Hello, Hive!
It’s been a while! I really must work on my consistency to stop greeting you in this manner. I have been meaning to blog for the longest time, but my erratic mental state just won’t allow me. Drafts keep piling up. Whenever I get around to opening my laptop, words fail me.
But life didn’t, thankfully.
As imperfect as it may seem, the universe continues to grant me moments of respite and reset. And that’s what this virtual space is for — to immortalize those precious little details. To put into writing what my aging mind might forget, one day.
Now, to the main topic…
Valderrama Trilogy, definitely a not-so-minor climb
Valderrama is a municipality in the province of Antique known to mountaineers as one of the entry points to Mt. Baloy-Daku. When we climbed Mt. Baloy-Daku via Busog Trail, May last year, I thought that was the last time I’d set foot on this place. Little did we know, three months later in August, my friends and I would find ourselves coming back again. This time, to climb the less popular Valderrama Trilogy.
Valderrama Trilogy comprises the mountains of Mt. Igcoron (570 MASL), Mt. Igduao (870 MASL), and Mt. Taripis (700 MASL approx). It is a beloved playground among the mountaineers of Panay Island but to outsiders, sadly, these mountains are often reduced to either as a plan B or a side trip.
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Until last year, I have never heard of Valderrama Trilogy myself. I’m familiar with Mt. Igcoron — being the more frequented and pictured mountain among the trio — but generally, it wasn’t on my radar. So when France of Tara Lods organized a weekender climb, I decided to give it a try.
And, boy, what an experience it was. I did not only get my money’s worth, I was humbled once again.
Be it a minor hike or a major climb, one must never underestimate the mountains.
Mt. Igcoron: Through streams, rivers, and hills
Mt. Igcoron stands at merely 570 MASL but it is not a mountain that one can simply ignore — literally and figuratively. Nestled in the highlands of Brgy. Binanogan, its domineering peak looks down at every passerby like an ancient sentinel. Even from the jump off, it calls on hikers to rush and experience its trails.
It was 11:30 AM when we started the hike and since it's almost lunch time, we decided to stop at the nearby Terraza Upland Café, a quaint hilltop restaurant that allows guests to dine with a view.
They offer all-day Pinoy breakfast foods such as silog, presented aesthetically. The service, however, took a long while. Probably because there was a group of diners who were taking prenuptial photos/vids at that time. Because of this, we decided look around and feast on the scenery instead.
After eating, we resumed the hike. The initial section of the trail requires hikers to cross a series of mini streams before reaching the rice fields. Hiking in this area is less about speed and more about attention. The dikes dividing the paddies were barely wider than a footstep — one misstep and you risk sinking ankle-deep into muddy soil.
An hour into the hike and we finally reached the forested section of the trail. There were several river crossings but luckily, the water was not that high and it was easier for us to hop on huge stones with the aid of our guides.
By the time we arrived at the waterfalls, which marked the end of river crossing, it started to rain. We put on rain covers and ponchos before proceeding the hike. Thankfully, the rain did not last long.
When we finally got into the campsite, we witnessed an otherworldly scene. Heavy mist covered the hills in the gray background. The nearby rice fields were partially obscured by the fog. It was as if time was frozen still in this area.
We pitched our tents immediately since we still had to climb Mt. Igcoron’s summit on the same day. As we were preparing, a little voice in my head started asking: Are you sure about this?
A promise made in the foggy Mt. Igcoron
The hike from the campsite to Mt. Igcoron’s summit was short but not definitely not an easy one. It takes only 15 to 20 minutes, depending on your pace, but the real challenge is overcoming the threat of the knife-edge trail.
Before Mt. Igcoron, I would say I have confidence in my sense of balance. After climbing it, I have to think twice. Navigating its ridges was hard — the path beneath out feet narrowed to barely a foot across in places. With only short grass on both sides, the knife-edge terrain became more pronounced. It’s the thinnest trail I have walked on by far. Add a thick fog to the test and it’s almost tempting to surrender.
Our group scrambled on uneven ground. Loose rocks shifted under our hiking shoes, reminding us how fragile our grip on the mountain was. One of our friends, Gio, even had the scare of his life. While crawling on to a boulder along the trail, a fragment of rock that served as his foothold was dislodged. It was a frightening life-and-death experience — a memory that he would carry to this day.
As we got closer to the summit, visibility drops. The world beyond the ridge vanished into white. This is where I realized I’d rather have vertigo from seeing what’s below the vertical drop than overthink what awaits in the abyss.
From where I stood, steep ravines flanked left and right, putting pressure on my every move. Ahead of me are silhouettes of my companions, their hands hovering near the ground, grazing against the grass for balance — body low and tense like a wire everytime the wind blew.
Finally, we reached the edge. The iconic cross was barely visible and a cluster of dragonflies hang in the air. We sat as we wait for the fog to dissipate while letting our wobbly knees take its well-deserved rest.
Soon, the fog slowly cleared, revealing a faint view of the surrounding. Below was Kangaranan River, the very same river we zigzagged through for 16 kilometers during our Mt. Baloy-Daku climb. The cross erected by missionaries years ago came in full view. The cliff became more obvious.
We rushed with our phone cameras, trying to catch that brief window of clearing. Hearts racing, hands steady — click.
After a few minutes, the fog rolled back in, swallowing the peak once again. Like it was never there in the first place. A breath held and exhaled, I silently promised that I’d return. As to when, who knows. But, someday, I will definitely see the full glory of Mt. Igcoron.
Maria is a hopeless romantic who travels in pages and places. She is an INFP who loves sunrises and moonlit nights and reading books in between. On weekdays, she works as a copywriter. On weekends, she lives her life as a poet or hiker. She hopes to share her love for words and the world with you here on HIVE. You may not find her deepest musings here (that is for a separate platform) but this is her safe space to capture those treasured moments as it happened. Welcome to her digital diary!
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