Inclusive tourism at work Sawsawan sa Loay

They would have nursed the bellow-blown fire by four, because, by ten AM, the heat from the smoldering pile of coconut charcoal and the soul-sapping combination of the sun baking the low corrugated tin sheet roofing in the roadside shop would be too much to sap the body of the energy to heave the heavy mallets pounding the red-hot steel.

By then, the tandem of Cristino Baclayo and Pedro Guadalquiver would have been whetting to the fine hone, a dozen to 18 newly forged 10-12 inches of jungle machetes, house bolos, razor sharp.

“We like to start early while its bearable,” shared Guadalquiver, 37 years old, whose heavily calloused hands from hand-hammering and sweat breaking off from his muscular biceps, betray the body’s natural propensity to seek out a bit of comfort in an already uncomfortable life.

Starting early makes them work for only half the day, the baking heat of the workshop by noon is stifling enough and the nipa and mangrove forest behind the shop is only a little help.

Baclayo, was just 14 when his father taught him the rudiments of the industry: how to handle the tongs, tend the fire with the bellows, know when iron is hot enough for the beating, how to pound the spring into the basic shape, how much stress is needed so a blade doesn’t easily snap when applied tension and how to harden the beaten metal enough to resist wear.

“Austenitizing and rapidly quenching in water or oil to temper the metal, may be easy, but has to be timed right,” Baclayo, who has learned the trade by heart at a young age, explained.

Having completed Grade 6, Baclayo thinks he has limited his chances and has to follow that same route his father and his grandparents had been into.

Car leaf springs, coil springs, even discarded chain-saw blades are fair game, as long as there is patience enough to keep the fire burning and the bellows blowing, and no matter the shape, we pound it to desired blade length to the customer’s satisfaction, Bacayo said.

It would take nearly an hour to forge one medium sized bolo, without the handle, and that would take at least 1 thousand beatings by a four-kilo sledgehammer to form it into shape.

While Guadalquiver pounds, Baclayo maneuvers the red-hot steel flat on the anvil, one hand gripping tongs holding the forged blade, another arm, swinging the heavy mallet in a rhythm which echoes to the mangrove forests behind the shop.

He then reverses it to the other side, careful to make sure the mallets hit the proper spot needing the cure.

And then he turns it on the side every few beatings; the sound of steel and the swooshing from the bellows make up the chorus accentuated by the zoom of cars and motorcycle passing by the roadside shop.

A few more trips back to the burning coals and then the anvil, and the bolo comes to shape, edged and bevelled for the right-handed or left-handed user.

Then comes the delicate job of treating the forge, when the tapered sundang is successively quenched at slightly different temperatures into water or oil to harden the metal.