|
Chasing a Northern Wind
The whales are my personal windmills. I've come and gone to the Babuyan Islands – twice – to search for them. Both times the trip was grueling and taxing in a way that is altogether physical, psychological, and emotional. The Babuyan Islands are so far and remote and so breathtakingly beautiful that when people ask me if they should go, I don't know what to tell them. They are the most beautiful islands in the Philippines, I say. The whales are there. But to embark on the arduous journey, I've come to understand, you have to be searching for something. Otherwise the power of the islands is incomprehensible, its grandeur lost on an indifferent spirit. In the far-flung corner of the country, dreams and ideals were never so distant, and never so real. Two days into the Pacific wilderness, and my thoughts bristle like a mirage on the horizon. I sleep under glaring sunlight. I wake to waves slamming against the hull of the boat. Another six hours out at sea, traveling mid-day in an outrigger packed with 30 people. We are at once alone with ourselves. And stifled by the company. Around us are gradations of blue. The water turns from turquoise to cyan to midnight blue to aquamarine stillness. The sky is always light blue, except in the morning when it is pallid, its blueness only returning when the clouds surface from the background. The horizon is always distant. We pass by the islet after islet, hour after hour. Places are so far from each other in Babuyan. The physical distance of the Babuyan Islands tests the limits of an adventurer's mind, as it has mine. The inaccessibility teases one's resilience. Conversations grow weary among strangers trying to find loose patches that link each other's lives and interests. Silence is a constant companion. Restlessness, a shared state. For five days, we were simply surviving. The Babuyan Islands truly are the most beautiful islands in the Philippines. Nowhere in a country of 7,000 islands will you find a cluster of shorelines dusted with miles of white sand. Sparkling aquamarine seas wrap around each of 27 islands and islets that make up the mini-archipelago. Cagayan province holds jurisdiction over the Babuyan Islands, though in such remote reaches, government in an obscure concept. Greeting there is a difficult journey, but it is worth it. From Manila, we traveled 15 hours by land before reaching Santa Ana, the tip of Luzon. We slept a few hours before boarding a single-motor outrigger at dawn. As we left for the Babuyan Islands, we stepped into an experience in color. The sun rose gingerly in shades of ocher, deepening into crimson before settling into a blazing yellow. Transversely, the sea lightened from a kohl patiana to navy blue streaks that faded into sapphire depths. Azure skies speckled with white puffy clouds. In the distance, an almost imperceptible outline of a silver horizon. Each island protrudes from a solid clue canvas, a deep green mound with a silver of white at its base. Mountains and volcanoes starkly etch the landscape of these distant shores. In and around them are numerous springs, rivers, waterfalls, and caves. Calayan, the main island, has one of the few remaining primary forests in the Philippines. The virgin forest is stunningly lush and verdant. Its canopy is so full and awesome that a photographer shook her head and said, "The trees look imported." Sibang a gorgeous cove, recently won a tourism award for Best Undiscovered Destination. The long wide spread of blinding white sand is encased by mossladen cliffs that meet with sparkling emerald waters. A nearby coral reef is healthy and vibrant, a profusion of color. I remember sitting under a tree, eating fresh lobster, and re-defining my mage of paradise. The whales too have a love affair with the Babuyan Islands, and they are the reason I go. They come every February to frolic until May. Pods of whales and dolphins breed, feed and play in the seas surrounding the Babuyan. Of the 14 species of cetaceans that visit the area, the humpback whale is the most celebrated. Because they could not be next on the endangered list, the WWF tirelessly the humpbacks' presence and gets the local community involved in their protection. Camiguin, the second biggest town of the Babuyan Islands, is a four-hour boat ride from the tip of Luzon, and our first stop. Our outrigger slashed through the Babuyan channel at dawn, stopping only once for a trek on Palaui Island. We got off a pebble beach in a bay cocooned by hills, and hiked to a lighthouse perched high, built like a stone fort, the lighthouse once served as a sentry, the front liner of a country that needs the most protection from itself. The hours we spent at sea seemed endless. Whenever we left land, we were confronted with the immensity of the ocean. The heat and the humidity seeped through our skin like an incessant song; we couldn't take it from our senses. On the boat we sat in slumped stupor, succumbing to the drowsiness of a burning day. Twice a whale surfaced. A cloud of steam broke through the waves. The whales were around us, but they never showed themselves long enough to appease us bright-eyed, weary travelers. Hardened by experience, I have learned that all the wishing in the world wouldn't get the elusive whales to ndulge the most earnest of visitors. Still, I kept that hope alive for days, enraptured by quixotic ambition. We scoured the seas relentlessly, but never saw the whales again. A full year had passed since I ventured to this forgotten section of the Philippines. For years I've dreamt of counting whales in the Pacific. My first visit only turned up two whales – my entire whale count totaling four. Ignoring my luck, I continue to charge towards an image in my head, though I have since learned to look above and beyond. While there are no tour packages to the Babuyan, I landed a spot on a government-sponsored tour. A year ago I had embarked on a bold and haphazard exploration of the unknown. In comparison, it seemed an exercise in survival. Traveling with local government officials and tourism officers was a cushier and more organized arrangement. At least I didn't have to catch my own dinner. And this time, the air wasn't dismal. The barangay in Camiguin was preparing for a fiesta, and everyone was feeling festive. I visited the fairgrounds and found the pop culture infiltrates even the farthest recesses. T-shirts, toys, trinkets, and knick-knacks filled one stand, while another sold everything for survival: fishing gear, knives, random tools and equipment. Stereos blared out performances from the little Ms. Camiguin pageant held at the town's activity center. Coin games and ring toss booths drew in crowds of deeply tanned young boys and teenage girls. A string of flourescent bulbs that ran on generator power lighted up the evening's merriment. There are still no electricity lines in Camiguin, but there is a cell site. Earlier that day I snorkeled a shipwreck. It was only 30ft. down, and it was a massive structure. Submerged just off the coast of Camiguin, this WWII vessel was no match for the temperamental winds that blew in regularly from the Pacific. The barangay is protected by a bay, but it is nonetheless vulnerable to serve tropical storms the pass through the area. At daybreak, the fishermen instinctively check the coconut to see how wildly or mildly the leaves sway. They say it is a reliable indication of a coming – and frequent – tempest. The Babuyan Islands are so cut off from the country that the villagers remember, even cherish, those who come to visit. They remember me as the girl who was looking for the whales. For everyone else, there are few reasons to wander so far. Only wanderlust can draw you to the edge of the Philippines. The tip of the country is poetically the end of our comfort zone. At Calayan, the capital town, there are paved roads and electricity. The houses are set in grid, and there is a municipal hall with air-conditioning and a modern water cooler. The locals are especially proud of the Calayan Rail, an endemic bird that was discovered just last year by a former WWF volunteer. When we asked to see this rare bird, they told us none was kept in captivity. "The moment we catch one, local guide said, "it dies soon after. They don't survive in captivity." Like everything else in the Babuyan Islands, the birds were meant to stay in the wild. If one wanted to see them, one had to look for them. We embody, after all, the ideas we run after. Instead we make our way to a waterfall at the edge of the woods. From the town hall, we climb aboard a dump truck that hiccups through rocky mountain roads. The truck can only go so far, so we hike the rest of the way. We descend a clay elevation and find ourselves beside the sea. The sun is setting, its sepia tones illuminating a stony brook that leads to the waterfall. The gush of water grows louder as we approach, and the forest is awash in light and shadow. The cold water brings a cold, welcome jolt. When I turn around, the sun is a misty tangerine spilling into a cerulean sea. I traveled for nearly 24 hours to return to Manila. I and ten others were literally lost at sea and stuck in a small outrigger for eight straight hours. We squinted into the distance, straining to find land and make sense of our location under a searing sun and barely above restless waves. Once or twice the boat's single engine stopped, and we sat dumbfounded, refusing to believe we'd be stranded in the brutal sea. In those hours, you realize what defines you by the stories you share, by the questions you ask, and by stability of your thoughts and emotions. In my frustration, I repeatedly screamed, "Where are the whales?" – only to have my feeble plea downed out by the Pacific. Perhaps it was poignant that in such a fragile state, we stumbled upon the most beautiful islands I'd ever seen. Fuga Island and its neighboring islets are unreal in the stretches of white sand and gleaming turquoise seas. In my memory, their beauty magnified a hundredfold by their sheet distance, and from the stark pleasure of seeing such gorgeous islands after miles of blue nothing. Somewhere within those moments lost at sea and in the long hours approaching shore, I patched together pieces of paradise. When I reached home – body tired, mind strained, and soul purged – I fell to my bed, and to my surprise, cried. I didn't find the whales, but I had discovered the most beautiful islands in the Philippines. In searching for a dream, I chanced upon something that could be better. Still I know I'll return. The windmills are still turning. |
|||
|
|
|||
|
|||
|
|
