Having climbed my fair share of mountains since college, I knew that when a guide says, “Just 10 more minutes,” it really means “more than an hour.” By the time I reached the boulder face of Mount Apo, the country’s highest peak, I was already battling a sea of massive stones – remnants of an undocumented eruptions – scattered like obstacles demanding both strength and balance. The only comfort came from the horizon, where streaks of gold stretched across the sky.
For a moment, the sunrise eased my aching knees and weary body. Minutes ago, I was questioning why I chose to climb Apo instead of lounging at the mountain resort of Camp Sabros. But as the amazing scenery unfolded in the skies, I understood why.
Knees Gone Bad at Camp Gudi-Gudi
We began our climb at 9 a.m. via the Kapatagan back trail, a short but steep and, certainly, not easy trail. The first few hours took us through sloping farmland, then into a forest of mud and steep ascents. I questioned my preparation and fitness level – even my sanity –while imagining myself at home watching Netflix. Still, we pressed on, pausing for breaks and an hour-long lunch. At 3 p.m., after six hours of trekking, we reached Camp Gudi-Gudi, which was crawling with Holy Week hikers.
We found a quiet clearing for pitching our tents a hundred meters away. The afternoon passed softly with naps and hot snacks, then finally, dinner before lights-out at 8 p.m. The night air grew colder – a prelude of the next day’s push to the summit.
At 2 a.m., we packed up, sipped coffee, and layered up. Our headlamps lit the way as we began our ascent at 3 a.m.. After eight hours of navigating loose rock, ridges, and lunar-like terrain, we reached Digos Peak, one of Mount Apo’s three summits. Above the clouds, we lingered for an hour, taking in the panorama that made every ache worthwhile. By 3 p.m., we were back at camp, spent but fulfilled.
“Why Climb Mt. Apo?”
I asked myself this repeatedly as my knee protested. George Mallory’s “Because it’s there” might sound cliché, but for many climbers, it holds true.
For Joyce Cee Olebang, one of our guides, Mount Apo holds deeper meaning. “When my father died, I promised to climb Mount Apo,” she shared. That single climb turned into many more, leading her to become a certified mountain guide while teaching college. “I didn’t expect it, but I found a new purpose here,” she said, smiling.
Like Joyce, my reasons were personal. My love for mountains began in college, as part of the UST Mountaineering Club, following my brother’s footsteps. We climbed peaks across Batangas, Bataan, and Bicol – journeys that influenced how I viewed the world. Climbing Mount Apo wasn’t just a bucket list goal. It was a tribute to those early adventures that shaped me.
Reaching the Peak
My knees began to fail. Time blurred between our guide’s, Kuya Bador’s, optimistic “(Just) 15 more minutes.” Those minutes stretched endlessly as illusion kept us moving. If I’d be honest, initially, my reason wasn’t profound: I needed content, photos, and notes for a story. But the mountain had other plans.
At the summit, we were welcomed with clear skies as a sea of clouds rolled beneath us. “A rare sight,” said one of the guides. “Most days, it’s either fog or no clouds. Today, you have both,” he shared proudly.
At that moment, it stopped being a checklist climb or a nostalgic return to my mountaineering roots. It wasn’t for social media or a story. It was simply being there: breathing painfully, yes, but fully alive in the moment.
Mallory was right. There’s no better answer than “Because it’s there.” Despite the sore knees and poor training, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
We spent nearly 12 hours on the trail that second day. Between exhaustion and awe, I found clarity not in the summit, but in the struggle it demanded. Sitting by my tent that afternoon, tired but unbowed, I felt gratitude.
Now, recalling it over coffee, I understand what makes a memory last. It’s not just the act but the story it becomes. Mount Apo isn’t merely material for a travel piece; it’s something I’ll carry with me. And I’d gladly do it all again, bum knees and all.
