Mt. Matutum Summit Ascent: A First-Timer’s Harrowing and Humbling Mountain Trek

“If this will be my last day, Lord, please take care of my loved ones.”
— Almost-The-Late-Great Dokie, Ugat-Ugat Trail, Mt. Matutum, 6 PM, May 19, 2007

“Tuloy natin ‘yung Mt. Matutum Dokie! Kahit anim lang tayo.”

Those were the excited words of Sir Joy over the phone, just two days before the climb. “Sure, game!” I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “So who’s joining us?”

Originally, ten people signed up. But only six pushed through. Chris had to stay for his son’s immunization, Ian was stuck in Davao, and Onin had work. The three newcomers backed out due to health issues. Still, Joan texted, “We’ll be there Friday, Dokie.”

Michael Jan from Bukidnon and Meril from Digos were in. Sir Joy was bringing his son Chuck. And just like that—we had our dream team of six. “Mas okey nga yan, bonding tayo!” I joked. That optimism didn’t last long.

Arrival and the Guide That Shook Us

By 9:30 AM, we reached Kablon Crossing. After the usual habal-habal ride to the jump-off site and registering at the DENR/PAMB office (where we picked up a seedling for tree-planting), we met our guide: Mang Duroy.

He was clearly experienced—all of his eight sons were also a Mt. Matutum guide. But physically, he looked… unwell. Cachectic. We were worried, quietly exchanging glances. “He looks flail and sickly,” I whispered to Sir Joy. But the officials insisted. “He’s the one on deck,” they said. And so, we followed the rules. Silently, I prayed he wouldn’t collapse halfway up the mountain.

The Trail Begins: Rolling Hills and Dodging Horse Poop

We started at 11 AM, weaving through an open trail flanked by cornfields and vegetable plots. It was picturesque, if not for the literal minefield of horse poop everywhere. We got lost twice—Mang Duroy had gone ahead. Classic.

At noon, we reached the first camp near the water source. Lunch was casual. We planted our trees. But then—plot twist: a local guy stripped and took a bath right by the water well! Another shouted, “Picture! Picture!” like we were wildlife photographers. Dirty bathwater trickled right back into the source. So much for potable water.

Rain, Cold, and Warning Signs

Post-lunch, the trail started ascending. At first, it was manageable.

I even had time to snap shots of the flora. “Sana ganito lang kadali,” I joked, clearly still a rookie.

We reached Camp One, a clearing with a giant boulder and lush of tall trees.

Birds frolicked above. But the sky darkened. “Mukhang uulan na!” I shouted. Sure enough—rain.

It started as fun. We pulled out our rain gear and kept moving. But 30 minutes later, I saw Joan helping Mang Duroy, who was now shivering under a tree, soaked to the bone. No raincoat, no wrapped clothes. We wrapped his belongings in plastic, took some of his load, and agreed to leave behind a gallon of water. That decision would haunt us later.

The trail degraded fast. Mud and exposed roots made every step slippery. “Basa pati brief ko!” I shouted, half-laughing, half-freezing. Chuck started showing signs of hypothermia. “Frostbite! Kamot ko pa, di na mahulag!” he complained.

Joan rushed ahead to drop her bag and help Joy. Our guide disappeared again. I stopped to wait, but after 15 minutes, I was shivering uncontrollably. I had a decision to make.

The Mossy Forest Ugat-Ugat Ordeal: A Rookie’s Near-Death March

I decided to push forward—alone. Worst. Call. Ever.

I was soaked, shivering, trekking solo on a trail I barely knew. No light, no emergency gear, and visibility near zero. The “ugat-ugat trail” ( for lack of a better name) was a maze of massive roots and disappearing paths, underneath Mt. Matutum’s mossy forest. The torrential icy cold rain even made the trek worst, erasing all visible trail and light. I slipped. I crawled. I hit my head multiple times.

“God, if this is my last day, please take care of my loved ones.”

At one point, I completely lost the trail. Panic set in. My heart pounded. My hands were shaking. “Don’t panic. Concentrate. Climb. Just climb.”

And then—I saw her. Joan. Like an angel on the trail. “You’re almost there!” she yelled.

I nearly cried. “Oh, God. I made it. Thank you!”

The Sweetest Peak and A Cup of Relief

Ten more minutes of crawling, slipping, and silently praying… and then, I saw it: the summit.

I practically leaped into the clearing, soaked to the bone but beaming with relief. The cold still bit into my bones, but I was here — I made it! I peeled off my drenched layers, changed into dry clothes (thank heavens I wrapped them in plastic!), and warmed myself beside our tiny burner. Michael, Merrill, and our shivering guide were huddled under the tarp. Seeing them — and not just mist and moss — was comforting.

About 45 minutes later, Sir Joy and Chuck finally reached the summit, led by JoAnne. We immediately got Chuck warmed up inside the tent. He looked like a burrito in a sleeping bag, eyes closed, blissfully slurping hot noodle soup. There were no cheers or high-fives, just the sacred silence of people who made it through something rough, something personal.

Night Whispers at 7,500 Feet

The rain never really let up, and the winds picked up speed. We pitched tents under foggy skies and started cooking dinner.

Meril and Me inside our makeshift tent

I have never been more grateful for a steaming bowl of sinigang in my life. Even in sleep, I think I burped. That’s how good it was.

As I drifted off to sleep in my sleeping bag, wrapped like a cocoon, the wind howled outside, and I felt safe. The famed 360-degree view of Mt. Matutum was hidden behind the thick mist — but I didn’t care. I was alive. I had made it.

Then sometime past midnight, nature tapped me awake. I stepped outside to answer nature’s call and paused — mouth agape.

The sky had cleared.

Lights twinkled below from General Santos, Polomolok, and Koronadal. The fog had melted away, revealing a galaxy of stars overhead and a glittering tapestry below. It was like the mountain was giving us a private light show — a reward for surviving.

I tried waking up the others, whispering, “Guys! The view!”

They groaned. “Tulog pa, Dokie.”

So I stood there alone, in silence, breathing in the cleanest air I’d ever tasted. Just me, the mountain, and a miracle view.

Mornings, Mountains, and Mugshots

When we finally emerged from our tents in the morning, most of the peak was still blanketed in fog. But gradually, like curtains parting on a stage, the view revealed itself.

We could see everything — the seas beyond GenSan, the distant Mt. Parker, the majestic Daguma Range, even the mighty Mt. Apo standing proud.

Mt. Apo’s peak as viewed from the summit of Mt. Matutum

Click! Click! Click! Cameras didn’t stop. I remember thinking, “If these mountains could talk, would they gossip about who climbed them worst?”

Joan broke my musing: “Breakfast na!” The breakfast…

We dug into another feast, mindful that our drinking water was nearly gone. Each bite was strategic — eat enough to survive but not choke from thirst.

After some more group photos and a final round around the summit, we packed up.

We survived Mt. Matutum!

Descent, Regret, and Lettuce Redemption

We descended via the back trail, passing once again through the infamous “Ugat-Ugat Trail.” In broad daylight, it was clear how gnarly it truly was.

I recounted my misadventure, earning gasps and laughter.

“Promise, never again!” I declared.

Once past the roots and near the first camp, we anticipated the water gallon we left… only to discover our guide had emptied it and hiked ahead. Thirsty, annoyed, and confused, we grumbled all the way to the water source.

The sweet relief of fresh mountain spring water! We drank like it was the nectar of the gods.

Michael and Merrill had prepared lunch — rice, canned goods, and smoked fish on banana leaves. We picnicked like royalty.

Back at the jump-off by 3 p.m., we paid Mang Duroy and were ready to file our complaints. But then… he handed us a bunch of freshly harvested Chinese lettuce. Maybe that was his peace offering? Maybe he really didn’t know we were without water. We let it go.

“Silence is the better part of courage,” I told myself.

One Final Thought:

I’m a beginner trekker, and that summit nearly broke me. But it also made me. There’s something about going up a mountain, getting broken down, and slowly piecing yourself together under stars and fog that changes you.

Trail and Frame Journal Prompt:

When was the last time something nearly broke you — but instead, built you?

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Next on Trail and Frame:
The time we almost didn’t make it to the Mt. Dulang-Dulang traverse — and how that turned into our most epic reunion climb.