Bauko 7 Peaks: The Truth About Illusions And Limits

How many times can you question your life choices in a single morning? I counted seven in the first hour of my Bauko 7 Peaks hike. Question one came when I realized I hadn’t slept well in two weeks and my body was demanding payment. Question seven came when my left calf suddenly tightened and screamed hijo de puta in Tagalog.

Yet even with the hiccups and the voices screaming to turn back, quitting wasn’t an option. Throughout my life, I’ve learned how to bend reality and shift stubbornness into fuel. Seven peaks meant seven chances to be wrong about my limits.

The mountain was real. The pain was real. But the meaning? The story about what it all meant? That part was entirely up to me.

So, what did I learn up there? What happens when you stop believing the limits you’ve been carrying? And what changes when you realize reality bends the moment you stop treating it like it’s fixed?

My Bauko 7 Peaks adventure 

Here’s what no one tells you about mountain climbing in the Philippines: it’s hot, it’s humid, and those Instagram photos are lies.

But Bauko in Mountain Province is different. Cold mornings. Pine forests. Air so thin you can taste the altitude.

I hiked it in December. Sleep-deprived, overworked, and still writing a book I couldn’t escape. I needed a break. Bauko 7 Peaks was the answer.

Getting there required commitment: a flight from Cebu to Manila, then 10 butt-numbing hours on the road to Bauko. The hike hadn’t even started, and I was already questioning things.

08:47 AM: Arrival in Bauko 

My back hurt. My eyes were begging for sleep after a 40-hour work week. 

My legs felt like they’d already climbed seven summits because somewhere around Baguio, the van seat I was sitting on gave up entirely.

The seat made noises like a dog with a sore throat. I sat rigid, trying to distribute my weight in ways that defied physics. I tried adjusting. I tried fixing it. The bumpy road had other plans.

Comfort was out the window.

But here’s the thing. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. As someone who travels frequently, inconveniences aren’t bugs or glitches. They’re features. 

They’re the spice that makes the adventure worth remembering. 

Pain, discomfort, and chaos are all part of bending reality. 

You don’t get to choose whether hard things happen. You get to choose what they mean.

Even so, I occasionally question my life decisions when things aren’t working in my favor. 

That’s because I’m human, a Libran, and an introvert who’s spent years trying to stop overthinking.

When we arrived at the jump-off point in Bauko, I tried to shut down all the noise inside my head.

I was in the Cordilleras. The air was crisp. The views were waiting. Time to stop overthinking.

We had breakfast and made final preparations. Since I’d packed frantically at home, I had to buy a few essentials. 

I bought water bottles, trail snacks, slippers for camping, and things I should’ve remembered but didn’t because of the hectic schedule. 

Then came the orientation. 

We listened carefully to the details on what to expect and how to stay safe on the Bauko 7 Peaks trail.

And one critical detail: we had to reach peak 6 before 12 noon.

New policy. Strict enforcement. Something about safety protocols.

It was around 9 AM. The hike hadn’t even started yet. The math wasn’t in our favor.

10:10 AM: Start of our Bauko 7 Peaks

I didn’t know how long or challenging the Bauko 7 Peaks hike was.

They said we’d be taking the Spanish Trail and camping on the summit of Mount Polis.

Spanish Trail. 

Perfect! 

I’ve got a little Spanish blood in me, which meant I’d probably start cursing in their language by peak 3.

We only have less than two hours to reach peak 6. Time to move.

Our Bauko 7 Peaks hike started fairly easy.

The weather was perfect, with crisp mountain air, cool breeze, and no scorching sun.

 We passed through rice paddies on flat terrain, then took gentle ascents until we hit a concrete road. 

We kept walking that road until Aia, our co-organizer, pointed to an uphill trail.

Peak 1 was waiting.

The hike to Peak number 1

You learn a lot about yourself at 1,200 meters above sea level. Most of it is unflattering.

Somewhere on the climb to peak 1 on our Bauko 7 Peaks hike, I started questioning my life choices again.

Then, the narrative my brain was offering got loud.

This is stupid. You could be home. You could be comfortable. You don’t have to do this.

Classic. The story that says comfort is always the better choice.

I shut down the voices and kept moving. One step at a time. Stubborn, persistent, refusing to listen.

I was starting to find my rhythm when…

Shit.

Hijo de puta.

Cramps.

My left calf tightened like a python catching its prey.

It hurt like hell. There was no way to sugarcoat it.

At that moment, my Bauko 7 Peaks hike didn’t exactly look rainbows and butterflies. 

I kept moving anyway. One step, pause. Another step, pause. Breathing hard, calf screaming, but still moving.

Some people might call me naive, stubborn, or just dumb. 

I mean, who keeps on doing things when things aren’t on their favor?

Well, that’s the story of my life. 

Here’s the thing about me: I’m not supposed to be hiking mountains at all.

I was born duck-footed, or congenital out-toeing gait in medical term. 

My feet point outward. Always have. It runs in my family.

We tried custom orthopedic shoes when I was younger. They didn’t work.

I was clumsy. I bumped into things. Running felt awkward. I tripped more than other kids.

The world handed me a story: You’re not built for this. Accept your limitations.

I fucking refused.

I’ve hiked almost all of the 10 highest mountains in the Philippines, like Mount Kalatungan and Mount Amuyao. Not in spite of my duck feet. Not even despite them.

I just stopped believing the story that said I couldn’t.

The cramp in my calf? The exhaustion? The voices saying to turn back? Those weren’t limits. They were just information. Data points. Not destinations.

The only thing stopping you is the story you keep telling yourself about what’s possible.

Minutes later, we reached Peak 1. We paused, breathed in the fresh mountain air, took photos.

The view wasn’t picture-perfect.

There were fallen trees everywhere, which were remnants of a recent typhoon that had torn through the trail. 

But the view was never the point.

I don’t climb mountains for Instagram. I climb because the struggle forces me to confront the stories I tell myself about who I am and what I can do.

The pain is the teacher. The view from the summit is just proof I listened.

Peak number 2 of Bauko 7 Peaks

We didn’t linger. The clock was ticking.

The trail to Peak 2 cut through more pine forest before opening up to something worth stopping for: rice terraces cascading down the valley, and Mount Kalawitan rising in the distance.

Beautiful, but also irrelevant.

I checked my watch. Did the math.

We weren’t going to make it to Peak 6 by noon. Not even close.

In modern society, that means failure. Miss the deadline, break the rule, face the consequence. Be disappointed. Turn back. Accept defeat.

But here’s the thing about by ending reality: you don’t have to accept the narrative someone else wrote for you.

I couldn’t control the late start. I couldn’t control the typhoon damage on the trail. 

I couldn’t control the van seat that gave up on the drive here, leaving my legs a bit tired before the hike even began.

But I could control what the deadline meant. And I decided it meant nothing.

We kept hiking.

In life, I’ve seen so many people depressed and unhappy because they followed a timeline that absolutely meant nothing. 

I mean, there’s a deadline for graduating, getting married, and buying a house.

Society loves its made-up timelines. 

Graduate by 22. Get married by 30. Buy a house by 35.

Who decided these numbers? Who came up with the idea that getting married after 35 is a failure? That graduating at 28 is something to be ashamed of?

These aren’t natural laws. They’re social constructs designed to make us obedient and predictable. They’re stories we’re told so often we forget they’re fiction.

And for what? 

So we can feel like failures when we don’t hit checkpoints we never agreed to in the first place?

For fuck’s sake, everyone has a different timeline. 

Everyone’s writing a different story. The only mistake is letting someone else hold the pen.

Exploring the other summits of Bauko 7 Peaks

Bauko 7 Peaks, as most people say, is easy.

Easy if there weren’t massive trees blocking the trail. Easy if it didn’t feel like a ninja warrior obstacle course.

The recent typhoon didn’t just damage the views. It transformed the trail into something harder than advertised.

We crawled over gigantic fallen trees, ducked under low-hanging branches, and walked across logs that felt like they could collapse at any moment. 

Parts of the Bauko 7 Peaks trail were so muddy they tried to swallow our shoes. 

Other sections were slick with flooding damage from Typhoon Uwan, turning every step into a negotiation with gravity.

Bauko 7 Peaks wasn’t the gentle hike most people imagined. This was survival with a view.

Even so, I felt comfortable. In my element. Despite all the setbacks, I had my rhythm.

By the time we hit Peak 3, I was feeling good. Thought the worst was behind me.

Hiking has other plans.

Somewhere between Peak 3 and 4, my right foot landed wrong on a log.

Sharp pain.

Cramps. Again. Worse this time.

The group stopped while I recovered. 

Dennis, one of the other hikers, joked that maybe I should take a longer break and rethink my life choices entirely.

I laughed because I knew what he saw.

Later, at camp, he admitted he thought I looked directionless. Like a deadbeat wandering with no plan.

Patapon ang buhay, he thought when we first met. A wasted life.

I wasn’t offended at all.

At first glance, no one would guess I’m a multi-award-winning blogger, a published author, and a content marketing manager for a US company. 

I wear shorts and t-shirts everywhere. 

Sneakers, casual gear, even at book talks and public speeches. 

I only put on formal clothes for daily huddles and corporate meetings.

By conventional standards, this isn’t what success looks like.

Good.

Let people think I’m lost. 

It’s simpler than explaining I know exactly where I’m going. 

Simpler than defending a life that refuses to follow society’s script.

I stood up. Tested the leg. Still sore, but functional.

The cramp stopped registering as a problem. Pain is just data. And I’d already decided it wasn’t a stop sign.

We pushed through the remaining peaks. The views were nothing special, covered by dense trees that had always been there, typhoon or not.

The mountains didn’t care about Instagram-worthy vistas. Neither did I.

This was about proving, once again, that the limits I carry are negotiable.

We descended until we hit a concrete road leading to the base of Mount Polis, Bauko.

The road to Mount Polis, Bauko

Mountains don’t care about fitness trackers. Neither do I.

On our way to the homestay near Mount Polis, I walked at my own pace, enjoying the fresh mountain air and scenery.

It didn’t matter to me how many calories were burned or how many kilometers I hiked that day.

I hike because it gives me Enough Space To Experience Life Abundantly.

The sun was slowly dipping toward the western horizon, painting everything gold.

The mountain views were divine.

And it reminded me of the slow afternoons with my daughter when life was still simple.

Before the mad modern day rush, I spent my afternoons with my daughter outside watching people pass by and the sun set.

Somehow, I felt like I was transported to those days.

The road was surprisingly long, but still I enjoyed every moment of it because I don’t get to experience slow afternoons often.

Then, we arrived at the homestay and the sunset was in its final stages.

Camping at Mount Polis 

We had dinner at the homestay at the base of Mount Polis, Bauko. Aia suggested we eat there instead of hauling food up to the summit where it would be dark and windy.

After dinner, we began the climb to Mount Polis on a paved concrete stairway. The air was freezing. A typhoon in the Visayas had brought cold winds all the way north.

We kept walking until we reached the campsite. Dark, windy, foggy. Another group of hikers had already set up camp.

I roamed around until I found a good spot to pitch my tent. Once it was set up, I went inside immediately.

After weeks of sleepless nights, my body finally had permission to rest.

But sleep didn’t come. The group gathered outside to share stories, and I decided to join them.

Drinks were passed on, but I refused. 

Drinks were passed around. I refused.

I’m Straight Edge. No alcohol, no smoking, no drugs. I’ve lived this way for almost 12 years.

Some people in the group urged me to take just one sip. It’s just for fun, they said. Just this once.

I still said no.

A few joked they wouldn’t invite me next time because I don’t drink. Said it’s boring to hike with someone who doesn’t drink.

Boring is subjective, I thought. But I didn’t say it out loud.

The truth is, we spend so much of our lives afraid of being disliked. 

We bend ourselves into shapes that fit other people’s expectations. 

We say yes when we mean no. 

We drink when we don’t want to. 

We follow timelines we never agreed to. 

We do all of this just to blend in, to be seen as likable, to avoid standing out.

But what if the real adventure starts when we stop trying to please everyone?

What if the soul-satisfying, unforgettable experiences only come when we have the courage to be disliked?

When you stop living for someone else’s validation and start living by your own values, things change for the good. 

You stop asking for permission to exist the way you want to exist. 

You stop negotiating your choices with people who don’t share your priorities.

You gain the power to create your own reality.

The courage to be disliked isn’t about being contrarian or difficult. It’s about refusing to sacrifice who you are for someone else’s comfort. 

It’s about standing firm in your values even when the crowd is offering you an easy way out.

When you have the courage to be disliked, you stop living someone else’s script. 

You write your own. You bend reality to match your vision instead of bending yourself to match theirs.

I didn’t drink that night. I didn’t need to prove anything. I was already exactly where I needed to be.

If someone dislikes me because I didn’t blend in, so be it.

It’s not my loss. 

The night went on. Stories were shared, laughter echoed across the summit. I listened, contributed when it felt right, stayed quiet when it didn’t.

And to my surprise, some of the topics shared were deep and interesting. 

We walked about contentment, and spirituality versus religion. 

And that’s rare, especially in groups and communities where everyone talks about their latest achievement in hiking.

By the time the group started heading to their tents, the fog had thickened and the wind had picked up. The temperature dropped even further.

I crawled back into my tent, zipped it shut, and lay there in the dark.

Two weeks of bad sleep. One brutal hike. Six peaks. One deadline I ignored. Multiple moments where my body screamed to stop.

And here I was. On top of Mount Polis after hiking Bauko 7 Peaks. Exactly where I chose to be.

Reality bent because I refused to accept the story everyone else was telling. The story that said I needed to drink to fit in. The story that said missing a deadline meant failure. The story that said duck-footed kids can’t climb mountains.

I closed my eyes.

This time, sleep came easily.

The view from Mount Polis 

Everyone was excited to see the dreamy sunrise and sea of clouds at Mount Polis.

They said it was the highlight of our Bauko 7 Peaks hike. 

But when I unzipped my tent and stepped outside, I only saw a thick blanket of fog covering the whole summit.

Pure white. Featureless. Like a passport photo backdrop.

People groaned. Phones stayed in pockets.

For a second, I felt it. Disappointment. We’d climbed all this way for… nothing?

Then I caught myself.

There it was again. The story that says experiences are only valuable if they look good. If they’re shareable. If they meet expectations.

The fog didn’t ruin anything. It just revealed who came for the photo and who came for something else.

I came to prove I could bend reality. Mission accomplished. The view didn’t matter.

Bauko 7 Peaks had one last lesson to teach.

You can’t control outcomes. You can only control how you show up.

I showed up with duck feet and cramping calves. I showed up sleep-deprived and questioning myself. I showed up anyway.

The fog didn’t change that. If anything, it proved the point.

The view was never what mattered.

After breakfast, we took photos of the Mount Polis sign and the fog-covered summit.

Then, we descended back to the homestay to make preparations for our trip back to Manila.

So, what did I learn up there?

That doubt doesn’t mean stop. That pain doesn’t mean failure. That the stories we tell ourselves about our limits are just that: stories.

What happens when you stop believing them? You discover you’re capable of more than you thought. Not because you’re special. But because the limits were never real to begin with.

And what changes when reality becomes negotiable? You stop living someone else’s script. You write your own.

The fog covered the summit. The view never appeared. And somehow, that was perfect.

Because I didn’t climb Bauko 7 Peaks for a photo. I climbed it to prove, once again, that reality bends when you refuse to accept it as fixed.

Mission accomplished.

The drive from Bauko to Baguio 

The drive back from Bauko to Baguio was long but scenic.

I love drives like this because everyone is tired and sleeping, while my mind is active creating words and stories.

Along the way, the story of The Ugly Duckling by Hans Christian Andersen came to mind.

It’s a classic fairy tale that teaches kids beauty equals acceptance. That if you transform into something beautiful, you’ll finally be happy. That the glow-up is the ultimate redemption.

But what if we’ve misinterpreted the whole story all along?

What if the Ugly Duckling was never a duck in the first place? What if it was a swan’s egg that somehow fell into the duck’s nest?

That changes everything, doesn’t it?

The duckling wasn’t broken. It was just in the wrong environment. Surrounded by ducks who expected it to waddle and quack like them, judged for being different, made to feel ugly for not fitting a mold it was never meant to fit.

The problem wasn’t the duckling. The problem was the pond.

I thought about my own life. Duck-footed kid who couldn’t run right. Straight Edge hiker who doesn’t drink. Travel blogger with no fixed address. Author who wears shorts to book talks.

By conventional standards, I don’t fit. I never have.

But what if I was never supposed to? What if I was just a swan in a duck pond, trying to survive in an environment that was never built for me?

Your environment shapes your reality. But only if you let it.

How many barangays are in Bauko?

Bauko, Mountain Province has 24 barangays.

How to hike Bauko 7 Peaks? 

The best and most convenient way to hike Bauko 7 Peaks is to join an organized tour. If you prefer to take this route, I recommend Rabas Outdoors.

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