Marsh Magic: Agusan Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary

It’s difficult to put into words what it’s like waking up in a remote floating village in the middle of a vast marshland.

Everything was silent and still. Thick fog veiled the landscape and the early morning air felt icy cold. Eerie trees that looked like something out of a Tim Burton film skewered the water. For some reason, they reminded me of skeletons and the sight sent chills down my spine. The whole night, I was lulled to sleep by the patter of raindrops on the roof. I had on a long-sleeved shirt, but goosebumps covered both my arms. The sight was so bleak yet achingly beautiful. It’s as if someone had put a grayscale filter on the landscape. Then the sun started to shine from behind the hazy veil and breathe color into the landscape.

I never knew a swamp could be this otherworldly.

I thanked my innate stubbornness for forcing me to push through and visit the Agusan Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary, the largest protected swampland in the country despite the challenges and costs. The weather getting there the day before hadn’t exactly been the most encouraging.

The mist-covered mountain ranges and heavy rain as I rode a roofed habal-habal that made its way through the lonely dirt roads to the jump-off point in Loreto was enough to give me second thoughts. I’ve traveled alone around the country many times before, without a care in the world. I’ve hiked and driven solo to remote destinations without even thinking of my safety. But this was one of those times where I felt very aware of how vulnerable I was. On my GPS, I was just a tiny blip moving further and further away from any discernable road in an area that just felt so isolated and vast.

Aside from possible security risks that come when you travel solo that I deliberately brushed aside like I always do when I’ve set my mind to visit a place, the dreary weather wasn’t ideal for sightseeing. I could just visit a Provincial Capitol or some other landmark, I told myself. There must be another waterfall or a tourist attraction in this landlocked area that defines the province.

But deep inside, I knew that I wanted to spend the night in the floating community of Agusan Marsh, home to the Agusan Manobo tribe. Agusan del Sur is known for Agusan Marsh. I didn’t come all this way just to visit a capitol building. I braced myself. Today’s weather forecast, folks: Cloudy with a chance of crocodiles.

The Agusan Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary is a protected area and one of the most ecologically important wetlands in the country located in Agusan del Sur, a landlocked province in Mindanao in the Southern Philippines. Nestled deep within the midwaters of the Agusan River drainage basin, you can find lakes and several floating communities within it. The name Agusan itself means “where the water flows” referring to the Agusan River, the third longest river in the country, which meanders south to north in a 390-kilometer rush to Butuan Bay.

Estimates on the size of the sprawling marsh differ from 14,000 hectares to 40,000 hectares, with many online sources claiming it to be roughly the size of Metro Manila. Getting to the floating village deep within the marsh involves long land travel from the nearest airport and at least a two to three-hour boat ride depending on the water level, on narrow wooden boats used by locals. It’s not a tourist hotspot by any means and is expensive to get to for solo travelers since you have to pay for the boat rental and fuel both ways.

Agusan Marsh was once the home of “Lolong,” the world’s largest saltwater crocodile in captivity. The giant croc measured 20.24 feet or 6.17 meters long, as confirmed by the Guinness Book of World Records. That’s about the average height of an adult giraffe. He weighed 2,370 lbs.

Unfortunately, the 50-year old reptile died from multiple organ failure after being placed in a tiny enclosure and pond for tourists to gawk at for a mere P20 fee. Experts believe he could have lived to the age of 100 if left alone. Monster movies always give wild animals a bad rap, but the truth is, humans are the real monsters.

Lolong’s taxidermied skin and skeleton now lie in the National Museum of Natural History in Manila “to promote the conservation of all crocodilian species and the rich and fragile biodiversity of Agusan Marsh.” Or at least that’s what the plaque there says. He should have never been kept captive in the first place.

Compared to beaches and mountains, not many people would go out of their way to visit a marsh. I can’t blame them. Most people have this natural fear of swamps and marshes. They always represent dark and mysterious lands in movies and fantasy stories. In the card game Magic: The Gathering, good creatures like fairies and elves live in the forests, while evil creatures usually dwell in swamps. When you think of swamps, you think of reptiles and other dangerous creatures that lurk in bogs. So why did I feel like I have to go there? Am I immune to crocodile attacks? What the heck is wrong with me?

Though I was having doubts, the fact that there was a thriving community living peacefully there for years meant that they knew how to keep safe. Another reason I didn’t want to cancel the trip was I had already made arrangements with community organizer Maritess Babanto. Their settlement is not the easiest place to reach and she had already arranged for a boat to fetch me.

In fact, she stayed in the town of Loreto the night before just to meet up with me the next morning and had been texting me the previous day to confirm arrangements. After meeting up with her in the covered courts next to a barangay center, she accompanied me to buy personal food supplies for the overnight stay and some extra I could leave at the community.

The narrow wooden boat that could only fit four people at the most made its way along the murky waters. The rain had turned the stream and river a muddy brown, not at all appealing in terms of photos if you’re the type who judges places by their “Instagram-worthiness.” In most sections, the surrounding water hyacinths, lotus and water lilies were so tall, that I wondered how they were able to navigate the boat at all.

But I could feel the raw essence of adventure and excitement of the unknown just tingling as we made our way. For a jaded traveler like myself, I felt like this was the real deal. This was no package tour you can book easily on an app along with countless of other tourists. I wasn’t on a sponsored media trip being given VIP treatment in hopes of a favorable review or write-up.

I was on my own, in the middle of nowhere with just the grey sky above me, a carpet of thick green water plants on both sides, and who knows what lurking beneath. Sitting on that rickety boat as it made its way slowly towards the hidden village, I realized how much I missed these kinds of solo trips. Where I had to figure things out for myself and actually talk to people to get anywhere instead of being handed a printed itinerary and shuttled to each destination hassle-free.

The boat sliced through a field of water hyacinth that spread out like a thick green carpet over the water. The river seemed to snake on and on in a winding path before we reached a junction leading to a smaller stream that fed into one of the lakes within the marsh. Speaking of snakes, I read somewhere that aside from saltwater crocodiles, pythons as thick as tree trunks also resided around these waters. It was not a good time to think of movies like Anaconda and Lake Placid.

“Travel blogger, kinain ng buwaya.” For some reason, the imaginary headline kept flashing in my head. Not that I’m worthy of landing on the news. Maybe a passing mention in a tabloid next to a stock photo of a crocodile beside a “missing person” photo just for the freak factor. It’s both unnerving and thrilling to be cruising through crocodile territory.

“Hindi naman sila lumalapit sa tao,” (They mostly stay away from humans), answered Maritess when I asked about the crocodile situation. Like most members of her community, she believes Lolong should have never been caught in the first place or removed from his natural habitat. I agree. Wild animals should be left free. Let nature take its course.

The water level was very low in some sections and more than a few times, the bottom of the boat scraped on logs or rocks. The stream was a one-way path, and our boatman had to navigate with a paddle to maneuver when we passed another boat laden with sacks of rice and corn that locals were bringing to sell.

There are rice and corn fields within a marsh? Apparently. “Malayo lang ang bentahan” Maritess told me. It was one of the main challenges of the community. They could spend the whole day just to bring crops to the “mainland” to sell. We passed another boat with a fisherman, whom we bought a bunch of freshly caught fish from.

From a distance, the horizon looked like skyscrapers shrouded in gray mist. Our boat’s motor snagged on the stems of water hyacinth and the boatman had to stop and fix it. As we neared, I saw that the “buildings” were actually leafless branches of strange bonsai-like trees, sticking out from the water.

The Panlabuhan Floating Village is one of the most surreal places I’ve been in the country. You don’t expect anyone to be living in the middle of a marsh. The remote settlement itself is made up of 48 or so households all floating in what seems like the middle of nowhere along with their own church and schoolhouse.

There’s not much to do once you get there but stare in awe at the strange scenery, which is what I found myself doing. It’s the type of place that offers infinite possibilities for writing. I can only imagine the untold stories of the people living there. I had the urge to paint or sketch the sight, but my artistic abilities are limited, so I settled on taking photos instead.

For someone used to constant outside noise, the serenity was almost deafening. I was glad that I traveled alone and didn’t have to deal with any chatter or small talk from companions. I just wanted to be there in the moment and enjoy the place to myself.

The indigenous tribal community still practices the ancient “panagtawag,” a ritual offered to spirits of nature and elementals to ensure the safety of all visitors. The welcome ritual is usually performed by the village babaylan or shaman. Unfortunately, he was busy with crop-related chores and I was a last-minute guest. We placed the offerings of coins, food and drinks for protection and guidance inside the floating church that night.

I stayed in the community guesthouse, a large open-air wooden structure perched on plastic barrels and planks of wood. One corner of it seemed to be sinking, in bad need of repairs. The fees and donations of tourists such as myself go towards maintaining the place. Maritess set up a mattress on the second story, right next to a small room where they kept pillows, bedsheets and mosquito nets. She apologized and said it wasn’t much, but it was for me. The view was amazing. I’ll take this over any 5-star hotel.

My favorite times of the day were dusk and dawn the next day. There’s always a strong sense of magic in the air during those hours, but it felt even more pronounced there.

When the rain stopped, and the sun finally emerged from beneath the hazy grey veil, the floating village took on a totally different character. The eerie landscape transformed into an idyllic Waterworld.

I took a short boat ride around the community and saw the floating houses up close. I marveled at how some had sari-sari stores and bird cages and pulley systems.

Instead of cars, locals had small boats parked next to every household. Even little children moved easily from house to house, paddling their boats and balancing carefully on small planks of wood that serve as makeshift bridges. and walkways.

Agusan Marsh is a haven for birdwatchers. During summer months, thousands of egrets, herons, storks, sea eagles and other migratory birds are said to seek shelter here. Some birds come from as far away as Japan, China and Russia to escape the chilly winter winds of Northern Asia. Over 200 individual species have been known to spend at least part of the year in the marsh, making it one of Asia’s most important transit points for wild birds.

After the boat ride, I spent most of the morning just dozing off on my convertible travel pillow / hammock which I hung up on one of the posts and stairs. I let the sound of silence and wind lull me to sleep for a morning nap. Downtime is definitely underrated.

Lately, I’ve found that lying in a hammock doing nothing is one of the purest ways to enjoy a destination. That hammock had been with me on a lot of memorable journeys and I loved using it, but I felt the urge to leave something behind and knew I could always buy another one, so I told Maritess to keep it for future guests. If ever you go there, feel free to use it.

“Parang paraiso sa amin to” (This is paradise for us), Maritess told me later when we had a chance to talk. Their lives are inextricably tied to the water and they live in harmony with it. Nature provides for the community. They take what they need from the marsh, which is abundant with fish, which they served me during my meals.

I watched from the balcony as one of her companions cleaned fish for cooking under the supervision of two marsh cats. I wondered how the cats manage living here, but they seemed fine. A bunch of them gathered around me as I ate, aware that fish was on the menu. I was happy to share the meal.

The cats easily crawled in the spaces under the guesthouse and jumped across the boats and bridge walkways with no problems.

I may not have encountered any killer crocs or swamp things along the way, but I did see a couple of killer kittens emerge from a storage room. The veil of mystique lifted. How can you find a place scary when it has cute kittens?

It’s taken me a while to reflect on this trip and flesh it out in words. Initially, I didn’t even want to share this experience with anyone. You know how it is about special places that feel almost sacred to you. Sometimes, you want to just keep them to yourself for fear they’ll be ruined or changed. I don’t really know what’s compelling me to write about this now other than the fact that I don’t want to forget it.

I guess most people will still prefer to visit beaches or mountains over marshlands. This is not the easiest or cheapest place to get to especially if you’re traveling solo, but for those looking for an adventure out of the ordinary, staring at a lake of endless trees and carpet of water lilies miles from anywhere might do it for you.

I’ve been on this constant search for magic whenever I travel but I honestly did not expect to find it in the middle of the vast Agusan Marsh. To this day, it remains one of the most surreal and hauntingly beautiful destinations I’ve been to in the country.