The Good Times.

During dry season, the Bislak river from its early beginnings on the slope of Mount Aganmala in the East, and the highlands of Isic-Isic in the North to its final disappearance in the estuary of Bacarra, seems almost tragic in its swift transitions. It starts out cheerily upon its course; it is so clear and pure, so sparkling with sunshine and spirit. It dashes down mountain valleys, gurgles under boulders, swirls around small islands, flashes through small ravines and narrow passages. With its sweep and glide and its silvery laugh it seems to lead a merry life. In Gubang, a chicayne comes up to meet its waters. It has a different meaning now. Like a racing car, it slows down, becomes softer, but has more grip and purrs as it rounds the bend. The “rankis” of Isic-Isic enjoys the rhythmic pulsation of its waters. The whole river seems to vibrate causing rocks and debris to cascade from the side of the cliffs down to its waters below.

Soon its two main tributaries meet just west of Tamdagan, and just like two lovers they linger here for a while, as if to exchange life stories, enjoying each other’s company, before they decide to come together, entwine as one then idle downstream.

Day after day it moves towards the China Sea, gurgling through Alsem, Manarang, and Dipilat. Here, the green rice fields on both banks and the blue sky, makes a very beautiful color harmony. They are hues of depth and substance—hues that comport excellently well with the character of the river itself. It is now building strength and consolidating its powers. The currents are more forceful and slapping against its banks. Its youthfull exuberance is unmistakable. It wants freedom and independence. But, is it ready for the world to see?


The stage is set, but a dress rehearsal is needed before the curtain is drawn. So, once more it takes a pause and meanders around Visaya, just north of the twin peaks of Baguinsusu and Salsalamagui. Here, herons and white egrets dot the landscape. They prowl about the river banks and rice fields in search for fish, frogs or crayfish. Multitude of butterflies scurry from wild flowers to wild flowers. The water surface are full of ‘Kuto-kuto’ that skims and darts endlessly. Dragonflys are poised on top of water lilies to catch a bug or two. The shadow of a Siwawer across the rice fields is unmistakable, which makes the “buliit” take cover underneath the ‘ka-leddaan’.

But, the time has come to be on stage, and the river slowly but surely cross the threshold between Baguinsusu and Salsalamagui, underneath the Vintar Dam with all its splendour. You cannot deny its majesty and nobility. It has not now the babble of the brook nor the swift rush of the mountain water; rather the quiet dignity that is above conflict, beyond gayety. It has grown old, it is nearing its end; but nothing could be calmer, simpler, more sublime, than the drift of it down into the town proper. Its path is block by an island after it comes out of Visaya. It makes a decision, splitting into two, one taking the northern course touching Diaton, and the southern course mesmerizing the poblacion. The width is almost 2 km which makes it the widest part of the river, a river valley. It is completely dominated by the seasonal cycle of dry and wet season. The path of the river changes yearly, depending on current volume and strength of the water brought by torrid rainfalls. So, it is no surprise that one year, the river would be near the Poblacion, and some other years, you would walk a considerable distance to reach it.

The island smuck at the middle of the river is a source of agriculture, grazing pasture and firewood. Once a year by tradition, as a part of the ‘good times’, this island is invaded by the people to harvest ‘abal-abal’, an edible beetle that sprouts from the island’s sandy soil. Nowhere in town can you appreciate the beauty of Vintar's morning sunrise than here at this island. If it could only speak, it will tell you about great romantic interludes throughout the ages. For adventurous growing boys, this is where they play out pirates of the Caribbean and the 3 Muskeeters. This is the ultimate playground for adults and kids alike.

On either side of the island, the water seems heavy and moves slowly, patiently, winding about obstructions, cutting out new channels, creeping where it may not run, the bubbleless water works its way toward the sea. Lower portions of the river bed become a pool, and the water lingers, and you begin to wonder if it ever gets out and join the current flow. The night-winds are warm and humid, and you dream of the time when it was a little deeper so you can soak your body standing rather than lying down. At day time, the ‘kapanagan’ becomes a hotbed of rocks and pebbles. You don’t dare walk barefooted, because you’ll have blisters in no time.

The river is now a creek, and how heavily it moves! Will there be enough water to sustain its journey to the sea? Everything has settled to the bottom, yet still the water seems to drag upon the shores. Every reef of sand, every island of rocks and pebbles, every overhanging ipil-ipil, bamboo, dumanay, damortis or handful of ledda holds out a restraining hand.

Suddenly, in front of the Bacarra Bridge, just below the island, it reconstitute itself, as if for the final stand, regains its luster. Once more, the blare of the morning sunlight pounds on the water surface and makes it glisten, breaking the stillness. The river moves on carrying with it the hope of survival, and at every step the waters grow bolder and faster as it passes under the bridge and merges with the sea.

The Bislak river did not cross the Vintar landscape without a ripple, without a moan. Like a salamander it crawled its length far down the long wastes of kapanagan to where the blue waves are flashing on the China Sea. And there it creates the Bacarra estuary –a cradle of life, where fish in our river, such as bukto, palileng, ican, dalag and paltat spawn , mature and feed here before they swim further upstream where we can catch them for food.

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