This is the second part of
this article.
Letting go to enjoy more
We pushed on around the corner, its not Amihan yet, so our southern monsoon swell generator Habagat might yet be producing some swell, the groundswell probably blocked out by lands to our north. We spun around the singular hill on the end of the jutting peninsular. From a height we spotted white water on an outer reef, indicating that Habagat was indeed not yet fully out of steam.
Rolling through a landscape seemingly neglected by modern rule and regulation, beyond the reach of most central government structures, the local leaders managed to the best of their abilities. In some aspects they have done well, within the community people care and look after one another, and in other aspects not so good at all. The toll of extraction of trees has left the hills barren and stream turning brown as the soils are washed out to sea. The ever increasing population means more hungry mouths to feed, clothe and educate. The variation of school buildings reflect the diversity communities, with a large Madras and a scattering of Christian led schools. Hopefully with the help of a few gifted teachers the kids will do a better job managing their environment. Curling around the hill we reached the end of the Peninsula and to an isolated community which ribbons along the white sands and aqua waters.
We reach a spot near JingJing's family's balay (house). His kuya (uncle) Lando is out behind the house working on his wooden banca or fishing boat, he doesn't pay much attention to our arrival. Ignoring the arrival of the City boys or maybe just lost in the attention to detail repairing his life line, his banca.
Some two hundred meters out at the edge of the coral reef a single small peak jacks up and crashes. The peak is at the most exposed point and is usually not for consideration because of its littering of coral boulders hiding just under the surface of the water. Out in the line up you can see the boulders all round, the up welling's marking them out as the swells roll over, just temping you, you can hear the challenge to try the drop, your fin wont hit me, I wont scar you… With any size in the swell this spot is pure kamikaze but at times like this a wave is a wave.
Kuya Lando is forgotten in our rush out and across the reef. It is a long flat paddle before we reach the line up. Our desires to achieve our journeys goal blinding us from the notion that normally you'd would not even look twice at such a small peak. But this time we are running for it, we get out pass the shallow reef, squabble to take the drop of the first set wave, all one foot of it. Yet it is spiting over and crashing dry, off course we survive, we laugh, with a just few reef scars on the soles of our feet and all fins in tact after an hour or so we start for the shoreline. Well, it almost counted as surf!
As we fumble and pick our toes across the dry reef, it takes full concentration as we grimace at the inability of our soft soles unable to cushion each step across the jagged reef, while the kids run along in front of us. Reaching the soft sea grass, the mind is freed to reflect on our overnight journey through the clouds and rain, pass the paddies fields, over the hills and now turn to the reef and the ripple like sea. The ego could now be shouting, screaming for at least two foot, cursing that you would be better back in Ireland, but this time in this place that just isn't happening. You don't need to fight it to realize just how beautiful the place is, and with my mind relaxing, I can't help but smile to myself. Steve had said earlier at the first spot "as long as you enjoy yourself, it doesn't matter," laughing he joked "yea sure we can always play twiddle winks." Nothing deep or profound, no hippie shit, just lighten up and enjoy whatever comes your way and this weekend every one was just content to be out in the sticks for the weekend. The essence of surfing, the mantra's we follow, the uncertainty of achieving nirvana, but always the certainty that the journey to the coast will be a reward in itself. As the coast even at peace is a reward in itself. I couldn't agree more with Sean Davey's point of view how "the ocean soothes the soul, the look and the sound, and the smell of it all will pick you up, no matter what kind of day you are having."
Local knowledge, global understanding
Kuya Lando is by now finished his chores on his banca and he's at a small hand crafted wood table in front of the balay, two other fishermen have joined him. In the middle of the table sits one glass and one bottle of the local rum, Tandauy. "Shot!" he hollers at me. "Ah I gotta get some food in first" I reply, aware that it is conscious culturally taboo to refuse an offer I add "keep me some ha!" Kuya mutters something and turns back to the sea.
Food can often be a mission on the rural coastal spots like this. The market will have fresh fish, some vegetable and rice in the morning, by evening we find out, nothing is left over. This reflects the vulnerability of these communities. There is no buffer, no addition stock, if a storm rages for a few days, they can be hungry days, if some natural disaster befell them, like the world has seen over recent years in the coastal communities of Aceh and Sri Lanka, the impact would be devastating.
Kuya is consulted to assist us in our food quest, not impressed with being disturbed from his evening ritual, he delegates one of his companions from the table. Our guide for food is tall and skinny a ragged jack covers his hollow frame. Without a word he leads us into the darkness under the swaying coco trees. The wind gathers strength and large drops threaten a down pour. In the darkness we follow closely listening to the clip clop sounds of his sandals. We check the first, then a second and third candle lit household for any extra fish. At the fourth house some distance from the edge of the village perseverance is repaid with a handful of small fish. Another bonus for our journey they have rice too. We return at pace, the drops are getting heaver. Back at the balay, Kuya's companions have disappeared and Kuya is animated. JingJing brings in our loot to prepare, next minute grumbles are heard rumbling out from the kitchen, "Kuya, Cool it" replies Jingjing. He is quickly back out of the kitchen "Ate (aunt) will prepare the supper, Kuya's drunk," and mutters on in visyan.
Chat about cultural diversity even among the lads starts, each one's family was associate with one tribe or another, depending on the area of origin of their family, and after an hour of we get called to the table. The hard light of the candle lights the timbre room from the centre, dissipates into midtones and disappears into shadows at the far ends of the room. Ate has prepare three dishes from the handful of fish, ihaw-ihaw (charcoal grill), soup and kinilaw (marinate raw fish, in tuba vinegar). Food famished we dive in as Kuya hovers in the midtones looking as menacing as his grumble.
But still my mind wanders freely as to what makes this guy tick, early he took so much care in crafting into the perfect shape the ledge where his compass would be fixed to guide his banca. It was more than show, it reflected an interest and understand beyond the immediate visinty, this man dreamt of journeying beyond his daily catch. "Kumesta ang mga isda karon?" I asked him how fishing was going. He mumbled "gamay lang, small fish and small catch, all the big ones are long gone," I push him to tell more "the big ships have carved up the outer reefs, we can only get what we find locally." Along with net and line fishing the community also harvests the reef at low tide for mussels and shells, the sand is turned over for lug worms. Remove the big ships and this system would support the local community sufficiently, include the vast hauls of the industrial fishers and the ecosystem is under extreme pressure.
The coast here is part of the Sulawesi Sea an area highlight by the World Widlife Fund as critical ecoregion of endemic and rare species. I inquire from Kuya Lando in my broken Visyan sequentially about dugongs, pawikans (turtles) and hiho (sharks), three species suffering from the ravages of the increasing appetite of our global society. The questions bring out the depts of Kuya's knowledge about global marine issues, and the reality of every day life for millions of poor fisher folk stretched around the shore lines of Asia. Clearly drunk humour and logic are mixed in Kuya's responses. "Dugong! Samok! Like babies," as he curls his arms into swaddling pose and rocks from side to side "splashing around scaring the fish away." Samok is term for an annoying pest. While the dungong is carnivorous, this community living life on the edge see any other large animal as competition for scarce resources. As for sharks "they are stupid around here, in other places they eat people, here they are afraid of the people," laughs all around break any remaining tension from earler. I know there is no reports of shark attacks around here but I feel these words are a little honey coated I guess to reassure us city dwellers the seas are safe to play in around here.
"Pawikan, polutan!" he straight away associated the poor turtle with beer snacks, or Polutan! I quiz if he aware that it is prohibited or bowel and an endangered species? He knows "but it was dead when we found it, it would be waste to leave the good meat go to waste." It seems the tradition of eating turtle meat and eggs still continues and I wonder do they catch many as government agencies rarely visit such far flung communities and hunger is powerful motivator.
Yet you feel this man clearly understands the delicate balances of nature, and given the opportunity would be the enforcer of such laws if only, there wasn't the constant need to take what you can from nature to ensure the next meal is enough. Kuya Lando is pissed for sure, but a true dependence on and understanding of the sea and its creatures are layered in his words.
Later discussions turn back to the diversity of cultural backgrounds in the Philippines. "the badjao were the original coastal communities living off the sea here in Mindanao, out of choice they lived off the sea and on the sea," Steve reflected, "but today even they are force into land based activities because of the sea's inability to cope with the demands we place on it." Time for each one of to take stock, consider our directions what we take and what we give back, the coastline across south East Asia are crying out for a rest, a break from the toll of human extraction.
For us this weekend we just wanted a ground swell, mildly selfish in the bigger picture. But we did not close the door at that, but remained open to whatever else our journey rewarded us with. This weekend is another one where my sea legs have to wait another while before I get to feel the power of sea unleashed under my board. But it has been an extremely rewarding adventure. To a place not new to me, but a place with many stories to tell if we remain open to listen, no different from the west coast of Ireland, northern Peru or other rural coastal spots across the world. Sure, go and seek four foot off shore, but don't rely solely on its achievement, for its in the journey lies the majority of the reward, it is just sometimes we are so blinded by the ego, by expectation, if we don't get the icing on cake we curse the whole trip. How foolish and wasteful.
I awake in the middle of the night to the crash of the waves, I look out to the horizon and a full moon shines brightly, the pound of the one foot waves magnified by the silence of the night. I sit up from my hammock and reflect on the trip. We head back to Davao the next day stoked planning the next trip, knowing it can't go wrong even if the surf fails us, but still we shall head further north, where the coast is more exposed to the northern swells, after all we are seeking nirvana.
Submitted By
Declan Hearne on the 13th February 2007.
This article has been viewed 1342 times.
Declan arrived in the Philippines over 3 years ago to live, work and learn. A proud dad to be, weekends are spent chasing the elusive pulses of the southern Philippines and catching frames when the sun gets to hot. Week days are focused on working with communities to building sustainable lives, not to conform, but to transform, not for relief, but to release.
