How we got to Pula from Cambulo was another story.

In as much as we'd like to stay longer in Cambulo, we had to leave the village. Heck, we only had two more days left to burn, including our travel time back to Manila.

The night before, we resolved to get up early so we could have a headstart on our planned assault of Mt. Amuyao. We planned to camp the night at the summit and descend via Barlig, before going back to Manila from Bontoc.

But why, oh why did it have to rain like hell in the morning? We basically headed up north to have this holiday, so we could escape the two raging storms hitting Southern Luzon and Metro Manila, one after the other.

When we got up in the morning, it was already clear that we couldn't summit Mt. Amuyao this time. Vic and I, the "die-hard, extreme survivalists" among us wanted to. But Naidz and Tonton, just don't feel like it. We had a vote, and the two "tourists" won, dammit! Which is fine with me, on second thought. Afterall, we're here to have a good time. Besides, we've been pampered for the last couple of days. From a mountaineer's point of view, all the treks we did so far was a piece of cake. What the heck, we might as well do it all the way.

With Mt. Amuyao scratched off our target list, we were faced with a couple of options. One, go back the same way where we came from. Fine. It's the safest and most boring way to end a holiday adventure, by the way. WHAT??? We dismissed the idea immediately.

Next, our innkeeper was talking about a three-hour hike that she does going to Banaue via Kinakin. So what do we do with our spare time in Banaue? HELLO???

And then there's Pula....

Cambulo-Pula boundary Click to zoom

Nobody among us knew much about Pula before then. As far as we were concerned, Pula was just a remote village that we've only learned by word-of-mouth from guides and from a crude map tacked on the wall of our innkeeper in Cambulo. Hmmmm...this could be exciting, we thought.

The pouring rain had subsided into a steady drizzle by the time we took off from Cambulo to Pula. We traversed some rice paddies and terraces before we crossed a suspension bridge with the mighty Wang Wang River roaring below. From a far distance, I could see more rice terraces carved on steep mountain slopes, cut across by numerous waterfalls cascading towards the river. For a moment, I had this feeling of deja vu, as if I am part of a landscape I used to see in the fairytale books of my childhood.

The trek to Pula was more challenging than we had imagined. Pula is a small village situated on the upper slopes of a Cordillera mountain range. It was almost twilight when we arrived. It was cold, the wind was howling, and rain was pouring in torrents. We had coffee brewed from the beans of a coffee plant growing in the frontyard of our innkeeper.

The weather did not stop some of us---Vic, Tonton and me, to have our daily bathing ritual in the front yard. Fuel was precious, so there wasn't any hot water. We had to content ourselves shouting as we splashed freezing water.

For dinner, we had rice, sardines and pancit canton noodles. The latter was especially liked by John, a fellow traveler we met at the inn. Gawd! He hiked all the way from Batad!

Council of Elders Click to zoom

Talk about gnawing pangs of hunger that did not leave me until I stopped to wolf down some trail food. I especially regret not having a second helping of the bowl of oatmeal that I had for breakfast. That was how I felt, at least before we stopped for lunch, on our hike from Pula the following day.

After descending our way through rice paddies, we stopped in a small group of huts, where our guide dropped by his relatives, shared with them some of his betel nuts and took a weaved basket. We resumed our descent down to a bridge that spans a river, fed by one of the most pristine waterfalls I had ever seen. From that low point, the climb up was cardiac.

Bird's-eye-view of Pula Click to zoom

We stopped to catch our breaths at the shed on top. Here, we were rewarded with a fantastic view of Pula where we came from. Somehow, the rice terraces and the mountain ranges surrounding it have this etherial quality of timelessness. It is no wonder that the oldsfolk in this parts have no idea and are not in the least concerned about their age. Nature, at its best, freezes time and the only thing that matters is the here and now. That's as deep as I can describe how I felt.