Mount Apo — the ultimate dream of every mountaineer and hiking enthusiast in the Philippines.
After climbing several major mountains across Luzon—like Mount Irid in Sta. Inez, the highest peak in Tanay, Rizal, which I managed to summit not once but twice… the feared yet rewarding Mount Tapulao in Zambales… the iconic Mount Arayat, pride of Pampanga… and the fierce Mount Balingkilat, one of the six Cawag Hexa peaks—I’ve stood atop many summits, each with its own personality, each offering its own thrill.
Yet, unlike many fellow hikers, I couldn’t bring myself to dream of climbing Mount Apo.
The thought of it alone felt overwhelming. This wasn’t just another hike—it was the hike. The highest point in the Philippines. A climb wrapped in mystery and majesty. And for me, it was a climb I avoided, not out of disinterest, but out of fear.
Mt. Apo felt like a mountain that demanded everything. Its trail is known for its complexity—dense forests, steep ascents, technical terrain. Its weather, unpredictable and unforgiving. Its elevation, commanding respect from even the most seasoned hikers. And as someone based in Luzon, the travel alone was a logistical mountain in itself—plane tickets, time off, and expenses that required careful planning.
We first planned to climb Mt. Apo in March 2021, two years after I started hiking. But the universe had other plans. Quarantine protocols and travel restrictions due to the pandemic made the climb impossible.
By February 2022, COVID seemed to be loosening its grip—but fate struck again. I tested positive for the virus. What followed were weeks of illness, months of recovery, and a heart full of uncertainty. My doctor recommended a six-month healing period. I didn’t know if I could hike again. I didn’t know if I should.
Still, the mountains called. Two weeks after being cleared, I attempted to hike a small hill in our province. But my body said no. Just a few steps in, I was gasping for air, my lungs betraying me. It was discouraging—but not defeating. A month later, I tried again, more cautiously this time. Step by step, I made my way up. When I finally reached the summit, I cried out in triumph. That moment, though small to others, was everything to me. I made a silent promise: One day, I will climb Mount Apo.
By June 2022, four months post-recovery, I returned to the trails with an impromptu climb to Mount Pulag—another dream mountain. Reaching its summit rekindled a fire in me. I felt strong again. I set my sights on Cawag Hexa, an intense climb with six peaks.
In December, a day after my birthday, we attempted Cawag Hexa. But lack of preparation caught up with us, and we had to retreat after summiting only Mount Balingkilat and Mount Birabira. I chalked it up to lessons learned.
By March 2023, I was pushing myself again. We took on Mount Pulog in a challenging day hike—but I paid the price. I was exhausted, sleep-deprived, and unprepared. The climb pushed me to the edge. I wanted to give up. I almost did. But with the relentless support of my mom and my outdoor kuyas, I reached the summit. It was victory, but it came at a cost.
After that, I made a painful decision. I told myself, This is it. No more mountains. I feared for my health. COVID had left its mark, and I didn’t want to risk it all for another climb.
But just four months later, the call of the mountains returned. Quiet at first, then louder. I missed the silence of the forest, the conversations on the trail, the quiet joy of reaching a summit. The thought of turning my back on something I loved so deeply became unbearable. How could I say goodbye to something that helped shape who I was?
So, in August 2023, I did the unthinkable—I booked a flight. I secured a slot with a Davao-based tour group. It was finally happening: Mt. Apo.
I devoured everything I could about the mountain—vlogs, blogs, gear lists, training plans. I was determined not to make the same mistakes I did during Cawag Hexa and Mount Pulog. I had to be ready. I couldn’t afford to fail.
To test my readiness, I climbed a newly opened trail in Zambales: Mount Kapigpiglatan. I was told it was like a “walk in the park.” That was a lie.
The trail was unexpectedly steep, and the heat was brutal. I felt my strength waver. As I pushed toward the summit, the same doubts crept in. If I’m struggling here, how on earth can I climb Mt. Apo?
But reaching the summit of Kapigpiglatan wasn’t just another victory—it was a reality check. I wasn’t fully prepared—but I wasn’t broken either. I knew what I had to do. Train harder. Prepare better. Stop second-guessing.
Mount Apo was no longer just a dream. It was my next mountain. And for the first time, I felt ready to meet it face to face.