Our journey into the boulders began just before 3 AM, right after the campsite. The weather was far from ideal—it was raining, and the path ahead looked both daunting and endless. When I caught sight of the steep, towering ascent before me, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It was intimidating, to say the least.
As we started our climb, it felt like there was no end in sight. The boulders were massive, and the rain made the terrain even more treacherous. We had to be extra careful with every step, taking short breaks when needed. I kept telling myself, I can do this. I will finish this. Because, really, there was no other choice but to push forward.
Unlike the Kapatagan trail, which was said to have stronger sulfur fumes, our route wasn’t as overpowering. It was a small relief—intense sulfur exposure could make the climb even more exhausting. Since the smell wasn’t too bad, I decided to ditch my facemask and focus on the ascent.
For six to seven grueling hours, we hiked through the boulders until we finally reached Mt. Apo’s crater. From there, the summit was just another 30-minute trek away. The rain hadn’t stopped, dampening our hopes for a clear view at the top.
By the time we arrived at the summit, it was past 9 AM. The wind was howling, and the cold was biting, but nothing could stop me from taking a photo with the Mt. Apo Summit sign. This was an achievement worth celebrating—I had conquered the highest mountain in the Philippines! Even without the much-anticipated clearing, reaching the peak was already a victory.
We stayed at the summit for about 10-15 minutes, taking turns for photos as there were many other climbers. Afterward, we descended slightly to find a sheltered spot where our guide prepared a meal. The rain and wind were relentless, so we set up a makeshift roof just to have some cover. Sipping hot soup in that cold weather was pure bliss—a moment of warmth in the midst of the storm.
After resting for about an hour, we began our descent toward the next campsite. The trail was muddy and slippery, making every step a challenge. We had to move slowly and carefully, ensuring we wouldn’t slip or get injured.
By 2 PM, we finally arrived at the campsite. Unlike the previous one, this place had no restroom facilities—if you needed to go, you’d have to walk a bit farther and use an umbrella for cover. It was a funny and unique experience.
After setting up our tents, we had the chance to rest, but instead of sleeping, I chose to chat with the tour guides. Their stories were fascinating, filled with adventure and life lessons. They even taught me a few basic Bisaya words, saying it would be useful for me to know. I learned so much from them, and it made me appreciate not just the hike but also the people I met along the way.
By 6 PM, dinner was served, and just like on the first day, the food was incredibly delicious. It was the kind of meal that made you forget all the exhaustion for a while. Satisfied and full, I went to sleep early—by 7 PM, I was out.
The next morning, we started packing up at 7 AM and had breakfast before setting off at 8 AM. Our descent followed the Bansalan Trail, which I would soon realize was one of the most punishing parts of the hike.
The trail was ridiculously steep, and with all the rain from the previous days, it was nothing but a slippery, muddy mess. No matter how careful I was, slipping was inevitable. At some point, I just wanted the hike to be over—I was exhausted beyond words.
Adding to the challenge, there were fallen trees blocking the trail, and in some areas, we had to crawl just to move forward. It felt endless. After about 3–4 grueling hours of descending, we finally reached an open field around noon. It was a forest clearing where we took a much-needed break and ate our packed lunch.
By this time, the rain had stopped, but the scorching heat took its place. We continued our trek, and despite the clear skies, the trail remained tricky. I lost count of how many times I slipped.
After another 2–3 hours, we finally reached the nearest village. The last stretch of the hike passed through vast farmlands, offering breathtaking views, but honestly, I had no energy left to take photos. My body was drained—I had pushed myself to the limit.
After reaching the village, the first thing on my mind was freshening up. I took a shower and changed into clean clothes, feeling somewhat human again after that grueling descent.
I went to a nearby store to buy bottled water, but they had none available. I asked around, but every store I checked was out of stock. Finally, someone pointed me to a place where I could buy some, but it was quite far. I sighed, “That’s too far.” The store owner laughed and said, “You just climbed Mt. Apo, and you’re worried about walking a little farther?”
Touché. So off I went, still laughing to myself.
For those who keep asking me, “Was it difficult?”—let me put it this way: every extreme negative superlative you can think of, that’s how I’d describe it. The struggle was real. There were no flat trails—just relentless inclines ranging from 60 to 80 degrees. Going up, I had to crawl. Going down, I had to slide. My legs burned, my body ached, and I walked away with a few scars.
But was it worth it? Absolutely.
Because Mt. Apo wasn’t just about reaching the summit. It was about the journey—every painful, breathtaking, and unforgettable step of it. The rain, the mud, the exhaustion—none of it mattered in the end. What mattered was that I created new memories, pushed myself beyond my limits, and proved to myself that I could do it.
Mt. Apo is brutal, but rewarding. It’s the kind of challenge that breaks you and builds you back stronger.
Would I do it again? Maybe. But for now, I’ll carry this experience with pride.
Check out the first part of my Mt. Apo hike here: https://mjtravels.blog/mt-apo-part-1/
