An Ode to My Two Dead Toenails

Okay….Just when I was all juiced up for an ode after mourning over the untimely demise of my two big toenails, I realized they weren’t dead after all. Wikipedia.org enlightened me about their condition. Subungual hematoma---a collection of blood underneath a toenail resulting from a traumatic injury or repeated minor trauma such as running in undersized shoes. My toenails developed a black discoloration overlying the laceration giving off that “dead” look. The good news is subungual hematomas typically heal without incident.

So, forget the ode.

Thanks to Wikipedia for shedding light on my toenails’ status. But I’ve fallen short of looking into the how-to’s of circumventing toenail injuries before shoving my feet into my all-condition-gears. I guess, I was too excited to Google (or at least, secure a better pair of socks) the night before the Hill 394-trek. I got held listening to the wild beatings of my heart as the thought of trudging through a dense jungle canopy en route Subic’s most popular peak came rushing in my mind.

There was something captivating about hiking up to a once secret helipad that rises 394 meters above sea level. What’s more, this will be the first time my husband and I will be trekking with our kids after a three-year hiatus from nature tripping. When I unexpectedly conceived our fourth child, we had to temporarily say goodbye to our off-the-beaten-track-exploits…like stumbling on a hidden falls in the craggy mountains of Antipolo.

It has been notably said that the hidden treasures of our country are reserved for those who walk. With all the cringe-worthy news around, I decided that it’s about time to hunt treasures with the kids lest they begin to entertain ideas of deserting our beloved motherland. Besides, I was afraid they were evolving into screen suckers and desk-top-potatoes---their sense of leisure spun around video games and everything electronic.  My two-year-old can even effortlessly maneuver his way around a laptop!

It’s definitely time to strike a balance. Off we went to a so called sedate-wilderness-experience in the jungles of Subic. We were told that the trek required no technical gear or unusual skills—it’s perfectly viable for any fairly fit trekker. Oops, me, fairly fit? Reasonably overweight, maybe. 

But my fussing completely vanished when several monkeys welcomed us as they converged at the giant trees near the ascent from the bunkers. And thus, began our oohs and aahs.

We were instantly engulfed by the unspeakable beauty of the jungle experience—gigantic trees, the melodious hum of birds and insects, the rustling of leaves, the sound of a rippling brook nearby, dried leaves crinkling under our hiking boots, monkeys squealing on the trail side (they seemed to be watching us from cover!), and the freedom of inhaling pure unadulterated oxygen...The sun was teeming heat that day but the thick forest canopy shaded us from the blazing sunlight. We all felt rejuvenated a few minutes into the trail.

The terrain was merely rolling---quite an easy trek, aside from some unseen ruts covered with thick leaves lying on the ground. (Thankfully, the snakes eluded us.) Some bamboo trees have fallen on the trail so we had to go under them or over them, whichever was easier—no huffing and puffing required really.

It would have been a short trek, had it not been for our frequent stops, which were as follows:

1. bear-hugging giant trees
2. taking pictures of these mammoth-like vegetation
3. the occasional I’m-thirsty-whinings and piggy-back-ride-pleases from our youngest trekker
4. inspecting creepy-crawling bugs
5. naming colorful birds through wild-guessing—wood pecker? hornbill? green pigeon?

The last 200 or so meters leading to the summit tested my climbing proficiency when our youngest trekker chose to shift piggy-back-rides. My husband appeared to be zonked out---I guess all his weight lifting and strength training in the gym were no match to a squirming toddler demanding for his Ma.

So I worked up the energy to carry our tot, as we scaled a 40-degree-climb to the summit, this is not to mention walking on tough sections of loose soil and slick rocks.

“Ma, are you tired?” my nine-year-old daughter asked me as we scrambled up the slope.
“Nope,” I gathered enough strength to answer.
“Why are you so energized up here yet you easily get pooped when we shop in the mall?” my eleven-year-old daughter piped in.
“I guess, I’ve had one drop of testosterone too many.” I replied in between huffs.
I heard my thirteen-year-old son sniggered as he tramped behind us.

My heart was about to explode…my legs burned with lactate acid. We finally reached the peak before another question could pop. We gave out a collective Wow! The view from the summit was definitely a great reward for that effort going up! The top affords a spectacular view of Grande Island, the legendary Mount Natib, Subic Bay itself, and the Ilanin Forest. The sight was exhilarating and undeniably worth all the trouble.

Despite the absence of a chilly breeze, the triple-canopy rainforest reminded me of the Blue Mountains in Australia. I’ve learned from my recent visit there that tiny droplets of oil from the leaves of thick eucalyptus forests hang in the air. These microscopic beads of oil refract the sunlight thereby creating the foggy blue haze of the mountains. But what amazed me more about the scene was their misty mountains were all swathed with trees—not a single bare spot. I remembered how I choked back tears as I thought of the Philippines---the deforestations, the floods and mudslides that claimed countless lives…I hopelessly wondered if our countrymen will ever see a sight like the Blue Mountains back home.

I was teary-eyed once more, but this time with a tinge of hope---for right before me on the summit of Hill 394 was a last vestige of the great jungles that once covered this region. The mountains were all draped in green—not a single bare spot. This is perhaps one of the few places in the world where virgin wilderness lies only a few hundred meters from an international airport. Yet still retains an isolated feel—the remoteness is quite extraordinary.

We cruised at 100 kph down a long stretch of “smooth-bumpless” road at the North Expressway on our way back home (forget the costly toll fee; it’s definitely worth your every hard earned peso!) The ride was almost uneventful—that actually means---no accidental spilling of chocolate milk, no bickering over the cheetos, no I-gotta-gos in the middle of nowhere, no snafus…until…I failed to dodge our squirming toddler’s projectile puke---the milky muck went straight down to my skivvies!...There goes our “smooth-bumpless” ride.

When people visit places, they buy all sorts of thingamajigs as souvenirs, some obtain boxes reeking with photos, but I get a stinky pile of laundry sprayed with gooey vomit…and two throbbing toes. It strikes me as funny though that a trek up a hill metamorphosized my once drab toenails into a newfangled look---because for the first time in my entire existence as a female human I’ve resolved to have them painted. It took me almost thirty-seven years and a subungual hematoma to come to that decision. I must admit though that they look pretty in my androgynous-fluid-surf flip-flops. Yet if one looks closely, one can see teeny black specks peeking through the twinkle beige polish.

But I fret not, because I’m reminded of the hidden beauty of the Philippines and that remarkable uncanny feeling of anticipating renaissance to arrive. I just got to keep looking for pockets of hope around… and Hill 394 is without doubt one of them.

Merrilee R.C. Montana believes that the best public service she can give her country is to become a positive influence in society. She and her family have administered the planting of about forty trees in their area. She also dreams of scaling heights (both literally and figuratively) for her children.

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