Prof. Loreta Sol Dinlayan attended Unesco’s International Workshop on Quality Nominations for World Heritage Sites in Southeast Asia held in Manila last week.
May 26, 2025. I’ve been studying Mount Kalatungan (also Mount Kitanglad) these days for…[its] nomination for World Heritage Site and I discovered this article posted years ago. I’m inviting you to read this and rediscover the beauty of our mountains in Bukidnon.
May 24, 2014. The country’s 5th highest peak was my first mountain this year, a pre-climb for two others this July and December. A realization: I underestimated its physical features and gave more due to its mysticism.
The day after the Feast of San Isidro Labrador, I left Malaybalay for Pangantucan to meet fellow climbers and organizer Amir Flores. The group included three friends from Davao; one colleague from BSU; three from Malaybalay; three from Austria, US, and Germany; two from Pangantucan-LGU; and my new friends, the Amigleos.
We headed to the 1st base camp at 3 p.m. May 16 and for the next two days, spent time as a big family. I thank the people of Barangay Mendis who sent us off with smiles and perhaps silent prayers for our protection.
As usual, my first 1,000 steps drew me to my back’s heavy load as I waged a mental battle on whether to continue pursuing this mountain towering 2,860 meters. The fact that I’m the second oldest in the group intensified my fear. But then I thought of how I already cleaned my office beforehand in case this mystical mountain would claim my life.
After 2 hours of walking under rain showers, we reached the 1st camp and pitched the tents within minutes to catch the dusk.
Lightning flashed overhead but I didn’t dare look up. The rest of the night soothed my body and the magnificent sunrise the next day promised a successful trek.
We started the first assault at 6 as the forest started looking similar to Mount Kitanglad and Mount Apo. The mossy ground lulled my feet and the forest’s scent smelled of ancient past. I planted my steps carefully, thinking, this is a new mountain with distinct nature. With a trekking pole in one hand, I cooled my free hand by touching tree trunks. I called them ‘friends’ as I was just a visiting stranger in their midst. The mountain dew was soothing. Once again, my soul found comfort in the mountain.
My pace slowed after more than four hours of continuous climb, punctuated by conversations with my friends and contemplations with myself. My appetite didn’t work at lunch. I was so tired and sleepy. My light blue shirt was drenched in sweat; so was my yellow-green cap. The mountain demanded endurance so I adjusted my cap to see only two meters of the challenging trail ahead.
Then I hurdled Mount Kalatungan’s steep open trail for three hours. The thick and tall cogon grass obstructed my view but gave me shade. As I strictly timed my water-consumption, I began to accept that the mountains have captivated my heart. It was a significant day as I decided to look at life from a different perspective.
Mountains are easy to befriend, I thought, as I sampled the small violet wild berries along the trail. They tasted pungent but sweet. They energized me until I reached the spot only an hour away from the top.
Mount Kalatungan is a sacred mountain for the Manobo, Higaonon, and Talaandig tribes of Bukidnon. I decided not to record my footsteps on that holy ground; I reserved it for those who are more worthy, if there are.
It took me only two hours to reach the second base camp. My trekking pole discerned my path so well despite intertwining roots hiding behind thin sheets of clayish soil. My knees trembled and felt my load until I stopped to camp for a freezing night. There I threw my body on a sleeping bag without minding my unkempt hair, unwashed face, and unbrushed teeth. I had a dreamless sleep.
At two the next morning, the camp was awakened for the dawn trek towards the summit of Mount Makaupao. This would be my first time traversing the dark forest. The climbers’ flickering headlamps were like fireflies dancing in the dark. I put on rubberized gloves to bar thorny vines and raincoat to bar the dews. With my sight limited by the headlamp, I had to double check my steps. Despite my gloves, a few thorns pricked my palm each time I gripped the trekking pole. I ignored the pain as I had to catch the sunrise at the summit. My humming on that Sunday dawn of May 18 was my worship to the One who created mountains and who provided me strength to climb them.
My worship songs, louder than my panting, echoed, seeming like the first songs recorded in the memory of Mount Kalatungan. My ascent was slow as I looked at the fading moon above me. I saw traces of a would-be celebrated summer day through the fading shadows of contours around me. Racing with the last stage of assault, I turned off my headlamp, adjusted my trek pole, changed my glove, leveled up my energy, and proceeded like a warrior.
Before taking my historic footsteps on that mountain top, I looked back to where I once was. I was surprised. The mountains looked so beautiful in front of the rising sun. I never thought that in all those ordeals, beautiful scenery was waiting to sooth my soul, showing that I, too, possessed a vision for what is beautiful.
I ran to the top like a child with cheerers around me. Amazing! Beautiful!
My worship song “I sing for joy at the works of Your hands!” became more real. My fingers busied pointing to Lake Lanao, Mount Kitanglad, Blue Mountain, Mount Apo, and the rest of the lands and valleys meeting the skies. What a generous mountain! I let the sun kiss my face. Be it the north or south or east or west sides of the mountaintop, the scenery were heavenly crafted gifts to those who never lost their childlike wonder.
As my pole rested for a moment, so did my soul. Embraced by the canopy of clouds, I look at the world in a unique perspective. The agonies and injustices in the plains have not disturbed my soul’s respite. In that mountain, there was rest. I worshiped. I prayed.
My first step of my next six hours of descent signaled my adieu to a mountain that became my friend. The triumph of reaching the mountaintop is just a borrowed moment, I wrote this many times in my journal. So the more I climb mountains, the more I become humble. From the top, I had to go down with a bowed head and a weary body but with a heart full of memories and stories.
These stories were readily heard by the community who welcomed us back. It was 1:15 in the afternoon of May 18. As I put down my mountain climbing gear, I promised myself to fill the rest of the summer with stories about mountains.
A group of kids would be listening to me tomorrow afternoon during their Vacation Bible School graduation. I will show them the treasures I got from Mount Kalatungan.
PS. Madakel gayed salamat to:
Amir Flores who led the group and warmly welcomed me in it; Guyguy Villanueva who acted as “sweeper” and tutored me with the trekking pole and the proper way of shoe-lacing; The Amigleo family of Don Carlos for the festive dining tables; Crystal Flores who provided me ‘tent with amenities’ and bottomless water supply; The faithful porters, Bob and Kanyu, who lightened our load; Barangay Mendis and LGU-Pangantucan officials and staff; And the rest of my buddies with whom I shared the challenges and triumphs: Aki, Boris, Dan, Jacob, Jan, Jenny, Joel, Juvie, May, Pastor.
(Angaray is Binukid for female friend. The author is the Director of the Bukidnon Studies Center and a faculty member of the Sociology and Social Science Department of Bukidnon State University. ANGARAY’S TAKE is her column in BUKIDNON VIEWS, the opinion section of BukidnonNews.Net.)