Long before March came, I’d been planning to go alone somewhere secluded for my birthday. I thought of Bantayan Island, but everyone seems to be going there, so I chose Olango, an isle off Lapulapu City that has a wildlife sanctuary, for migratory birds specifically. Besides, Olango (pronounced olanggo) sounds more warm and exotic than Bantayan.
I wanted to experience bird-watching. But more than that, I was looking for a good place to go skinny-dipping. Yup, there’s an exhibitionist in me that I’ve been hiding. I once skinny-dipped in White Island in Camiguin, and I feel like I want to make it a ritual every time I travel alone. Olango turned out to be just a good place to do it. But of course, I had to find first a perfect spot and a perfect moment (whatever that means).
In the sanctuary’s office, I read from the wall that Olango Island Wildlife Sanctuary covers 920 hectares. You won’t be lost, however, in the middle of it, for there is only a small area where you can explore and watch the birds.
I simply followed a footpath leading to the water. From the edge of the beach, I followed another trail, this time made of concrete blocks and leading to an observatory about a kilometer out the sea. Each block was rectangular and was about a meter in length and a meter in height. The blocks had a space of two or three feet in between, so I had to hop lightly from one block to another, which reminded me of a PlayStation kiddie game.
Farther halfway through the blocks, I found out that the rest were lower in height and the water had reached over them.The tide was beginning to rise. It was about eleven in the morning. I thought of going back, but immediately scolded myself. I was here for a little adventure, right? So I removed my slippers and continued. My worry turned out to be silly, for the water reached only my ankles.
The heat was stinging my skin. The sun was burning bright, and the sky was almost cloudless. But the view around me was soothing to the eyes instead of glaring. For miles, laid before me were clusters of mangroves that divided the sea into shallow circular pools. The bed of white sand was visible, and it made some of the “pools” light blue and some greenish. The air was filled with silence, save of course for the chirping of birds here and now. There was no other guest that day. I had the whole place for myself.
The bird-watching part was a little funny. There wasn’t much bird in the area, for the peak season is from July to November, when birds from Siberia, Northern China, and Japan escape the winter and fly the globe downward to Australia and New Zealand. But I had researched this in the Internet beforehand, so I wasn’t disappointed at all. (I pushed through with the trip despite what I learned because it’s not like I can move my birthday to sometime in July to November.) What welcomed me in Olango was more or less what I expected.
The only birds I was able to observe were those that flew from one cluster of mangroves to another. Which meant that by the time I could peek through the binoculars, the birds would already be hidden in the shrubs. I was satisfied, though, with the few birds I spotted. The first one passed by in front me while I was walking toward the observatory. It was about twice the size of an ordinary dove and had brown wings and white chest. Its beak looked like that of an eagle, but much smaller and slimmer and, for me, more graceful. Then there was what I called “the flirt.” It was a tiny black bird with a red chest that left its group and came near the concrete hut. It circled around me a few times. It appeared so fearless and friendly that I stuck my arm out to see if it would perch on my hand, and of course it didn’t. Then there was also the flock of white birds that flew in a V-formation. They were the only ones with which I made good use of the binoculars (which came free with the P20 entrance fee). They were quite far and looked languid. I got to watch them for maybe a minute.
Half an hour into the observatory, I got bored (this is news, me getting bored in solitude). I wondered if I should have let some friends tag along. I told myself the deafening silence would make me crazy (another news). I looked below the observatory to check if I could skinny-dip there. It was the only spot protected from the rays of the sun. It was, however, littered with concrete debris and was coarse to the feet. So I decided to leave the observatory and thought of checking out the enclosed wooden hut forty-five degrees from where I was.
When I stepped on the water, I found out that the tide had gone up higher. The concrete blocks under the water now looked like a picture in a lucid dream. The current too was a little stronger. I started walking on the blocks and felt like a PlayStation character again. This time, my worry was not as silly as it was earlier. The water was knee-deep, and if I slipped and fell, I would probably be plunged to the sea up to my chest. That’s not really very scary, I know, but it sure was not the most comfortable thing do when you’re alone in the middle of nowhere.
As I waded on, I counted the blocks that were submerged in water. There were forty-three or forty-four. By the time I stepped off the last wet block, my soles were red and itchy. And from there, it was dry blocks again. I tried to continue counting, but I would often get pleasantly distracted by the sight below me. I had childlike fun looking at the tiny creatures thriving around the blocks. The black sea urchins were probably the ugliest creatures I’ve ever seen. Each urchin has a tiny red mouth and five tiny blue eyes around the mouth. Of course, “mouth” and “eyes” might not really be the right terms, but you get what I mean. I also saw some tiny fish that looked like leaves of a sea grass at first glance. I found it funny looking at them. While the fish were swimming, they looked so confident with their camouflage, as though each of them were thinking, “What a brilliant idea this is, pretending to be a leaf to trick my predator.” I wanted to tell them, “Not so fast, I found you out,” but of course I’m not their predator, so silly me left the silly fish in peace.
The path leading to the wooden hut was also concrete, but this one was natural, not man-made, with half-dead moss as finishing coat. It amazed me. I think I’d never walked on such a floor before. I used to think that beaches are always made up of sand. The walk, however, led me to nothing much fruitful. The wooden hut was locked. I peeked from a hole in the wall and the inside looked empty. The design of the windows on the other side of the hut seemed to indicate that it was another observatory. As the stilts and ladder of the hut were half-submerged in water, my balls this time were wet with saltwater (sorry, too much information).
By this time also, for no particular reason, I’d given up the idea of skinny-dipping. I decided to go back to the office in the entrance of the sanctuary. It was about half an hour past noon.
When I reached the spot where the paths toward the two huts converge, I found another forked path. I decided to explore it instead of going back to the reception area. It looked like a mini forest. It was filled with bushes with long, skinny branches and tiny leaves, and the white sand was also filled with holes, which I guess were made by crabs. I walked around and found a beach. I laid down my backpack and the binoculars and sat on the sand. And with the inviting water in front me, guess what I did next.
