Passion

A Filipino expeditionary team has conquered Mount Everest, the highest peak in the world.

This is a moment of national pride. For those involved in this effort, there is an overwhelming sense of achievement – although all the group hugs and tears of joy among members of the Filipino Everest team we saw on television might not be completely comprehensible for most people.

After all, for those who have to scrounge for a living each day, the point of scaling a tall and dangerous peak might not be immediately clear.

Appreciating this climb requires appreciating the passion mountaineering requires.

When I was younger and much more reckless, in my politics and in my sports, I did trek up some mountains, hitching up with the UP Mountaineers who often had to slow down as an act of charity for my asthmatic, smoker’s lungs. The peaks I reached are, to be sure, nothing in comparison to Everest.

But one nevertheless gets an insight into what others might call a form of madness.

When I used to climb our small mountains, I was required to join long jogging sessions for weeks before a scheduled trek. That was required to ensure one had enough stamina to keep up – or at least not force the trek to abort because one had to be carried down.

I understand that the Everest climbers required three years of preparation. That is reasonable. They will have to master the ropes, literally. Taking on a tall mountain requires special equipment, including oxygen supplies.

On Everest, the climbers deal with different challenges: scaling ice, sub-zero weather, blizzards that come without warning. There are chasms to be crossed with lightweight aluminum ladders, sheer cliffs that will have to be taken on vertically with hooks and nails, miles and miles of nothing but ice and snow.

These are climactic conditions totally alien to the climate Filipinos evolved in: lots of sun and salt water, abundant oxygen. The coldest peak here is Mount Data in the Cordilleras, which is nothing compared to even the foothills of Everest.

I used to have a t-shirt that read: Because it’s there.

That is supposed to be a mountaineer’s contemptuous retort to puny flatlanders who ask why he goes through all the trouble of climbing a peak.

Mind you, this is not just a smart-alecky retort. It is a philosophy of life: we do it because the challenge is there.

That challenge might not be a mountain. It might be a marathon. Or simply any of those more ordinary things we need to surmount each day.

Maybe "philosophy" might be too intellectual. Let’s call it attitude.

A mountaineer, before a climb, assesses the challenge. He prepares for it with tremendous self-discipline. He knows the risks. He undertakes measures to mitigate them.

He knows the effort will require accepting much pain. It is pain that can easily be avoided by simply dropping the whole idea of doing a climb and curl up in a sofa to read books about the heroism of others.

But when he starts packing his gear, his mind is made up to accept the pain. It is always a deeply spiritual moment.

The rewards for doing so might be difficult to comprehend. The group I used to climb with packed nothing more than a can of peaches and a box of cream to be opened only at the peak. And that was to be shared by everybody – a morsel for each.

But that small reward was not the motive for accepting the torture of a climb. The real reward was standing on the peak, looking back at the trail we took, sitting on a rock and looking down on the rest of the world. No matter how often one had taken that peak, the surge of exhilaration is always the same.

Lugging bottles of potable water on a climb was like dragging a cross up a steep slope. But when we reached the top, we spilled some of the precious liquid as an offering to the mountain. That was as much an act of indignation against those who menaced our forests and stripped our mountains.

When we visited Banahaw, we brought trash bags to collect all pieces of inorganic waste left on the mountain trails by irreverent trekkers. We often came down with a load heavier than when we came up.

That was, of course, a useful thing to do. It also exuded some semblance of utility to what we do.

But that is just a thin veil of sensibility. The real thing that drove us to assault the slopes is an inexplicable passion to surmount a challenge.

The grander the mountain, the greater the dose of passion required to even dare think of taking it. That hardy band of Filipinos who dared extreme weather and impossible slopes to conquer Everest have a well of passion within them that I will not even attempt to imagine.

I do not know them, except for expedition leader Art Valdez. They do not know me. They took a great mountain. My experience is limited to minor hills.

But for that puzzling conquest, for that great act of taking on Everest, I have opened my best bottle of cognac. Whatever compelled me to do that I do not know and will not even attempt to explain.

Some might say that this whole expedition was a monumental act of madness. But it is, we must all agree, an awesome demonstration of boundless passion and invincible spirit.

In total solitude and from my zone of comfort, I raise my glass to them and bow my head as a gesture of profound respect. May they safely descend and abundantly consume the crispy pata that awaits them when they come back home.

Cheers!