I'll just post this here. This is about what you might experience in Danao. However, I wrote this about two years ago, so a lot of things have changed. Firstly, there's now river tubing, but only when Wahig River is deep enough for it. Also, I have heard that, instead of a zip line, they have bungee jumping although I am not sure about this. There's also a tour of the greenhouse and eco-farm. As for contacts, you may call the mayor's office of Danao.
The Danao Adventures
Dag-um ug Dagooc Inubanan sa Hoyohoy, Dagohoy. “That’s how the old people always called him,†the guide said. It was the first time I’d ever heard Francisco Dagohoy being so described. Imagine yourself in the presence of a man whose fury people likened to a dark sky, the rumbling thunder, and the howling wind. Imagine yourself before one who inspired legends of superhuman powers of flight, invisibility, and even immortality. Imagine yourself before a hero whose courage, cunning, and leadership freed an island and its people for generations. Such a one would be fearsome to behold and, perhaps, Dagohoy was indeed so fearsome. But one thing is certain from what we experienced for one weekend in Danao, that Francisco Dagohoy was an uncommon man. And Boholanos an uncommon people.
As soon as the mists lifted from the hills of Magtangtang, we set out that Sunday morning for one of the caves Dagohoy used as sanctuary. We were all eager to start, especially with the prodding of Mayor Tomas Gonzaga, who had led us the day before on a trek to Caylagan Cave that left most of us breathless and dead-tired. That trek alone was already quite an adventure. The way to the moto had not been without its heart-pounding moments. With the ground wet and slippery from the morning rain and the danger of a near-precipitous fall facing us on either side of the trail, the hike was a challenge we had greatly underestimated.
From off the promontory where the mayor plans to put a zip line for extreme adventurists, the hike had seemed simple. We were so, so wrong. Thankfully, concrete posts had been set up every five or so meters on the way to help us along. The mayor tells us that they will soon be running ropes through the posts. We (that is Archie, Judy, and I at least) were wishing the ropes were already there to hold on to. But we all soldiered on.
Except for Ryan, the mayor, and the DOT-trained guides, we did not then attempt to reach the summit. We weren’t skilled enough to rock-climb, and the view from where we were was already worth the trip. Besides, we must have been only ten meters from the hilltop, and add to that the not-too-pleasant thought of falling some two hundred feet into Wahig River because of a misstep. We may not have hoisted ourselves to the top of the hill but we were happy and alive. The trip back, seemingly less perilous, came with its own challenges. With every step we took fire burned in our lungs, lead weighed down our knees and feet, and our wills wavered. Somehow we made it back.
But all of this was the day before.
This was Sunday, and we were to face another adventure.
As we went our way that morning, we imagined how we were retracing the steps of Dagohoy and his followers: an uncommon people of uncommon valor. Boholanos.
Stone pathways and concrete posts made our going a little easier. We could not help but acknowledge the strength of will it took to make those arduous treks in those times of centuries past.
Soon we came to the cave. Camira Cave, it is called. We asked why. “Because the place belonged to one named Mira, thus Ka-Mira,†came the plain answer from the guides.
One by one, we took our turn holding on to the rope as we climbed up into the mouth of the cave and descended some three meters, where we were met by darkness. In the distance and further down we could see nothing at all. The guides, of course, came prepared. With helmets, flashlights, candles, and the occasional flash of a camera, we made our way into the unknown. Earlier, the helmets had seemed bothersome but we soon found out how valuable they were. Had we gone bareheaded, we’d have gone home with a number of contusions and concussions.
Slow but sure, we made progress through otherworldly territory. Quite a surprise was the water that runs through the whole extent of the cave. Now knee-deep, now ankle-deep, now waist-deep, or now fully submerged in water, we walked, waded, crawled, swam, and climbed our way through the meandering underground maze. Every twist and turn was as breathtaking for its beauty as it was for its mystery. Stalactites and stalagmites glistened white, yellow, and shades of brown with the gleam of the flashlights and candles we brought along. We even got to see minuscule albino shrimps and an albino crab that was cooperative enough to have his picture taken. After the shot, the crab scampered away into the water.
At the end of the cave, perhaps some four hundred meters from its mouth, was the tubod where all the water came from. It gushed ceaselessly and made a pool big and deep enough for people to swim about in. After some picture-taking, we made our way back to the world we knew. It was just as enthralling, challenging, and new a journey as the one we made in. When we at last saw the first threads of daylight, we sighed in relief. But we weren’t in the clear yet. We still had to hike back to the highway. The hike would remind us of the pains the day before.
There is more than one adventure to be had in Danao. And if the blood of heroes runs in your veins, you may be up to all of them.
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