It was still dark when we left Batangas at 3 AM, barely having a wink of sleep, but the excitement of the hike pushed us forward. The road stretched ahead like a promise of adventure, the bus humming against the early morning silence. By 5 AM, we arrived in Cubao. The city was just beginning to stir with only a few sleepy-eyed commuters dragging themselves to work.

I knew the way to Brgy. Cuyambay in Tanay. Or, at least, I thought I did. I was relying on memory, navigating by a few dim recollections of past trips. There was a jeepney that went directly to the area. But whether it passed through Cubao or took the Shaw Boulevard route was something my tired mind couldn’t quite grasp. Rather than searching for answers online, we opted for the more familiar comfort of a cup of coffee at Jollibee. It was the kind of decision that didn’t make sense on paper, but in the haze of sleep-deprived minds, it was the right call. Caffeine and familiarity to keep us sharp.

Don Pepot chuckled next to me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. As we sipped our coffee, watching the city stir awake, he remarked on the youngsters spilling out of the clubs at sunrise. “Not so long ago, that was us,” he said, shaking his head with a grin, clearly amused at the sight of them. The scene was almost poetic, a reminder of how time had a way of blurring the lines between youth and maturity.

Walking toward the jeepney station, a figure loomed in the distance—a drunk man stumbling toward us. His steps were unsteady, his gaze hazy, but something in his eyes made my heart skip a beat. For a moment, the city felt much darker than it should have. I kept my gaze straight ahead, trying not to acknowledge his presence, but my skin prickled with unease. He passed by, thankfully without incident, but the encounter left a mark on me. It was a fleeting scare, but one that reminded me how strange and unpredictable life could be. Even on a simple journey.

When we reached the jeepney station, the questions in my head began to clear. We were on the right track. Our trip wasn’t over yet, but we’d made it this far. However, the path ahead would still require two jeepneys—one to Cogeo, then another to reach Brgy. Cuyambay. Our destination was almost within reach, but the roads were winding and the journey long.

By 8 AM, we finally arrived in Brgy. Cuyambay. Stepping out of the jeep, I was struck by the crisp cold breeze that cut through the morning fog, immediately refreshing my senses. It was a sweet reminder that sometimes the journey was as rewarding as the destination itself. But I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of doubt. Was it too late to start the hike to Nagpatong Rock? The sun was high, the air warmer than when we first left, and I wondered if we’d lost too much time already. But as I stood there, breathing in the cool mountain air, I knew I had nothing to worry about.

Brgy. Cuyambay had changed. When I last visited for our Mt. Binutasan hike, this place felt quiet, almost abandoned. But now, it had bloomed into something entirely different. The roads were lined with mountain resorts, their structures perched on the hillsides like watchful sentinels. New businesses were springing up, including a coffee shop that looked almost out of place in its modernity. Tourists gathered there, sipping their lattes and sharing stories of hikes past. I couldn’t help but smile, impressed by how far this place had come in such a short time. At the same time, I felt a tinge of concern—knowing how tourism can sometimes take a dramatic turn for the worse.

Then, it was time for the hike. I had imagined it would be a long, grueling climb, but to my surprise, the path to Nagpatong Rock was far more forgiving than I expected. It wasn’t a challenging trek in the way we had imagined—no steep cliffs or unrelenting terrain. It was almost chill—a walk in the woods, really, one that could be completed in under an hour. But you know us—we like taking our sweet time.

The trail began with a gentle ascent, a slightly muddy path that wound through moderate slopes, the ground soft beneath our feet. Fallen leaves scattered like confetti, marking the way. The air was filled with the scent of earth and wood, and every step felt like a small surrender to nature. As we walked, the forest around us became more scenic with each passing moment. Rock formations rose from the ground like ancient guardians, their jagged edges softened by the mist.

The locals had paved the way well. They’d carved natural stairs out of stone, guiding us upward with an effortless beauty. Flowers lined the trail, planted with care, their vibrant petals contrasting with the roughness of the rocks. It felt as though the earth itself had been cultivated, gently shaped to welcome us. The path was straightforward—sometimes flat, sometimes sloped—but never too steep. It was a hike that rewarded you for taking your time, and I was content to let the world unfold around me as we made our way up.

The final stretch proved to be the most demanding. As we reached the base of the summit, the rock face ahead seemed towering, its cliffs rising sharply toward the sky. My heart raced as I looked up, my fear of heights sending a shiver down my spine and making my legs feel unsteady. But there was no turning back now.

With a deep breath, I grabbed hold of the wooden ladder that had been set up for the climb. Its rungs weathered by time but sturdy enough to support my weight. A thick rope dangled beside it, offering another lifeline as I carefully pulled myself upward, inch by inch. Each movement was slow and deliberate, my hands gripping the rocks and the rope. My feet finding purchase on whatever they could.

The higher I climbed, the more the world spread out below me—vast, expansive, and utterly mesmerizing. As I neared the top, my fear began to melt away, replaced by awe at the beauty surrounding me. And when I finally reached the summit, the view was nothing short of breathtaking: jagged rock formations stretched out in every direction, a patchwork of green and brown, with glimpses of blue sky breaking through. I had made it to the top of Nagpatong Rock.

In that moment, I realized that the journey, the little fears, the doubts—it all faded into the background. There, on top of Nagpatong Rock, I could finally see the beauty of everything we had fought for. It was a moment of stillness, a moment of triumph—and it was worth every step.