Buko Buko Sa Anay, Bohol: The Truth About Chasing Success

The most dangerous lie I ever believed was that I’d be happy when I got “there”. The problem is, “there” doesn’t exist. It keeps moving. I kept chasing goals, milestones, mountains, and books. Always the next thing. And the whole time, Buko Buko Sa Anay, one of the most beautiful hikes I’ve ever done, was sitting on the island right next to mine.

I found out about it the way I find out about most things these days. A random post on Facebook. Someone shared photos of a hike in Duero, Bohol, and I thought, where the hell is that?

So I joined the group hike with no research and expectations. All I had was curiosity and a free Sunday.

After every hike, I usually ask myself one question.

What did this adventure teach me?

I didn’t know it yet, but this small mountain in Bohol was about to answer something I’d been chasing for years.

Because the real question wasn’t whether the trail was beautiful.

It was why I had been looking so far away for a life that had been close to me all along.

My Buko Buko Sa Anay in Bohol adventure 

We left hours before sunrise.

Pier 3 was half awake. A few vendors were already setting up coffee and bread.

Except for my niece, I barely knew anyone on this hike. I’ve seen some on Facebook hiking groups and hikes. But I didn’t know them personally. 

And that was okay. Nothing new. My adventures lately had been with a bunch of strangers that eventually turned into friends.

A couple of hours later, we arrived in Tubigon.

We stepped off the ferry and walked to McDonald’s, where the van to Duero was waiting.

The hike didn’t look promising.

The sky was heavy and gray. Rain fell hard, bouncing off the pavement and soaking our bags before the day had even begun. 

Behind us the sea kept slamming waves into the port, loud and restless, like it didn’t approve of the trip.

No one said it out loud, but I think some were thinking the same thing.

Maybe this hike wasn’t going to happen. Or perhaps this hike in Buko Buko Sa Anay, Bohol wasn’t a good idea at all.

We had just crossed the sea for a day hike. 

It wasn’t a major expedition or a famous peak, like Mount Kabunian.  

It was a small, under-the-radar mountain our organizer discovered only weeks earlier. And here we were standing in heavy rain beside a restless sea that looked like it wanted us to go back to Cebu.

My niece wondered why we even traveled this far for just a day hike.

We could have hiked somewhere closer. Cebu has plenty of trails. Familiar ones. Predictable ones. Trails where you know where the next turn goes and where the view will appear.

She even said it was different from my previous multi-day adventures in Luzon, like Mount Purgatory.

She wasn’t wrong.

Those trips felt like missions. You prepare for them for weeks. You pack carefully. You know you’re about to do something big. 

But this one felt almost accidental, like we had wandered into it without thinking too hard.

Rain kept falling as we loaded our bags into the van. It showed no signs of slowing that day. 

No one complained. At some point you stop hoping the weather changes and just accept you’re already part of it.

We took our seats and our driver started the engine.

The ride was quiet at first. Most of us watched the windows. Water slid down the glass in long crooked lines, turning houses and trees into blurred shapes. Every now and then someone checked their phone, not because there was a signal, but because our hands were used to doing it.

I caught myself doing the same thing.

As we left Tubigon, the roads narrowed. The buildings thinned into fields, small stores, and quiet houses.

The rain softened but never really stopped. It just changed from heavy drops to a steady fall that covered everything in a dull gray light. Nobody in the van talked much anymore. Some slept. Some just stared outside.

Soon, we made a stop at a roadside eatery where we had our first meal of the day. 

First stop of the day

The eatery wasn’t fancy. It had plastic chairs, a metal roof, and the smell of fried eggs already in the air. It’s the kind of eatery you wouldn’t travel miles for, but exactly the kind you’re grateful for after waking up before dawn.

We ordered whatever was available. Rice, eggs, hot dogs, hot coffee. Everyone looked more awake once food arrived. Conversations started. Names were repeated because we were still learning them.

I looked at the sky, and finally noticed some positive signs. 

Our energetic organizer, Angkol Jojo, said we’d get a good clearing that day and that the rain would stop by the time we reached Duero.

I believed him. Maybe not everyone did, but after years of hiking across the country, you learn the weather has moods. Sometimes it just needs time.

And honestly, the view was never the only reason I went.

The thing is, I don’t hike for the scenery. I mean, it’s nice. But if I just wanted a view, I’d scroll Instagram.

I hike because mountains teach me things that no self-help book ever has. Not in words, but in experience, and in the silence between heavy breaths when your legs are burning and your mind finally shuts up long enough for something honest to come through.

Mountains beat the stress out of me in ways a spa never could. There’s something about physical exhaustion that silences the noise inside my head. The deadlines, the overthinking, the constant pressure to do more and be more. All of it fades when you’re focused on the next step.

Every trail I’ve walked has taught me something. Patience. Surrender. Humility. It taught me that I’m smaller than I think and that’s not a bad thing. That the best lessons don’t come from books written by people who’ve figured it all out. They come from moments where you haven’t figured out anything and you’re okay with it.

That’s what I was hoping for when I joined this hike. I just didn’t know what it would be yet.

The road to Buko Buko Sa Anay, Bohol 

The road to Duero was nothing short of scenic. Along the way, we caught glimpses of Bohol’s Chocolate Hills.

The rest was fog and green. Bohol looked like a movie no one had seen yet.

It was all smiles and excitement, until we had a hiccup: we were led by Google Maps to a road that was temporarily closed.

We found ourselves in the middle of nowhere, asking locals for directions to Buko Buko Sa Anay.

But here was the tricky part. 

Not a lot of people knew about Buko Buko Sa Anay since it’s technically a hidden gem.

I know hidden gem is a cliche, but that’s the best way to describe Buko Buko Sa Anay.

On top of that, the locals were a little confused because we mentioned Barangay Danao in Duero.  

Since there’s a town called Danao in Bohol, they thought we were referring to that place.

I wasn’t worried at all. On the contrary, it felt like I was in my element.

I’ve been in these situations so many times in my younger years when I was blazing trails around Cebu. 

I remembered getting lost between Cebu City and Toledo City while chasing a heart-shaped lake. 

I thought about the time when we hiked Inambakan Falls to Mount Hambubuyog. 

This was exciting.

The best stories never come from the parts that went according to plan. 

Ask any traveler about their best trip. They won’t tell you about the perfect days. They’ll tell you about the day everything went wrong.

Soon, we arrived at the highway, and followed the road to Duero’s town center.

I thought everything would be fine after that. After all, we were back on the main road with the weather finally improving.

But then, something happened again. 

There was a little miscommunication between us and Martha, the tourism officer of Duero, Bohol.

Eventually, we sorted it out, and found a road that would lead us to the jump-off point of Buko Buko Sa Anay. 

And finally, we caught a glimpse of the ridges and hills that looked just like the photos of Buko Buko Sa Anay on the internet.

We were also treated to the mesmerizing views of the rice paddies of Duero.

Once again, it felt like we were on the right track.

But travel has a unique way of testing someone’s patience.

We hit another stumbling block on our way up to Barangay Duero, Bohol.

Someone lost their cool, but it all faded away the moment we arrived at the jump-off point of Buko Buko Sa Anay. 

The start of our hike to Buko Buko Sa Anay

We filled out some paperwork and waivers before we started our hike to Buko Buko Sa Anay.

Angkol Jojo also gathered the whole team to give us reminders of what to do and what not to do on our hike. 

Led by Martha, we followed a well-established pathway that would lead us to the top of Buko Buko Sa Anay.

The pathway was at first steep, and made with concrete.

And guess what?

Concrete sounds easy until your knees and soles start disagreeing.

Plus, some parts of the concrete pathway were covered in moss, making them a bit more slippery.

The pathway kept changing along the way. Concrete to gravel to mud to concrete again

We kept hiking, until we arrived at a breezy area with a fantastic view of a hill and rice paddies.

Martha then advised us to take a break since it would all be uphill from here.

We took a breather and snapped photos of the area.

I took a deep breath and just stood there, doing nothing at all.

I didn’t scroll my phone, and looked for any news or interesting stories.

And to be honest, this was actually the reset I badly needed.

Signal was weak up here. For once, that felt like a gift.

It was the perfect escape from all the digital chaos.

Every day, we’re bombarded with messages secretly telling us we’re not okay as we are.

Glutathione products always say you’re not beautiful enough.

Real estate ads say your house isn’t big enough. 

Career coaches say you’re not earning enough. 

Even travel influencers make you feel like you’re not adventurous enough.

The entire system runs on your dissatisfaction. Happy people terrify the economy. A person who has enough doesn’t buy more. Doesn’t hustle more. Doesn’t upgrade. And that terrifies every brand, every algorithm, every ad that needs you to keep wanting.

But up here, with weak signals and nothing to sell me, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Enough.

I sat with that feeling for a while. Didn’t try to name it. Didn’t try to post it. Just let it sit.

Then Martha called us. Time to move. The real climb was about to begin.

The uphill climb

I knew the uphill climb to Buko Buko Sa Anay was short.

I knew it wasn’t as technically challenging as the other mountains in the country, like Mount Talinis and Mount Hamiguitan.

But I never underestimate any mountain, no matter how short the trail is and how low the elevation is.

Mountains have a way of humbling you the moment you assume they’ll be easy.

The concrete path ended, and the real trail began.

The soil was darker here, still wet from the morning rain. Each step needed a little attention. Too fast and you’d slip. Too relaxed and your footing would give way. We instinctively slowed down. Conversations became shorter. Breathing became louder.

The group stretched out along the trail. Some moved ahead, some stayed behind. You hike together, but you also hike alone. After a while, everyone settles into their own rhythm.

My niece walked behind me for a bit, then gradually fell into her own pace. Nobody rushed anyone. There was no prize for reaching the top first.

Only the next step mattered.

The trees grew thicker and the air cooler. You could hear the wind brushing against the grass higher up the slope. Every now and then we would stop, not because we were tired enough to quit, but because our legs needed a moment to remember what we had asked them to do.

Time also started behaving differently.

Down in the city you measure your day by hours and notifications. Up here, you measure it by breaths and shade. A bend in the trail becomes a milestone. A rock becomes a seat. A patch of wind feels like a reward.

We continued upward, until we arrived at the first view point of Buko Buko Sa Anay.

From here, we could see several towns in Bohol. On the right side, we could see as far as Camiguin. 

Curious, I also asked Martha if Mayana, home to the highest peak in Bohol, was close.

He pointed to the right, and said it was about an hour from here. That’s what I always do when I hike. Ask questions. I can’t help it.

Then we kept climbing. And what I saw next made me stop. I didn’t think views like this existed in Bohol.

Buko Buko Sa Anay was a photographer’s dream. Every turn was a perfect frame. 

Rock formations, ridges, and cliffs that had no business being in Bohol. My niece said it reminded her of Bauko and the Cordillera mountains. She wasn’t wrong. This looked like something you’d fly to Luzon for. Something you’d plan for months. And here it was, in Duero, on an island I could see from my bedroom window in Cebu.

The sea stretched out behind it all. Endless and completely indifferent to the fact that I was having a moment.

And that’s when it hit me.

I’ve spent years traveling across the Philippines looking for places that would take my breath away. I’ve climbed mountains in the Cordilleras. I’ve chased waterfalls in Mindanao. I’ve crossed provinces I couldn’t even spell on the first try. And one of the most stunning things I’ve ever seen was here. Right next door. Waiting quietly while I kept looking further and further away.

That’s not just a travel lesson. That’s a life lesson.

How many times had I done the same thing with everything else? Chasing the next goal when what I had was already enough. Reaching for something bigger when something beautiful was already in front of me. Always convinced that the thing I needed was somewhere I hadn’t been yet.

But it wasn’t. It was here the whole time.

We kept pushing toward the top. Pitcher plants and wild berries lined the trail, small beautiful things I would have missed if I’d been moving any faster.

Then we arrived at the knife-edge.

A narrow ridge with drops on both sides. There was a safer trail below, but I followed this one. I trusted my balance. Not everyone did. Some in the group took the lower path.

One false move here, and you’d be greeted by Saint Peter himself in his white, shiny robes.

But here’s the thing about walking a knife-edge. You can’t think about what’s behind you or what’s ahead. You can only think about the step you’re on. And isn’t that the whole point?

I finished the ridge. My hands were a little shaky. My heart was loud. And I felt more alive than I had in months.

It wasn’t because I conquered something. But because for those few minutes, I wasn’t thinking about deadlines, goals, or what’s next. I was just here. Completely, stupidly, beautifully here.

Fear does that. It pulls you into the present whether you like it or not. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.

We spend so much of our lives avoiding the things that scare us. But the things that scare us are usually sitting right next to the things we actually want. A new career. A hard conversation. A solo trip. A ridge with drops on both sides.

Everything I’ve ever been proud of started with something that scared me.

We hiked up a scenic ridge. Narrow, but nothing like the knife-edge.

Then Martha stopped us at a small area with a wooden bench. He said we’d stay here. The summit was just a few steps away, but the trail was slippery and could be dangerous.

A younger version of me would have pushed for it. Would have said, we’re right there, let’s go. Would have needed the summit to feel like the hike counted.

But I didn’t do it. I just looked out at the view. The ridges. The sea. The rice paddies. The towns below. And I didn’t feel like anything was missing.

That’s the thing about contentment. It doesn’t need the summit. It doesn’t need the finish line. It doesn’t need the next thing. It just needs you to stop and realize that where you are is already enough.

I spent years chasing the top of everything. The top of my career. The top of the mountain. The top of some invisible scoreboard I built in my head. And here I was, a few steps short of the actual peak, feeling more at peace than I ever did at the top of anything.

I just stood there, looking out at something I still can’t fully describe.

The others were laughing, talking, taking photos. Some were quiet. Everyone was processing the view in their own way.

I was thinking about my life.

Every time I reached a goal, I felt good for about a week. Then the voice came back. What’s next? What else? What more? I thought that voice was ambition. Turns out it was a wound pretending to be a compass.

I’ve written books. Built a career from nothing. Climbed mountains that made my legs shake for days. I’ve been to places most Filipinos only see on Instagram. And the most peaceful I’ve ever felt was standing on a mountain I didn’t even know existed, on an island right next to mine. That should tell you something about the chase.

The problem with the pursuit of happiness is the word pursuit. It assumes happiness is somewhere else. Somewhere ahead. Somewhere you haven’t reached yet. What if it was never ahead? What if it was always here and you were just moving too fast to notice?

Contentment is the most underrated word in the English language. We treat it like giving up. Like settling. Like admitting you’ve lost. But chasing happiness is what losing actually looks like. You just don’t notice because everyone around you is running too.

I looked at the ridges, the sea, the towns below. I thought about every summit I’d chased, every milestone I’d celebrated for a week before wanting the next one. Achievement is an empty glass that refills itself the moment you finish drinking. You never get to put it down.

But here, a few steps short of the actual peak, I wasn’t thirsty.

Gratitude is the only drug that actually works. Everything else is a temporary high disguised as progress.

We took the same trail going down.

Same path. Same trees. Same ridges. But somehow, it looked different.

I noticed things I missed on the way up. A cluster of wildflowers I walked right past. A view of the rice paddies from an angle I never turned to see. A rock formation that was behind me the whole time.

I was so focused on getting to the top that I didn’t see what was already around me.

Funny how that works. On the trail and in life. You move so fast chasing the destination that you miss everything the journey was trying to show you. Then you turn around, slow down, and realize it was all there. You just weren’t looking.

When we got back to the van, I overheard something that bothered me.

Some people mentioned that the LGU was planning to add touches to Buko Buko Sa Anay. Stairs. Railings. Cottages. Umbrellas. Things that would make it look like Sirao Garden.

I get it. They want to draw tourists. They want revenue. I understand the logic.

But why touch something that’s already beautiful? Why alter a masterpiece crafted by Mother Nature herself?

That’s the same lie again. The same one I’ve been falling for my whole life. The idea that what’s here isn’t enough. That it needs to be improved. Upgraded. Made more attractive for people who won’t appreciate it unless it’s dressed up.

Nature is best left untouched. Look at Alicia Panoramic Park. They didn’t add gimmicks. They didn’t install Instagram backdrops. And it draws visitors from all over the country. Because the view is enough. It was always enough.

I’ve made this mistake myself. Not with mountains, but with my life.

I climbed Mount Apo, the highest peak in the Philippines, and I thought that was it. I’d finally be satisfied. 

I wasn’t. 

I wrote 101 Letters to Juliet, published an actual book, and I thought that was it. 

It wasn’t. 

I got promoted at work in a US company and I thought that was it. It never was. 

I won my first blogging award and I thought that would finally be the thing that made me happy.

It wasn’t. So I pushed for more. Won three more. Four awards in total. 

And you know what changed? 

Nothing. The feeling was the same. A week of pride, then the voice again. What’s next?

That’s the loop. That’s the scam. You keep adding stairs and railings to a life that was already beautiful without them.

Buko Buko Sa Anay doesn’t need cottages and umbrellas. And I don’t need another summit to feel whole.

When everyone was back in the van and ready to go, the van wouldn’t move. Not an inch.

We stepped out and found the problem. A rock lodged in the soil had gotten stuck underneath the van. The only solution was to dig it out.

Of course. One more obstacle. One more detour. One more reminder that nothing about this day was going to go according to plan.

Fortunately, someone from the barangay showed up with tools and helped us remove it.

And just like that, we were moving again.

On the ride back, I thought about the whole day. The rain in Tubigon. The closed road. The miscommunication with Martha. The wrong turns. The rock under the van. Nothing went smoothly. And it was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.

Maybe that’s the final lesson Buko Buko Sa Anay taught me.

Stop waiting for everything to be perfect before you allow yourself to enjoy it. The rain doesn’t need to stop. The road doesn’t need to be clear. The summit doesn’t need to be reached. You don’t need one more award, one more book, one more mountain to feel like your life means something.

It already does.

You just have to slow down to see it.

I took the ferry back to Cebu that night. The sea was calm. The sky had cleared. And somewhere between Bohol and Cebu, I stopped thinking about what’s next.

I was just here. And that was enough.

Where is Buko Buko Sa Anay in Bohol located?

Buko Buko Sa Anay in Bohol is located in Barangay Danao and Imelda in the municipality of Duero, Bohol. 

How to hike Buko Buko Sa Anay in Bohol?

If you want to hike Buko Buko Sa Anay in Bohol, please coordinate with the Municipal Tourism Office – Duero, Bohol or Mar Tha.