High. High above the clouds, on the peak of the highest mountain in the Philippines; Mindanao island spread out below, ringed by the cobalt waters of the sea. High on life; adrenaline coursing through my veins after completing an intense climb that, at the bottom, I wasn’t sure I could even do. High in the race rankings after having pushed it hard for the entire first 50k of the Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k.
Low. Crouching in the bushes, wishing that I wasn’t having a gastro-intestinal emergency in the middle of the bush. Low; seated on the ground behind Kent, patting his back as he vomited over and over again. Low, collapsing onto the ground an aid station; desperate for sleep.
Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k, only our second ever race of this distance, was quite an experience.
The road to the race
Unlike Ultra-Trail Luang Prabang two weeks before, which we’d signed up for pretty spontaneously, we’d been planning on running Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k for months. We’d been training for and working up to our second metric century run all season.
We’d intentionally chosen a race taking place after we wrapped up our contracts in Korea, so that we’d have plenty of time to get there and plenty of time to take it easy afterwards. But that’s not exactly how things played out…
After adding in Ultra-Trail Luang Prabang at the end of March, Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k would actually be our 3rd ultra in 6 weeks – by far the heaviest schedule we’d yet tackled. And that’s not all. In the months since we’d signed up for this race, we had new commitments: celebrating a few of life’s milestones with Kent’s family in Hawaii(!!), a new job starting shortly after the race…and a plan to visit a new country before settling down.
So, after a couple of trips across the international dateline, we arrived in Davao eager for a few days of rest before the race. It was our first time in Mindanao, but we saved our exploring for race day. We divided our days between napping in our rented room and feasting at the one and only veg restaurant in town!
The time passed quickly; a blur of dreams and smoothie bowls. Soon, it was race day! And race day was a busy day. First, we had to head out to the venue for race packet pickup and the briefing. We tried to schedule a couple of naps, but wound up spending most of our day in transit. It would have been hard to sleep anyways: we were incredibly excited for our second 100k!
A race shuttle picked us up just after dark, and soon we were traveling to the start line in a van full of new friends – including a fellow Canadian! Huge raindrops splattered down on the windshield. It seemed like we’d be in for an interesting night!
But by the time we’d arrived at the beachside resort where the race would start and end, the rain had stopped. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated huge thunderheads offshore. But they were a distant threat.
Many local racers had tents and were camped out on the beach, making merry. I invited Kent to sit in the sand with me at the water’s edge. We looked up at the stars and wondered what this race had in store for us.
Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k
We lined up with the other 100k racers just before midnight. There were around 100 of us – a racer for every kilometer of the course. I wondered which kilometers would be mine; which kilometers I’d run confidently and which kilometers would hurt.
Shaking these whimsical thoughts aside, I got focused. The race started with a bang, literally and figuratively! After the starting gun went off, one of the very first obstacles we encountered was a river crossing. This was a far cry from the rock hopping I’d done in previous races: this was full immersion! At least for me. I stumbled on the slippery rocks, and then was pulled off-balance by the current. Suddenly I found myself in water over my waist!
Hauling myself ashore on the other side, I was happy to have that over with. I started to chase Kent, who I could see ahead of me, and then, splash! I was up over my knees in water again. A sneaky second river crossing, right after the first!
Exiting the water, this time for good, we began to run in earnest. The Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k race course was a simple out-and-back: 50 kilometers up the mountain, then 50 kilometers back down. So as I ran, I tried to memorize features of the course so they would be familiar to me later on. I knew that we’d be in rough shape when we returned, many, many hours later, so recognizing the route would help.
In a herd of colorful runners, we ran together through a banana plantation and into an open field. The course zigged and zagged past sleeping cows and villages. It was almost flat, so everyone was moving well. Too well, at times! We were with a crowd of runners who missed a turn and dashed out into a farm and had to retrace our steps to find the course.
We more or less ignored the first aid station so we could get a nice head start on the easy road running. After the farms, we started the long uphill on a quiet dirt road. Here, the race finally began to space out. Kent and I ran alone, occasionally joined by a pair of guys with an unusual method: they’d sprint hard for a few minutes, then drop into a slow walk. So they’d join and then leave us for a few kilometers as we stuck to a steady pace.
The grade was not severe, so the climb felt easy. Trees lined the road, but overhead it was clear, so we had a starry sky to gaze up at. We could sometimes see the moon. Progress was steady, and morale was high. We weren’t the leaders, but we were close to the front of the pack.
I love night running. I always love it when we do it in training, and I loved it during the early hours of Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k. The cool air was refreshing. The silence felt peaceful and relaxing. My focus limited to the small patch of earth ahead of me, I entered a meditative state. And in this way, many hours passed without me feeling the effort of them.
The next aid station was a big one: Sibulan Barangay Hall. Brightly lit, this check point had a festive atmosphere. We stopped here for some water and a few photos, thanking all the friendly volunteers and promising to stop by again later.
We continued on into the night, soon passing another aid station and verging onto a somewhat wilder road. Here we caught up with the Canadian guy we’d met in the bus, and we decided to run together. There were a few forks in the road, so the guys kept their eyes out for course markings while I checked the GPS map. At a crucial turn, a white horse stood half-asleep, head pointed down the trail. It seemed like we’d run into a fairy tale!
We splashed through another river at one point, and ducked around and under large boulders. It was nice to have company, and we moved along steadily, chatting all the while.
There was one section where the course deviated from the road and followed a narrow trail up into the forest. We caught up to many runners at this point, and still others caught us. We proceeded slowly up this tricky trail in a pack. It was slippery, with a steep, unprotected drop-off to the left. The aid station at the top of the trail was a welcome sight!
After a brief stint on paved road, we headed back into the forest on another single-track trail. It was challenging to stay upright on the slick fallen foliage, and not knowing what lay to the valley side of the trail in the dark made it a little freaky! But once again, we soon popped out onto a dirt road.
Dawn was just pinking the sky as we jogged up alongside a massive pipe. By the time we reached the first villages on the widening road, the first rays of sunlight were illuminating Mt. Apo!
What an impressive sight. Although not the pointiest of peaks, Mt. Apo’s summit featured a bald, rocky area that was bright white in the morning sun. It was so steep that it could only be a cliff. We wondered how exactly we were going to get to the top!
The highs
As always, the shift from night into day gave me fresh energy. I felt like we were starting over again. We continued to run steadily in the cool shade of the mountain slopes, heading toward all that was illuminated before us.
A long section of dirt road made for easy progress. It was a net uphill, but a runnable one, and we were grateful for it. Of course, it wasn’t without its challenges: maybe it was too easy! Humming and daydreaming, at one point, I tripped over nothing and went sprawling into the gravel.
Otherwise unscathed, we continued. We were on our own again, sharing a comfortable, quiet companionship. Reaching the fifth aid station, we opted to keep moving as the kilometers were ticking past smoothly.
We did stop at the big aid station at Sitio Colan. Facing the steepest climb of the day and the gnarliest terrain, we wanted to have full reservoirs of fluids and reserves of calories. It took a few minutes to load up supplies from our drop bags, and we chatted with a couple of other runners as we sorted, organized and ate.
But it was soon time to move on, and take on the mountain! Leaving the village behind, the character of the course changed immediately. Gone was the long, runnable ramp – and in its place there was a steep, slippery uphill scramble through the jungle.
It was wet, it was wild, and it was tough. We downshifted to hiking, and sometimes our pace was further reduced to a crawl or a climb. Technical as it was, we knew the trickiest part still lay ahead of us.
Making our slow progress uphill, we were inspired by the sight of the leader running downhill toward us! The ultimate race winner was a local mountain guide who obviously knew the terrain well. He slid down a steep incline toward us without breaking stride, and bounded from rock to rock across a little stream, all while wearing a bright smile. We stopped to watch his miraculous progress and cheered him on heartily!
Emulating his carefree, springy style proved difficult, especially on the ascent. But eventually we emerged above the jungle – and below the vertical white rock wall we’d seen from far below.
Having come this far, there was nowhere to go but up. The race route led up a narrow chute and into a steep boulder field. There was no trail, but rather a series of markings that indicated the safest route.
Craning my neck to look up at this route, I felt a chill run down my spine. This was steeper and more technical even than Laos. This was serious. It was going to be difficult. Vertigo made my head swim before I’d even set foot on the big white boulders. But I was going to do it.
I took a moment to steady my nerves before beginning this epic challenge. Three thoughts in particular helped prepare me for what lay ahead:
- Action fights worry: I knew that once I started moving, I’d be okay. This strategy has always worked for me in the past. It’s better to move ahead rather than imagining what lies ahead. Especially helpful is if I can lead the action, setting the route and the pace.
- Endorphins would carry me down: It’s almost always way tougher to go down a steep route than it is to go up. But I knew that a successful climb would pump me up and give me the strength I’d need to descend.
- And most importantly, that the views from the top of the Philippines would be worth any fear or uncertainty I felt at the start. This was already true: the boulders, though fearsome, formed an awesome, unearthly monochromatic landscape. Belching sulfur vents added to the ambiance. All I needed to do was glance around me to know that there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
And so, we climbed! It was both tougher and easier than I’d envisioned, standing at the bottom. The flags indicated a good route, but there were many ways of moving through the landscape. There were no flat surfaces, but I quickly got a feel for which rocks were stable and which might tumble away beneath me. I moved through the boulders using all four limbs: grasping, pulling, pushing, jumping, scooting and balancing. It was not quick and it wasn’t easy, but I was doing it!
And as suddenly as it had started, the boulder field ended. We set our feet on flat ground again on a plateau just below the summit. The next climb, we tackled eagerly; full of anticipation. Once again, I needed my arms as well as my legs: I’d reach for the sturdy, low-lying plants carpeting the ground in this area to arrest a slide down the slippery loose dirt.
Just before the summit, there was a beautiful lake of crystal clear water. I wanted to stop and admire it, but the summit – and my husband – pulled me onwards and upwards.
At the top, one of the most spectacular views I’ve ever seen spread out before us. The cloud inversion was sublime. The sparkling little alpine lakes just below us and steep sister peaks to either side made for a stunning scene. The summit featured a rocky cairn and a race banner, and we dropped everything to pose for photos.
I was happy to learn from the volunteers at the top that I was in the top 5. This helped remind me that we were running a race, not just exploring a beautiful place. But nothing could top my happiness at having completed the intense climb to this beautiful summit.
Heart full and eyes dazzled, I never wanted to leave. Sights like these are once-in-a-lifetime. We tried to drink it in: memorizing and photographing as much as we could. After several false starts, we finally began our descent.
My prediction had been right! All the confidence of the ascent and good feelings from the summit eased the descent. Our new familiarity with this tricky terrain helped too. I happily hopped from boulder to boulder, and encouraged the racers heading upwards. It wasn’t all easy and I slid down significant sections on my rear, but it was surprisingly simple to descend.
The lows
It was no time before we were in the jungle again. Here I found the descending more difficult: I couldn’t always see my feet, and I needed the trunks of trees to ease myself down slippery slopes. We slowed down, and it seemed as though we might need just as much time heading down as we’d needed heading up.
Making matters worse was the fact that we’d both run out of liquids. Despite refilling our packs and bottles and trying to drink conservatively, the central section of the Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k was long, challenging and hot. Exposed to the sun for the first time, we’d been thirsty. Now we were nearing desperation.
The jungle was humid, and sweat dripped from my face and fingertips. My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. I contemplated drinking out of one of the little streams we had to cross. Kent had gotten a hot tip that the wild berries we’d seen alongside the trail were edible, so he was eating them by the fistful and proclaiming their hydration benefits. With my sensitive stomach and proclivity to caution, I did not indulge any anything other than water fantasies.
Thankfully, our dehydration desperation was short-lived. A thoughtful group of volunteers had come up to one of the hiking camps in the forest. We were so grateful for the water they gave us! They only had a few jugs, so we took just a bottleful each, now confident that we could make it to Sitio Colan just a few kilometers below.
But it was at Sitio Colan that our race began to unravel. We struggled to find our drop bags. Then we struggled to find water. After the onslaught of runners on their way up, all that was left was a blue sports drink that we were unfamiliar with. Other runners lay in the shade, watching the locals play basketball.
We needed to stop here to take care of ourselves and prepare for the long descent. Changing out of soggy socks and slathering on fresh sunscreen were on the agenda. With no snacks or water, it was hard not to feel a little frustrated. We would have to make due with what was available and carry on. With the blue brew in our packs, we set off.
Heading back down the way we’d so recently come up was easy at first. We were joined by another racer, and together we chatted our way downhill at a decent clip. I drank some sports drink, but couldn’t stop craving fresh water.
The scene at the next aid station was a quieter version of Sitio Colan. Two volunteers were napping the heat of the day away. I couldn’t blame them, runners must be few and far between now! Our fellow runner, a local, roused someone to ask for water, but there was none here either. Just more blue sports drink. There were a few cookies and crackers, but I craved pure water something fierce.
What could we do but keep going? We always carry our own snacks, so we ate some of our bars and jellies. Still, on what should have been the easiest part of the race, morale was low, and searching for supplies had cost us time on two separate stops.
I guess this illustrates how well our race was going, the fact that I was still concerned about our time at this point. Our goal had been to better our Trans Jeju 100k time of 24 and a half hours – even by a minute! Early in the Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k, we were on target to smash that goal. Heading down the mountain, we were slower than we’d hoped and without some of our favorite snacks, but we were still rolling.
The sun made its way west, and was soon dipping below the mountain slope. I really wanted to get past the two trickiest trail sections before nightfall, so we hurried: making just a quick stop for some precious water at the 4th-turned-9th checkpoint.
As I’d hoped, we made it down and back onto the dirt roads before sunset. In the light of day, both were more manageable, so we kept moving well. But back on level ground, we couldn’t seem to speed up. As dusk deepened, I slowed more and more.
Usually I relish transition times and the shift into night running! I wondered what was wrong with me, but I felt detached from my body and even from my thoughts. I was so tired, more tired than I can remember feeling in a race. And more than that, I was sleepy. I wanted to curl up on the side of the road and take a nap of my own.
I kept running, but at some point I turned into a zombie. Kent remembers watching me weave across the road, stumbling and responding incoherently. I have only the faintest memory of stopping for a little sit at the 10th checkpoint.
Back at Sibulan Barangay Hall, the other big checkpoint, we determined that I needed a proper rest. So I put on my jacket and lay down on a yoga mat. Kind volunteers brought me the cup of coke and chunk of banana that I’d been craving for hours. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, I found Kent with his shoes off on a mat of his own.
We’d only ever heard of runners sleeping at aid stations. It seemed pretty surreal that this time we had been those runners! But there’s a first time for everything. Rousing Kent, we thanked the volunteers, and hit the road again.
I wasn’t feeling 100% myself, but I was moving. I recognized that feeling of freedom that night running often brings. Plus, we remembered that it was all downhill from here! We just had to do it.
We hadn’t passed all our trials yet though. Running through a village that I only vaguely remembered from the night before, we got really and truly spooked by somebody shouting. These things are always scarier at night!
Then, reaching the highway, we were directed by a trio in race t-shirts to cross over and head on to the finish line. But this was wrong: if our memories were faulty, the GPS map I had on my watch wasn’t. We still needed to run 10 or so kilometers in the farmland before heading to the coast. Still feeling confused, we waved these guys off: determined to finish the race on the race course.
At the final checkpoint, Kent tried to explain what had just happened, but communication broke down. The volunteers shrugged at his raised voice and demonstrative gesturing: perhaps unable to understand or unable to help. A gaggle of children clustered around the scene we were making. Exhausted and depleted, we both felt annoyed. We were tired and confused, and we just needed to move on.
Kent had dubbed the (first and) final section of the Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k ‘the maze’. This was where the course zigged and zagged through farmers’ fields – and where we’d gotten slightly lost on the ascent. At this point, a small group of runners had caught up to us. At a junction, a local boy appeared and pointed down the left fork. This can’t be right, I thought. I had a memory of going around the farm, not cutting through it. After a few meters, my watch confirmed this. We broke from the group and retraced our steps to find the course.
We reached a point where the route followed a dirt trail between a large, above-ground pipe and an open farmer’s field. The light of a headlamp betrayed one runner cutting the course by ducking below the pipe. Tired and demoralized, we trudged along the proper trail alone.
After a few hours of making strange noises, my stomach was now in a knot. I really didn’t want to, but I had to go. Kent was feeling ill too, and was more than happy to sit down beside the trail – while I hurried across a field and dove into the bushes to dig a hole.
Lighter and somewhat re-energized, I returned to the trail ready to run. But Kent was in much worse shape than I’d left him. When I pulled him to his feet, he swayed and slumped back down to the ground. He began to hurl.
He was still puking when, a few minutes later, a group of six or seven runners appeared. They stopped to offer help, but must have been pretty appalled. We’d turned off our headlamps for privacy, but theirs illuminated our sad scene: two runners laying in the dirt, barely off the trail, beside a multicolored mountain of vomit.
Having rid ourselves of everything in our systems, we both felt a little better – but we were pretty depleted. Neither of us liked the taste of our snacks anymore, and we ate only reluctantly. We carried on at a walk. Our feet began to really ache from kilometers of pounding on rough rocks. But we looked up and marveled at the stars and our mountain lit by moonlight.
The finish
It was a slow march in, from that point. Determined to finish the Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k but lacking the energy to run, we simply kept walking. Occasionally we were passed by someone slightly faster. But mostly we were alone, with our thoughts and with each other. We kept up a halting stream of conversation to pass the time.
Finally, we crossed the highway (at the proper place). Finally, we entered the banana fields of the home stretch. A sudden loud noise startled us into a faster pace – for a little while. We passed a pair of runners resting under a lamp near a village, one sleeping. My watch ran out of battery, and then our phone died. All that we could do was move, slowly, between one race marker and the next.
That final river crossing was hard. I felt chilled, and the water was cold. We were unsteady on our sore feet, clinging to each other and inching our way across. But finally, that was behind us too – and the only thing ahead of us was stretch leading to the finish line. We managed a final, painful burst of speed to cross the Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k finish line at around 3 am.
It had taken 27 hours, but we had finally completed our second one hundred kilometer race!
Having reached the finish line, there we stayed. The next race shuttle wasn’t until morning. There was no cell signal to summon a taxi. The few people at the finish line were either sleeping in their tents on the beach or drinking. We could have hiked back to the highway, but neither the prospect of further walking nor the idea of late-night hitchhiking appealed to us. Although the nice finish line volunteers tried to help us, we were out of options.
So we slept on the beach. We kicked off our shoes and socks, still sopping wet from the river crossing we’d done less than an hour earlier. Somebody gave us a blanket. Being me, I worried about leaving my contacts in, not eating or drinking properly after such a big effort, and even about dirtying the blanket we were borrowing! For about a minute. Completely and utterly exhausted, I dropped off immediately.
The next thing I knew, the sun was rising up out of the sea. Some friendly folks offered coffee, but we had to get back to our hotel. We desperately needed to clean up, pack up and get some good sleep before our flight that evening. With the help of the race volunteers, we caught a ride in the back of a pickup that was headed to the city. Facing backwards, we admired the sunlit sight of Mt. Apo until we couldn’t see it anymore.
Lessons Learned
Spent as I was, I was over the moon to have completed a second hundred kilometer race. This distance has proved challenging for us (see exhibit A and exhibit B) and it felt wonderful to have done it again. Especially since it had not been easy: we’d had to struggle through a lot of low points to make it to the end of Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k!
As the longest race we’ve yet done in terms of time, there were a lot of valuable lessons to be learned. I’m going to deal with them one-by-one below.
Nutrition. The more experiments we perform on ourselves, as well as the more science we’re exposed to on this topic (check out this video). the more I’m convinced that this could be the critical factor for performance. In this race, we ran into multiple problems with nutrition (and hydration).
- Aid station inconsistency: Heading up, we were met with friendly volunteers handing out all kinds of typical race goodies. Coming down, however, we were out of luck. Tough as it was for us, we were near the front of the pack! I worried about the racers who would follow us – and possibly need these aid stations more than we did. It seemed like the aid stations had been picked clean on the ‘out’ section of the race, leaving little for the ‘and-back’ portion. Of course, these aid stations were in remote places, so I knew better than to expect a buffet. But the lack of water and basic stuff like bananas did throw me for a bit of a loop, especially because…
- I planned our snacks poorly. Okay maybe not poorly, but not ideally. I packed what I always pack: energy bars, energy jellies, electrolyte drink mix – and enough to replace all of the above twice. Don’t get me wrong, this is a tried-and-true nutrition strategy that has worked in all kinds of long runs and races. It’s food we love and even crave. But it is not enough for a 100k. I’ve now learned that the longer the race, the more you need variety. Our favorite trail treats are on the sweet side, and without fail, I eventually want salty things in a long race. I want whole foods and different foods. It’s a smart plan to prepare these and practice with them, but easy to forget because it doesn’t tend to be an issue in training or shorter events.
- Try new things – that aren’t foods. A race is a chance to test your limits. You can run the longest distance you’ve ever run, or set a new fastest time on a familiar distance. You can climb up to a high peak, explore remote areas of the planet or encounter elements of nature outside of the modern, urban realm. But you don’t want to test your stomach. Although we have tried new things in races before (salted bananas during Tengri going down in our history as one of the biggest successes), it’s not generally the best idea. I was even skeptical about the new sports drink during this race. It took more than a month, but Kent finally admitted that the wild berries *might* have been a mistake.
Rest and recovery. It’s no secret that this is an area in which we – I – tend to struggle. Have a vacation coming up? Why not see just how many things can be jammed into that month, week or even weekend! Yes, we were almost certainly tired from running a 100k trail race! But late nights and early mornings on the go didn’t exactly leave us feeling fresh. And criss-crossing back and forth across the dateline probably didn’t help either. I felt jet-lagged from the first morning in the Philippines – but I thought a nap or two would fix it.
Training specificity. The more similar your training is to the race route, the better your race is likely to go. This principle completely underlies our successes at races like UTMJ and Korea 50k. It’s no excuse, but with so many races and big changes marking the start of 2019, we didn’t really do any specific training for Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k. We thought running a high volume in a variety of settings would help us in this race – and I’m sure it did. But I’d definitely benefit from more exposure to high mountains and different kinds of technical terrain.
We’ll definitely be thinking more about the three lessons above for future events. On the lighter side of things, I re-learned how much I love the Philippines! It’s one of our favorite places for running and traveling. I got to experience, for the first time, the myriad ways that water makes your feet weird during – and long after – this race. And I learned that neither poop, nor puke, nor even passing out mid-race can make me love this sport any less.
Know and Go! Mt. Apo
TRANSPORTATION
To reach the highest peak in the Philippines, you’ll need to head south, to Mindanao island! Davao City is easily reachable the capital, if you are coming from abroad, and alternatively accessible from elsewhere in the Philippines.
Once there, where you go will depend entirely on what you plan to do on the mountain! If you’re doing the Mt. Apo Sky Race, you may be able to take a race shuttle: make a plan before you arrive! If you’re trekking, you might be able arrange transit with your trekking guide/group in advance.
Note that hiking with a guide or joining an event, such as the Mt. Apo Skyrace, is mandatory for any type of travel on this mountain. Therefore I won’t be going into too much detail on how to get around independently. Furthermore, the public transit system here operates at a degree of complexity that requires a local friend.
If you are on your own before/after your Mt. Apo adventure, it’s easy to grab a taxi outside the airport or catch a metered one from anywhere in the city. Renting a car is also possible with an international driver’s license. The traffic in Davao is not as hectic as in Manila, but drivers coming from Europe and North America: be aware that the rules of the road may not be what you’re used to. Drive carefully and don’t get bothered by the speedy trucks and motorbikes!
HIKE & RUN
Joining the Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k meant that our Mt. Apo experience was a curated adventure. As a result, I did not have to spend any time researching routes. When I did so, I learned that there are actually several trails to Mt. Apo’s summit!
The Mt. Apo Sky Race 100k route described in this article is a (significantly) longer version of an official climb beginning in Santa Cruz. If you’re interested in doing Mt. Apo as a backpacking or trekking trip, check out the great resources on PinoyMountaineer and this Mt. Apo website.
STAY & EAT
We stayed in Davao City, with the exception of our accidental overnight at the finish line! This worked for us because we wanted to be within striking distance of my favorite foods (Hello, Vegan Dinosaur!) and a laundromat. It was also our best bet, as our time in the country was limited on this particular race trip.
However, if you’re racing, you can absolutely set up camp at the start/finish line at Oboza Resort! Lots of our fellow racers in 2019 did this and it seemed like it was a blast. Alternatively, there are homestays and resorts in the area that you also might want to check out.
OTHER NOTES
Mt. Apo is not only the highest mountain in the Philippines, it’s one of the most prominent peaks in the world (#99, if you’re curious). It is well worth your while to take a trek to the summit! Apo Sandawa is 2,954 meters tall. Thanks to its location so close to the sea and distant from other peaks, you really feel that height. Mt. Apo also puts on a spectacular demonstration of cloud inversions: one of the best I’ve ever seen!
Our journey to the summit was a special one, part of an amazing race. It is not the only way to see Mt. Apo, but a highly recommendable one, in my opinion. Testing ourselves on over 4,000 meters of gain as we climbed from the shoreline to the summit was an incredible challenge and unforgettable life experience. Starting so low made getting so high all the sweeter.
May your Mt. Apo adventure be similarly stoke-worthy!
Would you like to join a handful of like-minded runners and challenge yourself to a climb of the highest peak in the Philippines? Get ready for the next edition of the Mt. Apo 100k!