Cagayán Valley.--Enrile.


The morning of Friday, May 13th, broke clear after a night of hard
rain. We set off before sunrise, our way now taking us eastward for
the last stage of the mountain journey proper. The whole earth this
morning seemed to be a-drip: every stream was rushing, and banks of
cloud, fog, and mist crowned the heights and filled the valleys. To
describe even approximately our course as we descended from the great
terrace of Lubuagan is well-nigh impossible; but, as we came down,
scene after scene of the greatest beauty offered itself to our
admiration. The landscape softened too; we were leaving the high
mountain land behind us, not too suddenly, however; for example,
at one point a huge valley lay below us, bounded on the other side
by a tremendous vertical wall of rock, over which fell a powerful
stream. I estimated the fall at the time as at least four hundred feet.

In due course we came to an affluent of our old friend the Chico, and
had to ford. The stream was up, but we got over without mishap. Fording
is always a delicate operation in these, mountains after a hard rain,
since no one can ever tell what the nature of the footing will be,
because of the boulders swept down. On this occasion Evans's pony
stopped short in mid-stream, refusing either to move on or back. There
was nothing for it but dismount and investigate, Evans discovering
that his pony had put one foot down between two large stones close
together and so was simply caught fast. The country had now become
decidedly more open; the trail for long stretches was almost a road. As
a matter of fact, we were on the old main line of communication from
the highlands to the Cagayan Valley. We made our first halt at Nanong,
where everybody brought in gifts of chickens, eggs, and _camotes_