of Bislig where the falls is found. The trek to Tinuy-an gave us a panoramic treat of the countryside, including some attractions that made me realize how blessed we are for possessing so much rustic, virginal beauty—a placid lake, a mighty river, a dense rainforest, verdant fields, and several quaint villages whose folks seemed star-struck upon seeing our vehicle pass by, as if it carried some pop icons they adored.

Minutes later, the bus came to a halt somewhere near a flowing river. This must be the place, I thought. Along with the others, I took my stuff and jumped off the bus.  Then I heard the thunderous roar of falling water and walked towards the source of the sound.  And there it was—the wonder that everyone came to see—gushing, flowing, roaring and beckoning us to explore her grandiose beauty.  Tongue-tied, I held my camera and took my first few shots of our little Niagara.

If there’s something I’d consider an icing on the cake to the tour, it’s none other than the cool and spectacular rainbow that came into our view while we were exploring Tinuy-an. I’ve never been that close to one before so the sight of it thrilled me no end, reminding me of some popular ditties about rainbows including that original rendition by Kermit the Frog. With lightning speed, I took out my camera and snapped at the spectacle before it vanished from our sight.  Hmmm...it made me wonder whether it was a sign of welcome from some unseen power guarding the falls, a goddess perhaps?

If there’s something I failed to accomplish during the tour, that would be reaching Tinuy-an’s peak. For what I first thought was just a walk in the park turned out to be one uphill struggle. Geez,  I was already having trouble breathing after making it to the initial flight of stairs leading to the falls so I thought I’d die if I went on to the next! With much regret, I had no choice but to go down, eating my heart out as I watched our younger companions eagerly scaling the steep stairway with so much ease. Damn, I need a cardio workout—pronto!

After browsing over what Arthur, our tour organizer, and his gang of photo enthusiasts had taken and uploaded in Facebook, I couldn’t help but drool and be envious of the others who’ve made it there. So, if there’s something I want to do upon seeing Tinuy-an again, that would be making it to the falls’ summit.  I can only wish that such closure would happen not in another decade for fear that I may no longer have the stamina to go there. As the cliché goes, the mind may be willing but the flesh might be too weak.

Here’s a sneak peek at the Philippines’ Little Niagara…:D

Entranced by Surigao del Sur's Enchanted River

In a little known rustic town in Surigao del Sur, shielded from the chaos of urban life and the harsh waves of the Pacific by a dense rainforest and a lush mountainside, lies a slice of paradise that swept me off my feet the moment I saw it—the Enchanted River of Hinatuan! 

I’d been to various towns in the province long before it became part of Caraga Region while working as a researcher. During those trips, I often heard some interesting stories about a deep and dazzling river with crystal clear waters somewhere in the southern tip of Surigao del Sur. Hearing those tall tales whetted my appetite to explore the place. Time and circumstance, however, prevented me from doing that at the time. 

So, when I got wind of a tour being organized by some adventure-hungry friends, I readily signed in for the expedition. I hadn’t been to Surigao in ages so anticipation to see it anew ran high, most specially that spectacular piece of wonder in Hinatuan that I’ve been yearning to explore. 

The tour itself was a hectic 18-hour affair (including the return trip) with the itinerary consisting of visits to two locales: the amazing Tinuy-an Falls in the city of Bislig and the spellbinding river in Hinatuan. So, together with about 40-plus wide-eyed travel aficionados and photography buffs from Davao and elsewhere, I was off to the southern part of Surigao in the wee hours of a Sunday morning.  

By 6 a.m., the bus carrying our entourage reached Mangagoy, the main commercial district in Bislig,  after a bumpy five-hour ride through the countryside. Still dazed and weakened by the lack of sleep, almost everyone on board was eager to grab a hot cup of coffee to perk us up for the much-awaited trek to Tinuy-an Falls where we later lingered for about four hours. 

After basking in the beauty of the falls, we headed for our next destination. Passing by Bislig’s coastal road, we were treated to a magnificent view of the Pacific’s waves hitting the city’s shores. As the bus meandered through the boulevard,  I noticed something different about the city.  Life there seemed to have taken on a slower beat with the closure of PICOP, one of the country’s largest paper mills. Gone was the upbeat spirit that used to pervade it during my previous visits.

As we are about to reach the city’s dilapidated wooden bridge, I overheard a chat between Arthur, our tour organizer, and a fellow tourist. “That bridge (referring to the new one being built adjacent to the old structure) holds the international record of being the ‘longest’ one,” Arthur said in jest. “It’s the ‘longest unfinished bridge’ in the world! Almost ten years in the making—and still counting,” he added. And why is that? “Only this city’s esteemed congressman knows the answer,” he quipped. 

Upon reaching Hinatuan, our bus drove straight into one of the town’s eateries to heed the call of our tummies. To everyone’s delight, lunch consisted of a sumptuous seafood fare—crabs, shrimps and grilled blue marlin. In minutes, the small tables were readily occupied by tired, hungry souls and the mouth-watering feast was gone in minutes. 

Sated, we then hopped into the vehicle again for the exciting journey to the river. On our way there, many thoughts suddenly ran inside my head.  What’s so enchanting about Hinatuan’s river? How come people flock there? Are we going to fall into a spell once we see it? Hmmm... I couldn’t wait to find the answers.

After negotiating through a rugged dirt road leading to the spot, we got to our destination.  Initially, I expected to see a quiet, uninhabited river with no amenities whatsoever. To my surprise, there were picnic huts and tables all over the place, giving it the semblance of a sought-after tourist attraction.  I also thought that only a handful of frolickers would be around as it was a secluded place. To my chagrin, the river and its vicinity was full of tourists from all walks of life!  Almost every nook and cranny was teeming with people, young and old, singles and couples, parents and children.

Nonetheless, my dismay flew out of the window the moment I laid eyes on the blue, sparkling river (or is it a lagoon?) below the cliff from where I stood.  Geez, it was the most picturesque body of water I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I found myself tongue-tied while watching the water seamlessly progressing from emerald green to pale blue and finally to dark blue somewhere in the middle where a deep crevice seemed to have naturally formed. Quickly, I took out my camera and kept on snapping here and there, capturing the river’s best angles as much as I could.

According to the locals, the river’s depth, particularly the dark blue portion, is estimated to be around 24 meters (80 feet).  Gazing for minutes at the enchanting spectacle, I felt some invisible force beckoning me to dive into the deep blue waters.  Maybe that’s the enchantment this river is said to possess, I thought. 

As my diving skills aren’t up to par, I opted for a quick dip somewhere in the lagoon’s shallower waters on the right side. While swimming there, I noticed a signboard across the river which reminded everyone to get out of the water at noon time.

Intrigued, I later sought explanation from one of the caretakers who eagerly told me that various fishes come out and swim in the river at noon, waiting to be fed with bread crumbs and the like. How interesting, I told myself. Too bad we missed that feeding session. I also learned that the locals never harmed nor attempted to catch the fishes there for they believed that these are enchanted and that punishment from some unseen power awaits those who dared.

After wading for a few minutes in the river’s brackish waters, I got out to change clothes, took my camera again and snapped all over the place to my heart’s content. Roaming around, I couldn’t help but marvel at one of God’s most stunning creations in that part of the country.

It was almost 4 p.m. when Arthur decided that it’s time to leave. As I joined the others who were trooping back to the bus, I silently prayed for another chance to return and relive the enchantment that I experienced there. I also wished that the wonderful folks of Hinatuan would go to great lengths to protect their precious river so that it would continue to enchant more and more people for generations to come. 

Here's a video that captured the magic of the Enchanted River...:D