Odd trip over the weekend; fun and productive, but surreal in the peculiar way that Philippine back-country travel can be. Started out in search of a river with a rumour of rapids, in Infanta, Quezon, on the east coast of Luzon just across from Manila. Not too far from Manila, actually - most people think of it as a remote place, and it was until 2 years ago, when the access road was paved. Now it's only about 3 hrs. out of the city, which would make it closer (to Manila, at least) than any of the other rivers we paddle.
Went down to Manila Sat. PM, took off early Sunday, made the trip fast. New road is good, if a little hairy; the portion that used to be 3rd world battered dirt is all zigzags and hairpin turns, and the local bus drivers, thrilled at having cement to drive on, take it fairly fast. So we come down on the east coast, where at least it isn't pouring rain, and get up to where the river hits the ocean. The river is big, maybe 7000-8000 cfs, which around here is big (most of our paddling rivers would be called creeks over there). We were headed for the house of the mayor of the town on the other side of the river, who is an ex-NPA rebel who is supposed to know a lot about the upcountry areas. The river is called the Agos, which means "current", which seems auspicious. There is no bridge, so we leave the trucks and cross in a motorized dugout; I ask the boatman if there are any rapids (in Tagalog, "masamang agos", "bad current") upstream, he says yes, lots. Sounds better.
The mayor says yes, lots of masamang agos, but he doesn't want us to go and paddle on them because we will surely be drowned and battered on the rocks, which will be a pain in his butt. There are rocks, he says, and huge waves, and other horrible things. We finally convince him to take us to a village 10km upriver, so we can look. He and his driver/assistant jump in Chip's pickup, my whole family being in mine, and away we go.
As is often the case here, going inland is like going back in time. By the second village in there are no more electric wires; the road degenerates into a rutted, rocky, track. We bounce around a good deal; crowds gather to watch the kayaks go by. He shows us a few sets of "masamang agos", the best are mild grade 3, big waves but no major obstacles, just straight runs. The mayor is a bit shaken by the fact that the masamang agos aren't sufficiently masama to deter us, and suggests that we look at the Kanan river, which flows into the Agos, the junction being at the end of the road.
We get to the end of the road, where there are maybe half a dozen houses. The Kanan (right branch) river flows in across from us in a T, a little less than half the volume of the river below the junction, still good sized. Also much clearer. Comes out of a valley with good jungle cover. The whole area is obviously dependent on small-scale logging; there's lots of logs and cut lumber being floated downstream, and all the houses - maybe a half-dozen in each of 3 clusters, one on each side of the river junction. River traffic is on big dugouts, beautifully carved out of huge mahogany trunks. We arrange some food, get people started cooking, and sit down with some people familiar with the rivers to discuss rapids. The Kanan sounds interesting, but the only access will be by hiking up and paddling down. We decide to paddle a bit of the upper Agos that afternoon, and arrange for a couple of lumbermen to carry the kayaks up the Kanan and show us the way the next day.
At this point it starts getting surreal. Some people come up and talk to the mayor. He comes to me, embarrassed, and explains that a woman across the river has been stabbed and needs to go to the hospital, and there are no vehicles anywhere near, so.... I am less than delighted about this, but what can I say but ok, bring her over. I unload my truck, and a few minutes later they ferry the woman over on a boat, and carry her over. Obviously hurting. So I pull out the medical kit, and look. Wound looks several hours old, in the side, not much blood, hard to tell direction or depth but could easily have hit intestine or a kidney. Not much to be done; clean it, dress it, shove a couple of antibiotic tablets and an extra-strength Tylenol, the closest thing I have to a painkiller, down her throat, and arrange her in the front seat. Write medications and time on a paper, tell the companion to give it to the doctor, and, feeling reasonably satisfied, go up to tell the mayor and driver that she's ready - they will take her to the hospital and bring the truck back, we will stay and paddle. So I tell them, and nothing happens. It's 3pm, they haven't eaten lunch, and the rice is still cooking. So the woman sits in the truck in full sunlight, waiting for the mayor to eat lunch, and they finally bounce off down the rutted road.
We paddle a bit on the Agos, fun but too easy to be exciting, and pack up around 6, crowding onto the remaining truck, heading back, and meeting mayor and driver halfway back. I ask how she is, they don't know, she's in the hospital and is being taken care of to the best of their ability. I get in to drive, and realize that they've picked out and have been listening to a tape I mixed myself, The Doors, mostly live stuff, extended versions of songs with odd sexual Jim Morrison monologues in the middle. They compliment me on my taste in music; they don't get much of the good ol' rock stuff any more. It's cranked up way loud, which is fine with me, but all I could think about was this woman bouncing down that hellish road with a hole in her, listening to Jim moaning "This is the end...." for 12 minutes at a time. Bizarre.
I asked why she was stabbed and by whom, but the only answer I got was "jealousy". Could have been husband, boyfriend, another woman....
Next day we hiked maybe 5k up the Kanan and paddled down, lovely river, great scenery. Rapids tougher than the Agos but nothing out of the 3 range. One good one where a big landslide choked the river down, huge waves but still a straight shot down the middle. Some good surfing waves and a decent play-hole or two. Would be a nice paddle if there was better access to the headwaters, as it is we won't go back much.
The best discovery is that there is apparently road access to a point on the Agos a full day's walk upstream. We'll have to approach from the other side of the mountains, but it promises to make an upcoming weekend interesting.
We pack up to go home, and are just moving into the zigzag/hairpin turn section when I, driving behind Chip, see him swerve violently and then stop. I creep up behind, and damned if there isn't a body lying in the middle of the road. On closer inspection it turns out to be a drunk guy, fast asleep. There's a house, a shack really, just a few yards up the road, so we pick him up and drag him over there, with the help of another guy who stopped. In the house is a woman with several children and no men, she does NOT want the drunk, who she doesn't know, left on her doorstep, and we don't want to carry him any farther. I walk up to another cluster of houses maybe 50 yards up, to see if anyone there knows him. They don't but a crowd gathers; Chip and I retire, confer, decide to let the locals cope, jump back in the trucks, and take off.
Rest of trip uneventful, good beef soup at a roadside eatery. Looking forward to around 20km of paddling through unexplored and trackless country in another weekend or two.
Now it's back to work.... |
